when i used to self harm i used to hit my head a lot, i didnt think of it that much back then but now i see the result. probably any type of self harm is better than hitting ur head, i suffer from memory loss, but no one would probably believe me, i dont even remember basic stuff such as what happened the day before, what somebody told me or things that i did, i may sound dramatic but its worse than it sounds. i dont remember how i started it but i did it everytime my mom was bitching about smth that ive done or havent done and continued by doing it when im angry. since ive realized how bad the result is i try not to, i developed anger issues over time and keep hitting myself and biting myself out of anger, its hard to stop. my head hurts so bad everyday and i feel dizzy sometimes no matter what i do, take medicine or even drink a lot of water, i dont know if thats because i hurt my head or something else but it scares me. i wish i wasnt like that, i wish i never did this, i might seem so retarded because of what ive done to myself but i cant help it now, i dont know what can. there are many other bad things including in my bad mental health, i became so mentally unstable that it scares me, so many bad and disturbing thoughts in my mind everyday, im even scared of myself, im scared ill snap one day and do something bad. i hear someone calling my name everyday even when im home alone, i really wanna believe that its not something bad and that im not a schizo. i often find myself having random conversations in my mind, it could be me talking about random things or someone is speaking to me, i dont understand whats happening and after a long time that its happening i try to figure out whats really happening. im kind of trying to express myself in art sometimes but im not too creative to do that, i just draw some shitty gore that is a bit close to what i feel. also im afraid to get help because i dont trust anyone that is not my close and real friend, i cant be open with anyone, even if i did get open and be honest id get to a mental hospital, thats my worst fear but my first worst fear is that my parents finding out about that, i dont want them to know how fucked i am. im slowly losing myself, i feel so lost..
my day consists of getting stuck in flashbacks and losing track of time.
i am too exhausted to feel anything but misery and dread.
i want to tear open my flesh.
i want to see my own blood.
i want to destroy the place on me that he forced me to carve so that his name is no longer visible.
i want to feel that piece of me torn away.
i want to feel that freedom.
i’m tempted to do it; to take a butcher’s knife and just cut off the flesh in which his name is engraved. i would take back my power and erase him from me. this vessel is no longer mine. i want to tear off my skin. i feel ashamed and disgusting to have ever been in his control. i have not yet figured out how to un-train myself to sit, stay, and lay down. the fear is embedded in my soul and my entire being.
i’m tempted to do it, if i’m lucky i might just bleed out
I OD’d on my psychotropic (/psychiatric) pills in 2019. ‘Twas a heavy overdose and my pills were strong and of very high dosages. I was naturally almost sure that I’d wind up dead. But guess what? I woke up in the morning. Not in a good state at all, but I awoke. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t utter a solitary word. Hell, I couldn’t even see things. I was cold. I’ve a long history of mental illnesses – BD (+ Psychosis — Schizoaffective disorder) and various PDs, so my folks figured out that I must’ve once again yanked some suicidal sh_t when I didn’t answer their calls. I guess they must’ve checked the locked medicine cabinet to find out that the pills were missing from it, and the lock was picked. They stormed into my room only to see me half-alive, half-dead. I was soon rushed to the emergency room. Gastric lavage was carried out. Ewald tubes were let down my entrails. Cannulas and tubes all over – IV and NG tubes. Oh, did I mention fecal incontinence? Pathetic. That was a nightmare. That really was. I’ve pulled through seizures, tremors, and H(a)ematemesis. You might be wondering why I pulled it again. Right? Well, I was so f_cking desperate, and I was actually dumb enough to redo it. I was that desperate to die. I still am. But only now, I’ve learnt the lesson that overdosing on your pills isn’t a cool way to go. It’s painful. It’s humiliating. It’s hardly successful.
Right to die must be a thing. Assisted suicide must be a thing. (Update: Heard from a Swiss friend of mine that it’s actually a thing in Switzerland — Exit, Dignitas presumably offer the services… Why not here?) I know when my mind and body can take no more. I know how it feels to be so mentally f_cked when nothing actually is wrong in your life (or is everything?). I’m convinced that killing myself will be the kindest thing I can ever do to myself. So, I will not stop you with the lame a_s TED talks. However, do not overdose on your psychiatric pills… or try to slit your ulnar or radial arteries, please. I’ve around 30+ sutures on just my left arm, and I’m still alive. Over-the-counter P500/P650s OD in 2017, and I’m still alive — N-AC treatment. Sucks. Maybe I’m just a loser, but that’s for another post! Good day(?)
Hey. For starters, I’m 18. As soon as I turned 18 I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s the youngest you can be with this diagnosis. I grew up in a stable house hold, with stable parents, and 2 stable older brothers. Where the hell I came from is beyond me. From an early age I showed signs of isolation and poor self esteem. In the 6th grade I wrote a letter regarding how depressed I was to my teacher. No action was taken.
Even as I type this, I feel no attachment to my past. I feel no connection to the daily self harm that consumed (and continues to influence me) for years. I hardly remember my times in the psych hospitals, times that I was forced to drop out of high school temporarily for overdosing on blood pressure medication. Being doped up on psych meds like it aint no thang.
Now when I say I feel no attachment to this, I wish I could say it was a positive thing to say. That I am so happy with my life now that I have completely forgotten what it was like to be suicidal, to hate myself and this existence.
No, in fact, what I am saying is, I go in and out of feeling like one goes in and out of a swimming pool. One minute I’m screaming that I’m done with this world and I hate not being normal. Slamming the door only to throw myself onto my bed. I’m so paranoid of attachment. And then there’s the times where I stare at the wall. No thoughts pass through my mind, let alone emotion. I don’t give a fuck.I don’t care about anyone but my own self protection from others that ruins my relationships with everyone around me. I feel like a void upon this earth. A black hole sucking up oxygen that has better uses than filling my lungs. And sometimes it’s worse. I have disassociation episodes where I see black spots in my vision and my eyelids ache and my mind shuts down completely. But when I bounce back from it, it’s like it never happened.
I hate the fact that a fucked up being like me exists. I wish I had never been born, been thrust into this world, a person who doesn’t belong here. I’m a university drop out, a failure in the eyes of many as I bounce back and forth between jobs and living situations. I have one stable friendship. My parents hate the pain I cause them everyday with my selfish, self preserving nature. I hope I get hit by a bus.
But hey. Like I tell everyone.
I know it’s kind of dumb thinking this way. Like, it’s not my fault my dad was not the brightest bulb in the box and I know this. But I hate him for doing this to me.
Maybe it’s me over-thinking things but, from my knowledge and knowing serverl people with disorders physical and mental as well as having researched it extensively.. I just can’t help but think that my father, and his stupied genes gave me all these worries. Hell, my half sister and half brother are even worse than I am after he got married to a lady whose bulb seems to be on the verge of burning out. – And no, I do not live with this family I live with my Mother and Step-Father and my other Half-Sister of a Father who is not my Father or our Step-Father.
Mild Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. (OCD)
Mild to Severe Oppositional Defiant Disorder. (ODD / Anger toward authority figures) + (Anger issues)
Mild Attention Deficit Disorder. (ADD)
Cyclothymic Disorder (Lesser form of bipolar disorder)
Mild to Severe Clinical Depressive Disorder. (Clinical Depression)
Lesser to Mild Panic Disorder. (Panic attacks)
Mild to Severe Anxiety Disorder. (Anxiety)
Lesser to Mild Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. (School related – Eyewitnesses of multiple fights that led to hospitalization. / Hearing about fights that happened near me but, I did not directly witness it.)
Mild Paranoid Personality Disorder. (PPD / Severe Trust Issues)
Bulimia Nervosa. (Bing eating and starving ones self.) [Have recently started to get better but I still starve myself, mostly just out of habit.]
It isn’t me and I try to be me even with all this but I still shut people out during times I’m suddenly feeling like I don’t deserve food. I don’t deserve this skin, or this hair, or these clothes. I don’t deserve the things they got me and how much were they? How much effort did they put into it and I cant even let myself touch it?
I cut my arms and blame it on the cat, hiding blades and garbage under my bed because I can’t let go.
And the funny thing is, she got me a blade. A real life blade sharp enough to kill. One of those dagger looking ones as long as my arm. She got it for me for christmas. And its sitting on my shelf staring at me. But, at least my trust issues tell me not to trust it that I don’t deserve it that it needs to stay where it is or I’ll mess up the entire room. At least I’m afraid of death. Because otherwise my mother would have given me a blade. And I might have given back a body while taking away her son.
And I can’t bring myself to tell her.
Happy birthday to me, am I right?
(January, 8th, 2018.) And I feel wrong.
Recently, I got called into the psychologist’s office at my high school for a consultation. One of my teachers told me that she’d been watching over me for two and a half years (I’m halfway through my third year of high school, seventeen and a half years old) and directed me to the office.
I initially had trouble opening up; mostly because of the shock I experienced when I got asked whether there was something wrong. It felt like lightning struck me on a clear sunny day. I was silent and awkward and smiley the first few times. In the past three years, I’ve never shown any signs of depression or suicidal behavior, mostly due to fear of getting the same reactions I got a couple of years ago when I attempted to open up to people (particularly family members).
Now I’ve decided to tell my story here, on this website, for some odd reason.
When I was in sixth grade, I started getting feelings of alienation from other classmates. I felt different in an indescribable way – it wasn’t particularly intense or anything, but it was still there, and it was a drag.
That was when the bullying slowly began and gradually escalated as time passed by.
I was about 12 years old, I think. Students pushed me around and I had no friends, nor support from my family members. During that time, I went to private English lessons in a private school and also took tennis classes. The bullying got worse bit by bit. It wasn’t very physical, to be honest, but the words they said broke me. At about that time, I started to cut. Not very deep, mostly just scratches. I would usually wrap my wrist with gauze so that it wouldn’t be directly visible (frankly, I wasn’t too good at that).
Then seventh grade came.
And things got worse.
At one point during this period, things did get slightly physical. One of my classmates from school transferred to my English group, and managed to turn the other students against me. They said the same things to me like in school: “You should just kill yourself”, “You’re ugly/stupid/worthless” etc. They also tugged my hair or pulled at my sleeve or gave me a kick or two from the back of my stool.
Up until that point, I remember having one friend. Her name doesn’t matter, she will remain anonymous, but I will tell you that she was very dear to me.
But like all things in life that also had to end, at some point.
My father decided I needed to take better and more efficient tennis classes, so he made me transfer to another tennis club, in an all boys group. I, as a 13-year-old girl, could not easily just adapt to the new setting. Besides, because of my worsening situation, I began to change in the aspect of personality. I began having more outbursts and irrational anger emissions (for example, I would get mad at her if she didn’t reply to my messages within a short period of time). So with time, I lost her, and at that point I truly felt – and was – alone, in this mess.
At more than just a few points in my life, I tried to tell my parents, but all I got was dismissal. The idea of telling my parents, especially my dad, scares me to this day. I start to shake and whenever I try thinking about it in-depth, I reflexively start weeping.
It felt like you’re under some murky waters, looking around, completely conscious but unable to do anything. Unable to wave your hands and push yourself to the surface. I couldn’t go to my parents, I had no friends to turn to, so I headed to the thing that was easily accessible to me – self harm.
Flash forward to a year or a year and a half later. The day before me and my family were supposed to go on a vacation, I confessed. To tell you the truth, their first reaction was horrible. My mother was in shock, didn’t react in any way, just started to rub her face in order to remain calm, and at some point started to cry. My father said “Really? Why didn’t you cut deeper? If you’re already getting into that, why not just kill yourself and end it all?”
Now, while this may seem a bit drastic (to say the least), specifically coming out of a parent’s mouth, it was not completely inappropriate. Although I do wish he would have phrased it differently, honestly, because at that time it destroyed a little part of me that to this day I cannot piece back together.
Anyways, although it did not begin so, the end to me and my parents’ conversation ended not very unpleasantly. Truthfully it felt like the weight on my shoulders had been lifted – at least temporarily.
So then.. When did it return?
I’ll jump to the last year of primary school (14 years old). There was a scandal at school in which I was directly involved. There were rumors circulating; people talking about me having sex in the school’s toilets with a boy from my class. My classmates started talking, the teachers started questioning and sending me to the principal’s office, the boy started to pressure me and actually say things like “If you don’t tell everyone that nothing ever happened, I’ll fuck your life up.” or some other bullshit like that. However, instead of returning these comments with emotional behaviors like cutting or other forms of self harm, I did quite the opposite: I resorted to dismissing my own emotions and made myself distanced and unemotional. To this day, because of that particular moment, things that seem normal and completely doable to other people sometimes seem confusing or, in extreme cases, impossible for me.
During that period, I started getting “closer” with one (at that time problematic) girl in my class. We were on and off all the time, she was the type of person with a very explosive personality while I was quite the opposite. She caused fights while I was ruining away from them. And the boy decided to brainwash her, and make her doubt everything I ever said up until I managed to explain what actually happened and that she was being lied to (the lie doesn’t matter too much, it’ll take an extra paragraph to explain anyways).
To sum up, I spent that period running around offices and running away from myself. I do remember that some teachers did attempt to reach out (and I am extremely thankful), but I couldn’t accept it. During that time, I’d cut my long hair very boyishly short – I felt ugly so therefore I wanted to look ugly.
After primary school comes high school (it’s how it works here). I applied for one of the best high schools in my city, for the English bilingual class and I passed the test.
My high school life had begun and almost everything was left behind me. I did feel free for a short while, but the feelings and experiences I had have left a big dent in my personality and probably to some extent even in my psychological development. Not that I was mentally ill or something drastic like that, but I never really mastered basic things that, as it seemed to me, others already had and didn’t think too much of.
The first half of my freshman year started off a bit wobbly. I had made a promise to myself to be extremely careful, and therefore I did not speak a lot, unless I really needed to. One of my classmates from primary school was in my class, and if that were not the case, I’d be living a completely different life. She was with me almost always, she was really trying to make me open up (at least that’s the impression I got, I think) and make me communicate a bit more.
The second half of freshman year began and I started smoking. I remember the date – February 4th, year 2016. Finally, I’d found something that calms me down and, in a way, lets me self harm in a completely subtle way to other people. I was an addict even before I’d lit my first cigarette.
My first real friendships blossomed with the first box of cigarettes. I traded my lungs for the one thing that I’d always prayed for – true, heartfelt friendship. Someone to like me, to greet me, to want to be with me. To walk by and turn their head toward me with a soft smile, not a cynical smirk.
The three girls were in my class, but the first time I spoke to them was completely by accident. I saw them frequently outside during the breaks between classes and thought that they went out to smoke, so I asked them for a lighter. They got excited that I decided to start, and to keep it short – our friendship began.
My life has improved very much; I have great friends, my parents are slowly adapting to me, my school life is overall satisfying, the bullying is in the past.
But… I feel empty, without a sense of direction in life. Social life is hard and lately it’s taken a toll on me, psychologically in particular. I began cutting again recently, the number of cigarettes I smoke a day has doubled over time and I’ve been feeling sick physically and having trouble doing some simple things, like getting up in the morning or dressing or taking baths. Not many things are even a bit fulfilling, and every fulfillment that does happen lasts a relatively short time. There are dents and holes and scratches in me. I’m forgetful, at times irrationally reckless. Certain smells, sounds, voices, nuances – literally almost anything, can remind me of something traumatic and I’ll start getting anxious or sad or faint.
Often, a sentence pops up in my mind. “I really wish I would’ve died back then and there”.
But I didn’t. There was probably some voice whispering to me not to go and to try staying here. Perhaps some subconscious curiosity, who knows.
Now I can hear the same voice saying, clearer than before “It might be better not to wish for such a thing“.
When that happens, I close my eyes, wipe my tears and draw a breath, feeling the sadness go away into hiding, getting replaced with some peculiar but fulfilling numbness.
In those moments I realize that maybe there is something somewhere that’s keeping me together. The bonds are very labile, but they’re still holding.
Maybe there is some reason.
Just maybe. ?
I’m not sure where to start. But I feel like I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown. As I’m writing this I have tears coming out of my eyes. I’m not sure whether it is my mental state or the fact it is nearly 2 in the morning. But death is something I’ve wanted for a while over the course of my life. In primary school and I’m year 7 I was very lonely. I was liked by people but I had no friends. Even in some of year 8 in secondary school I still had very limited friends. At the start of year 9, my life was getting so much better, more friends and in the October holidays (I live in the uk so not sure what holidays are like for other countries) I thought I fell in love but she broke my heart and my whole personality and scared me. It led to 1-2 years of more depression on top of lonleiness in primary school. And the worst part of that situation, we where best friends after which I don’t think helped. I have self harmed twice which I’m not happy about and would change but wouldn’t change at the same time as I dunno what would of happened if I didn’t do it.
Now things with my mum are pretty shit I feel like I did when my heart was broken. I just want to leave what I have here while crying my eyes out. I’m probably stupid for taking this so seriously.
I turned eighteen almost a month ago, and I had been in a remission type deal from my Major depressive Disorder for about six months. Until last week. I feel no motivation to do anything. It takes so much effort to take a shower at night, I went from taking full showers at night, to half showers (standing in the corner of the tub and just washing my hair), and then to saying “I’ll just take one in the morning” and end up allowing all three of my alarms to go off and hopping in the shower to wash my hair five minutes before I have to leave for school. Throughout my depression, getting out of bed had never been an issue except for twice, and for this last week it has been a struggle every single day. I am truly frustrated. I have been admitted in a hospital before; I was fifteen, it was my sophomore year and I was self harming. Now is a different story. I feel so down. My depression is purely episodic and lasts for months on end. I’m supposed to graduate high school at the end of next month and start college in August, and I was planning to work all summer. But now, I’m not so sure. This depression right now is so bad that when I try and focus in school, the words I’m hearing from my teacher’s mouths just muffles and my thoughts block the actual words I’m hearing out (if that makes any sense at all). I can’t focus, I can’t do my work, I can’t even do anything without getting pissed. I’ve been on four or five different meds and I’m probably on my sixth therapist in two and a half years. I’m just struggling with my everyday tasks, everything is overwhelming me and sometimes I think the only way out would be to end it all. I have all the hospital information worked out, I have already prepared a psychiatric advance directive and so I know where I want to go if I do, I would just like to sort out other personal affairs before going. I don’t know if I should but I really really want to…. Is that bad? I’m tired of worrying about depression episodes all of the time. I’m tired of being depressed. I’m also currently on Effexor ER, Adderall ER, and in biweekly therapy. What do I do?
A few days ago, a classmate noticed the cuts on my wrist.
Today, a friend of mine saw the cuts too.
I told them it was nothing, that I only got them for being mean to cats (Don’t get me wrong, I love cats.). I know what I said was such an awful thing to say especially when even you can see the truth beyond your own lie. It’s just that I couldn’t quite think of anything to use as an alibi anymore.
I’m afraid sooner, more people would start to notice the slashes on my wrist and think I’m a weirdo, or worse they might think I’m someone trying to get the crowd’s attention. What I’m even more afraid of is if my parents ever find out about it.
Cutting makes the pain easier but if it will only lead to more of them, shall I stop?
I should. I know more than anything that I should stop. But even so, I know I can’t. It’s like oxygen. Essential. Refreshing. Life-sustaining. Addicting.
Now, I do not know what else to do.
I couldn’t blame the cuts on my wrist for being so noticeable.
I couldn’t blame my friends if they ever find out about the cuts someday and overreact.
I couldn’t blame anyone else for being the reason why I cut.
I could only blame myself.
What shall I do to hide the wounds?
What shall I do to keep people from knowing how vulnerable I am?
Last year, I started suffering from depression.
Last week, I started cutting.
Last day, I cried and told myself how ugly the wounds look.
I’m not used to seeing my left wrist so jagged and so scarred.
Is it normal to love and hate cutting both at the same time?
To love and to hate. Two contradicting things I always seem to clash together.
Hey, so im a 18years old boy who have been struugling with severe depression for about 2years now, and tried to kill myself once…
I’ve been reading alot on this page but never written here myself. But now im in such a dark place i have no clue what to do…
Im cutting myself almost daily and alot, its the only thing that makes all the pain go away since i dont dare to tell anyone how fucked up iam..
But im scared now, i dont think i can do this anymore the last months the suicide thoughts have come back, and they are stronger than ever before and im afraid im going to kill myself if i dont get help soon. and i know i need to talk to someone about everything i been going through but i dont trust anyone in life enough to tell them all my deepest secrets. So im basicly just lost and trying to hang on but i dont know how much longer i can…
No one will probably read this but I’d like to pretend they will because I can’t tell anyone I know.
I’m almost 17 years old and I’ve had general anxiety since the day I was born, and severe clinical depression since I was 7. In the last two years, my life has hit 20,000 leagues under the sea. My depression has gotten worse and worse and I’ve tried so many different medications and none work, which doesn’t help ease the ache of what’s been happening. December 17, 2013 I started dating one of my best friends, and I was head over heels in love. I was already in a really bad place when we started dating, but he didn’t know until a month or two into the relationship how bad it was. Essentially, I was the worst girlfriend ever because my depression was crippling. I would sleep all day on weekends, so I never saw him outside of school, I was very moody and would snap at him easily, and we had a couple of breakups, one only a week long, and one 4 months long. At the time, he was so good to me; constantly taking photos of us, getting me little (but nice) things, inviting me out to events with his family, and just being there for me in every way. He was the best boyfriend I could ask for, and I wasn’t worthy of him. After our 4 month breakup we started our freshman year of high school and it was obvious we both still clearly liked each other a lot, but he had strong doubts I really did because when he asked I said I still wasn’t ready to get back together. So, while I was out for 2 weeks with pneumonia not able to see him, we got in a fight, and I didn’t tell him I loved him when he left, and the next day he was dating a girl who liked him. I was an emotional wreck, which I had already been since I was on steroids to help me recover. I was constantly texting him and just trying to get his attention. 2 weeks later, their relationship ended and he talked to me, overly apologetic, about what had happened and how much he missed me. We got back together shortly after and stayed together until the following March. He was still basically the best boyfriend, even bringing me back a very nice(and expensive) ring and necklace with my birthstone from New York for our 1 year anniversary, but I was a girl with depression and now had constant self doubt that he really loved me after he dated this girl. I was sick again(mostly emotionally), and had been out of school off and on for a month, when he texted me breaking up. Being an absolute wreck, I acted impulsively and ran to the school where he was with his friends in hopes to fix things because I felt this had to do with the fight we had had the day before. By the time I got there, I was having a panic attack, was a sobbing mess, was having an asthma attack, and my ankles were gushing blood because I ran a whole mile in canvas flats. When I got there his friends (who up until this time claimed to be mine too) were clearly amused at how I was acting and how dumb I seemed, and I proceeded to get into a fight with my boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend, as I attempted to convince him we could fix things while trying to calm my failing lungs, when he decided to tell me he hadn’t loved me since we got back together, and had been using me for sex, since we lost our virginity to each other about a month after getting back together. In my emotional state, my reaction was one of anger, and I punched him in the face sobbing, then a teacher came and broke it up and his friends laughed at me so I screamed at them (of course you can imagine how embarrassing this whole situation was for me). At this point, I was also late for my period and in somewhat of an anxious state thinking of the possibility of being pregnant, and now we were broken up. My “friends” were supportive, by keeping me updated on him and the girl who had actually broken us up, evidentially, who was his best friend and whom I had trusted greatly. (As you can figure they probably shouldn’t of kept me updated because I kept trying to contact him and even had someone inform him of the fact there was a possibility I was pregnant). I also learned through a friend that he had made out with the girl who had broken us up at her birthday party, only a week after our break up. I made a very half hearted suicide attempt during this time, and then got in contact with a mutual friend of my ex and I, and somehow ended up in a situation where I was able to talk to my ex-boyfriend and we worked things out, and on his conditions we got back together, and although they were very terrible such as having to make a genuine attempt to get along with his friends (one of still being the girl who broke us up), I accepted instantly because I loved him and needed him back in my life. At this point I was constantly having panic attacks and needing reassurance that he still loved me, and he claimed he hadn’t meant the things he said when we broke up, and that he was angry and was trying to get me to just hate him so he wouldn’t have to hurt me more and I’d just be mad. Eventually, his terms for our relationship continuing fell through and he dropped the friend group who had treated me so terribly and apologized for even asking me to get along with them. But by this point, he was so tired of my anxiety and depression and need for reassurance so the romantic gestures lessened and we had more spats. He stopped taking photos of us, wasn’t as willing to stay up with me to talk late when I needed someone, and the small gifts from when he thought about me stopped too. We were exclusively attached to each other and the few friends we hung out with were mutual best friends (which isn’t a good thing that we had nothing making us our own people). We were still in love, though, and our relationship continued for another year. Not without faults though. We had lots of arguments and my depression continued to get worse. We were happy as a couple though, or at least I’m pretty sure we both thought so. In about December of our junior, we started to fall apart quite a bit. I was interested in another boy(most likely because he was giving me the attention I wanted so badly from my own boyfriend) and some racey photos ended up sent. I couldn’t live in the guilt and keep it from my boyfriend, and he was upset, but we stayed together, although he lost quite a bit of trust in me. It was around that same time that I started to really struggle with attending school, and I missed a lot of days, until I eventually switched to independent study. And during the transition of my attendance he found a new group of friends, who I had a bad feeling about instantly. He started hanging out with them more and more and I started seeing him less and less. Our fights got more frequent and we really lacked communication, and when he was around I spent a lot of time crying, anxious of losing him, and feeling his friends truly hated me. I could tell how on edge he was, and I was so afraid I was losing him, but that only made my depression and anxiety worse. I felt he had become a completely different person, and started to say some kind of mean things about him to a friend, and when we talked about it he was truly angry. The same day though, he texted me saying he realized how terrible he had been acting towards me and that things would get better and we would hang out more and he’d start seeing me more often and how much he loved me. The next day, my phone went off and I woke up to a very long text message of him breaking up with me and saying he’d been thinking about it for a long time and had talked to many help lines and no one thought we could fix our relationship. He wouldn’t listen to me no matter what, and the conversation ended promptly with an overdose attempt that landed me in the hospital and a psych ward, and now some permanent minor heart damage. When I got out I tried to talk to him again and he said that he talked to his friends and was so embarrassed by our relationship and that they were surprised he stayed with me so long because I was abusive. He also had already started seeing a new girl, one I worry he may have been seeing beforehand without my knowledge. To top all of this off, he had slept with me, yet again, the day before breaking up with me, leaving me with a “I thought maybe I would feel something but I didn’t” A week later I was in the hospital again after trying to slit my wrist and narrowly missing my tendon. At this point, I’d had people pointing out to me all the ways he was abusive, including turning around the abusive and planting himself as the victim, and I finally admitted to myself that I had been sexually abused, which I had been holding in and denying thinking it was fine and I wanted it since there had been consensual sex and I hadn’t specifically asked him not to, although I didn’t try to initiate or participate in those times and once cried through it, and had woken up to what I could put simply as molestation. I was suffering of severe PTSD while in the hospital to the point where any small reminder of him triggered me into a spiraling panic attack that would leave me sobbing and shaking for hours. These panic attacks continued for months, and I’m still being affected by my PTSD 8 months later(which I guess isn’t a long time). Every day since the break up, my depression has been so much worse. I think about killing myself every day and started actively cutting myself again when I had been clean for a couple years (except for the occasional small relapse when I had a really bad panic attack). In total of my life, I’ve made 9 suicide attempts, only hospitalized for 3, and have never succeeded. I miss my boyfriend every day, and would take him back in a heartbeat even if I had to relive all the emotional and even sexual abuse from him. I’d take being compared to other girls and told I’d be happy if I wanted to be and him saying I wasn’t as attractive anymore to him, most likely because I gained weight. I’d take it all and I’d be so happy because I want him back and I think he was supposed to be my soul mate and I lost him, and to be honest I don’t want to live without him. But even if there was any chance of ever having him back, I came out about the abuse publicly and he immediately attacked me for it, so now I can only assume he truly hates me. There’s no chance of me ever getting him back, and I just want him. I won’t be happy until I have him, but I never will. And it’s made my want to die so much more intense. If I wasn’t afraid of what happens after you die or what my family and the few friends I have would have to go through if I killed myself, I’d be dead by now, because even currently I have a suicide plan. All I want is my boyfriend back.
So the last time I cut myself was early in March and I have not had a time since then that I’ve wanted to as much as right now. I threw all my razors away and have not bought any new ones since but each day I have the urge to go out and buy new ones. I self harm when I hate myself and it just seems to be more and more apparent to me that I don’t like who I am. I’ve already slipped into the habit of my old eating disorder, I go to university so it is not like anyone monitors when I eat other than me and I can barely stomach one meal a day on the basis that I hate how I look. The temptations to end things have also came back, I don’t feel like my existence does anything but subtract value from the world, no one will talk to me any more, the people that used to have stopped caring and we barely see each other anymore and I can’t speak to my family because my parents abused me when I was young so they only make the feelings worse. I just want to have someone who’s life is better because of mine and while I can’t see that it is really hard.
I attempted suicide back in May, and while certainly not my first attempt (I’ve lost count) it was the most serious. I OD’d on phenobarb and diazepam, was intubated and in coma for 10 days, and 5 months later my left leg is still paralyzed from the knee down from sciatic nerve damage sustained while unconscious.
I was naïve enough to think that returning to university this Fall would make me happy and give me a renewed sense of purpose, but class started last week and since then my desire to be dead has resurfaced and intensified to the point where it’s all I think about. I compare myself to all the pretty, happy-looking students, am envious of the seeming ease with which everyone else appears to go through life. I am crippled, my thighs are covered with self-harm scars, I have intense dissociative episodes almost daily, am consumed by shame and regret, and the neuropathic pain in my leg and foot makes it nearly impossible to sleep, let alone focus in class or maintain a social life. My mind is being consumed by my fears and my physical agony and I feel like a burden to those who know me, and an object of pity. I do not think I can ever be “normal”, or even really effectively emulate normalcy.
I don’t take pleasure in the idea of dying, but I want to be dead. Perhaps that distinction seems trivial or unnecessary, but it’s critical to me; thinking of the process is a source of anxiety and panic, but the idea of dark and silence and a respite from the nonlinear sea of haunting memories and overwhelming shame in which I am struggling to stay afloat…I get to sleep at night by fantasizing of that final peace.
I’ve often been impulsive in my attempts, which is largely why I suppose I have not, to date, succeeded. This time around I am trying to plan as conscientiously as possible, and am aiming to arrange for a departure that will both spare me undue pain and mitigate the shock of those who must discover me. Consequently, I am in the process of researching and assembling a helium hood. From what I have read thus-far the Exit Bag seems the perfect solution for anyone who has come to the definite conclusion that suicide is the most appropriate course of action…in fact, it all seems really too good to be true. I would love to hear from anyone who has attempted or considered this, or who has knowledge of the common causes of failure amongst those who do survive.
I’m no true masochist. I don’t find joy in pain or suffering, and all I want is to escape this horrible farce of an existence I have crafted for myself in as peaceful a manner as can be achieved.
Im sick of living. Iv never felt loved/happy in my 22 years of life. I cant name anything good about myself fat.ugly.stupid.lazy.drunk and lonely virgin. The first thought i had toady and most days when i wake up is i realy want to cut. Iv been cutting since i was 15 and now im covered in 1000s of very noticeable scars. Im also an binge drinking alcoholic and get pass out drunk at least 5 times a week. The whiskey numbs my depression and anxitey being drunk allows me to cut deeper too.
Since i graduated high school the few friends and support moved on started school.careers and relationships they out grew me got new friends now i have noone. My parents divorced i live with my mom the angry hateful yelling type she verbaly abusives me and hates her life. My dad is the biggest drunk ever and molested me a year ago when i was insanely drunk at his place he grabbed my dick and held till i threaten to knock his teeth out and my family acts like it never happened never told sorry you didnt deserve that. My mom still gos over to his place and calls him its makes me sick i remember telling myself after he grabbed me this is it ill never be happy agian. Now everyday is arguing feeling horrible i cut and drink everyday.
I just have no will to live anymore and havnt in in my entire life. Im so trapped here i seriously consider just leaving hitch hiking being homeless at least then family wouldnt have to be with me any longer i have no friends. I cant escape my anger.sadness.anxiety. I think of ways i could die often visualizing it step by step in my head get drunk and hang.drown or cut my throat one day i hope this pain ends sooner than later. Iv been on this site for few years an havnt improved since. I feel alone worthless like ill never be happy i can see me dying at my own hand. My future doesnt look good i see a bitter poor drunk alone i cant see me smiling with a family or happy successful just sadness nothing changes.
Thanks to anyone that read hope you are well
I’ve heard so many life stories… Some sad, some happy, and some all of the above, but now I want to share mine… So here we go… Hey, my name is Arianna… I’m a 13 year old girl. I guess you could say I’ve been through a lot in life, but not as much as others… Currently I’m in a depression.. I lose and gain my appetite all the time, for no reason at all, I’ll get sad and or angry at myself, and lastly….. I self-harm… It all started 2-3 years ago. I was being bullied by two boys, that I will not name. These boys would remind me that I was fat… I’d usually just ignore it, I would pretend it didn’t faze me.. But that just made them try harder. One day they called me all of these names, that I rather not repeat. I couldn’t take it anymore. These boys lived in my neighborhood so I could easily walk home, so that’s what I did. I stormed inside crying and yelling for my mom, but she was with her friend, five or so houses down the street. My eyes instantly fell on a drawer filled with utensils like wooden spoons, spatulas, and knives. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, telling myself I wouldn’t do it. I would not turn to knives and sharp objects to cope with my feelings and emotions… But that’s exactly what I did; I grabbed the sharpest knife from that drawer and ran to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet lid, debating on whether I should permanently scar my body. That’s when all of the thoughts and memories flooded my brain.. All the times I was called names, all the times I felt worthless and all the times I thought the world would be better off without me… I took that knife I slid it against my wrist 4-5 times and countless times on my ankle… Something triggered in me that day, something that I would regret forever.. Skip a few months. I didn’t harm myself at all over those few months. Yes, I was still being called names by the two boys that had started the bullying from the beginning. The eldest one somewhat died down on the whole bullying thing, but the youngest kept on trying harder and harder. My mom soon found out, she checked my wrists, nothing. Skip about a year later. I didn’t self-harm at all. One of them moved and the other stopped bullying me. I thought the self-harm thing was just faze, but I was wrong… I started hating my body and was just always depressed.. I began cutting again more and more, but only my legs and or my stomach… I’m not proud of what I’ve been doing for several years now; I don’t just go around telling people either. I know I need help, but I just don’t simply want it. I know I should stop, but I cant.. It’s harder to stop then to begin. Everyone copes with their feelings differently… The way I cope with mine just happens to be one of the ways how many, many others cope with theirs… And I also do think about suicide all the time.
Have ever just felt worthless and hated by everyone?? It’s the worst feeling ever apart from heartbreak.. I’ve felt like no one wants me here.. I’m always sad and or angry at myself for no apparent reason.. Sometimes it’ll be because the way I laugh, or how i look when i smile.. Yeah Ik, those are idiotic reasons to be angry with yourself with. Or it was because some bully calling me names or telling me to do things, like telling me I should go kill myself.. I tried to kill myself before.. When my best friend told me i should do the world a favor and kill myself.. That was the first time I attempted suicide, but obviously failed. Im writing this because all of those feelings i felt in the past, I’m feeling now… Sad, angry, worthless, hated, depressed.. Everything.. I don’t know how to cope with them.. Except for self-injury.. I know I shouldn’t do that to myself so imma try and hold back on that..
You’re most likely wondering why I so boldly asked for you to read this post. Well, I did so because I have something to say that I believe will benefit you, no matter if this site applies to you or not.
I’ve had an unbelievable amount of personal experiences in my life that in reality could have shattered me from the start but instead, here I am writing this post. I’m not going to tell you that your life will automatically improve after this, or that you will immediately see a change, but what I hope that it will help you in some way shape or form. From an open-minded and accepting friend, I hope you will learn from my experiences as I have learned from others.
~I promise you that nothing I say below is untrue nor exaggerated~
My mother was (and still is) a huge administrator of emotional abuse. She made me and my sibling’s lives a living hell. When I was really little, she and my dad were always working and when they did come home, my dad would shout and stomp and my mom would shriek and scream. My dad was on some heavy medication (presently I believe they were prescription steroids and narcotics) for his back because of his 13 surgeries (he’s always had medical issues. It’s just the way his body works). We were afraid around my dad and around my mom, she would just complain and yell about my dad. They fought constantly and it became fairly normal.
That being said, my grandma raised us three alone for the most part. We lived in a nice house, but were constantly called spoiled brats because of it. People at school made me feel guilty for wearing nice clothes all the time. I didn’t care about those nice things though… (I came to want only to be loved, but that comes later). The three of us fought a lot and were yelled at, but that was a result of not being supervised enough.
Our grandfather was a religious nut who was kicked out of multiple churches for arguing with the pastor over the type of bible they used. He walked to the city every day just to hand out bible tracks. Every time he said goodbye, he would add “guess who loves you the most?” and after we would of course HAVE to say God, he would say “Yeah! That’s right!”. Every other religion was the devil’s religion. Nonreligious music and non-christian books were pagan. One time I wore a two piece swimsuit to his pool and he told me I wasn’t allowed to swim looking like a whore (I was in 5th grade).
Starting from first grade onward, as the oldest, I was the first to face the jaws of elementary school, where according to mom, I had to be the best in everything or there was no point to doing it and you were a failure. I was pressured to get A’s on everything and to be the best at sports and at music. I played soccer, basketball, and then softball where I settled and still play today. I only had one friend and she was my everything. We did everything together and shared everything. So while I whirled around in a sea of advanced papers, practice two times a week, games on weekends, and viola lessons each week, she stood by me. In third grade I secluded myself after we weren’t in the same class. I had no one and after getting glasses, my self confidence plummeted. The yelling became worse. The screaming, the degradation. I just wasn’t socially adaptable. Sorry mom. My recesses were better spent inside doing multiplication and reading the Twilight series anyways.
In fourth grade, I got contacts and started making more friends (a few acquaintances) and in fifth grade, my best friend was back. We weren’t as close, but we had a small group. I also found my first boyfriend, a tall handsome little boy with black hair who would send me “I kinda like you” letters which turned into “Goodnight I love you” texts in 6th grade. I still was socially awkward and had a hard time making friends, but it couldn’t be helped. My home stayed the same oppressive prison as always and my siblings were dragged down with it. My sister was even worse at making friends than I was, and my brother, little did I know yet, was turning into a rather rude and uncaring individual.
During the first year of middle school, I guess I sort of reverted back to my third grade days. I didn’t have a “true friend”, but I had my boyfriend… Who dumped me after the school dance. I cried, as all the heartbroken do, and got over it. So much for first loves.
Eighth grade was the year that completely changed everything. Immediately, I found myself whirled into an unlikely friend group of my current best friend who will never leave and is too amazing to explain (P), an almost-insane spunky girl (SE), an outrageously hilarious girl with a darker side (SA), and a smarter, more quiet, rational thinking girl (K). Together, we bonded over a private joke we created about a group of old ladies starring in our fictional movie “Rest in Pieces”, involving a murder, a clinically insane twin, and humor. We all had old lady names which we called each other. I was Petunia, P was Edith, SE was Gertrude, SA was Mildred, and K was Pearl. We were always together and always talked about things with each other. That year I also acquired a boyfriend (G). I was absolutely infatuated with him. He was tall, funny, strong, and cute (sorry to all of you readers who hate this sort of thing. You can skim it if you would like 😛 ). What drew me to him however, was how he always had people around him, yet hated the attention. His dad had just died the previous year and I wanted to help in whatever ways I could. He was my first serious boyfriend and at one point, though it sounds silly, I fell in love with him.
Funny thing is though, you only find out how much you love someone after they’re gone. SA flirted with him constantly and even though I told her to quit it three times, he broke up with me the Summer before high school started. On my birthday. First thing in the morning. Yeah… That wasn’t exactly my favorite birthday gift, seeing as he was my first kiss… I resented SA after that and when high school started, I didn’t talk to her. She knew it though and every morning while they were making out, I scooted right on past (and yes, they really did that and it was really that gross).
Things at home with my mom were coming to a boiling point. My dad was getting better as his last surgery had really helped him and finally he was back on his feet. He became happier and easier to talk to while my mom only screamed louder. She called me pathetic, lazy, stupid, ugly on the inside and out, fat, unbecoming, brat, *****, mute, rude, mean, idiot, nasty, ugly, arrogant, useless, antisocial, friendless, waste of talent, waste of money, hopeless, snotty, and other names. These were just the ones I had written down. At softball, which I played on year round on a travel team, I felt increasingly more pain every time I threw the ball. So much so that I was popping Advil like candy.
But at school, I fell for a boy with blond hair and misty green eyes in my history class. I still remember the day that he said he wanted to go to Japan and because I sat right next to him, I automatically piped in “really, me too!”. I just hoped he didn’t catch me staring at him too many times… But besides that, grade stress weighed down on me. I found out that high school wasn’t easy if you still want those A’s, and being in the gifted program only means you lose more sleep. Stress and anxiety did not help my arm pain and the situation back home.
Eventually, after multiple misdiagnosis’s, I finally found out that I had a torn ulnar collateral ligament and could ether get a Tommy John surgery, or never play softball again. Seeing as I had already invested so much time into the sport, I decided to get the surgery. On January 12th of 2015, I woke up from a successful surgery, but with 3 little ugly scars, one gruesome big winding scar, and a hulking cast. I partially blamed my mom for the surgery seeing as every time I told her it hurt, she wrote it off as an excuse and sent me back out on the field to damage it some more. Over that post-operation period, none of my friends contacted me (except for P who asked once how I was doing).
I went in a few days later to take my finals which I had missed. I took my algebra 2 and honors history finals while on narcotics and ended with A’s which I was happy with. But when I was permanently back, things started to turn around for the boy with blond hair and I (J). We began to talk and I fell for him more and more (sorry readers who don’t like sappy romance, but he plays and important role!). Eventually he became my boyfriend and while G and SA made out in the open hallway, we sat at the end and just talked to each other. Sometimes he would even bring me breakfast and I would in return bring him some as well.
We talked about where we wanted to travel, about politics (rarely), about our favorite music (he liked country, I liked classical, alternative, and soundtracks), about TV (which mainly consisted of anime because I’m the biggest closet anime fan anyone will ever know… Inuyasha anyone?), and many other things. We were best friends who happened to really like each other and that like eventually turned into love. He was the first boy I ever let do more than kiss (disclaimer, we both kept everything below the waist on, I repeat, pants on people!). But I felt good about it, not ashamed. I did it because I trusted him.
When Summer came, we were both busy me with sports, him with camps and trips and such. When we did get together though, we did fun things. He took me to a wolf preserve and on my birthday, gave me pale lavender roses and a beautiful silver necklace that I treasured and took with me to Europe. Things were especially great when he came down to the beach with my family and one night I snuck into his room and we JUST laid together (nothing more… I just always wanted to fall asleep in a boy’s arms…) . Waking up early, I slipped back into the other room and to this day, I treasure that memory with all my heart.
But when 10th grade started up, we had no classes together. I found out that SA and G had broken up as well. She and I reconciled and our friends were whole again. Things quickly turned for the worst though, when I joined a new team with an abusive, loud, drill sergeant of a coach who made us do conditioning until we felt like we were going to vomit and made each of us cry at least one practice. I got a new viola teacher after outgrowing the other one, but he made me feel like I was doing everything wrong and wasn’t good enough… I didn’t practice for the months I was with him. 10th grade was even more work than 9th grade and I began to get anxiety attacks as things at home heated up again and again. So I broke up with J to save him from the burden of my life. I cried while doing it and after he hugged me, I knew I had made a mistake. I knew it but didn’t say anything. Instead, I cut my long hair and cried.
And cried. And cried. And had a panic attack. And cried. And then I learned that SA had been sexually abused by G and had attempted to end her life. She cut her wrists frequently and had tried to jump off of a roof. As messed up as I was, I tried to help her all that I could. We became close and bonded over our love of Studio Ghibli and view of life. I had somehow prolonged her life and in doing so, mine as well.
In February of 2016, I went to J and asked for him back only for him to say no. He said it would be best if we remained friends. Immediately after that I learned that he had gotten a new girlfriend, a girl a year older than him who in all unbiased honesty, was not as pretty, not athletic, not as smart, and just not prominent in any way besides the fact that she played the same instrument as him (which is percussion…).
A little before that, my sister declared that she didn’t want to be a girl and she didn’t really want to be a boy, but a boy was better than being a girl; She was transgender. My dad and I were quick to accept and support her while my mother constantly fought and yelled at her. To this day she still yells. And we’re seeking help as much as we can for my sister through therapy and support groups. My sister’s a lot happier than before, but all of her progress gets pushed back by my mother.
Not being able to deal with the stress of life, I took to cutting. I cut off the safeguards of a daisy razor blade and slid it across my wrists. It actually didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. But the next day I was so ashamed of what i had done. I partially covered it with bracelets and hoped no one would question it (which they didn’t much to my relief). I eventually even contemplated a means to an end. SA found out though and she told me not to. She pleaded with me and recently, I decided to quit all of it. Boys aren’t worth it, mothers aren’t worth it, no one is worth that kind of pain. If J would settle for someone like that, then hell, I’m sure there’s a prince for me out there somewhere 🙂 And though my mother still yells, I now have the support of the rest of my family and look towards the days when I will leave this house of unforgiveness and pave my own path in the world. One full of acceptance and kindness towards those who need it most.
I learned that living is one hell of a struggle. But without those hardships, I wouldn’t be able to appreciate the good in life as I do now. I wouldn’t be able to understand others like my sister and SA. Wouldn’t be able to interact and connect with others as I can now. Some can’t push through those adversities though, and I’ve learned that that’s why people need to stop with all of the fronts, all of the acts. Stop being selfish and materialistic and start caring about others. We’re all just people. No one is any better than anyone else, and everyone has their own purpose. I am a firm believer in this. I myself am not perfect, but it’s those imperfections that push me forward.
If you’re still here and lasted to the end of that long speech, I applaud you and hope that my story can help you with your own.
Here’s SA’s own website for additional story insight: https://diffidentdaydreamssite.wordpress.com/
Here’s my email as well if you ever wanted to ask questions privately or just need a friend to talk to: email@example.com
Thank you, and I wish you all good luck in your journey.
Welp today is my Birthday, also the day that very long ago I planned to kill myself on…. So far only about 3 hours in and it’s not going very well. I feel like I’m breaking a promise to myself if I don’t at least try, but I know it’s not an ideal time to do so. My father is dealing with a lot of things right now, and he doesn’t need to deal with this, also I can’t guarantee that my cat would be okay either. So I won’t. I can’t even sleep anymore, and probably won’t for most of today either. I slept for like 18 hours yesterday, I’m no longer tired. I was surprised I slept for so long. Had so many dreams about killing myself though, more than normal, I think they all were actually. Guess it’s a topic occupying a lot of my mind right now. On the other hand, yesterday I spent a little bit of time drawing, I suck at it now. Wish I had kept up on that skill…… I guess it was kind of nice though, although very frustrating. I haven’t cut myself for a few weeks now, I probably will soon…… I miss it, I want more scars I deserve to feel pain I deserve to be disfigured. I want to cut deep into my face, I want to burn it too, I want to scar it so I can never pretend to be like other people again. That may be my Birthday gift to myself. Grrrr I have to go see family today too (they for some reason insist upon it) and that’s late afternoon, I’ll probably be tired by then…… and I’m almost out of gas and buses are nowhere close so I have to drive. I have like $5 for gas which is more than enough, but it’s all in change, it is going to be so uncomfortable paying for gas in change, the person is going to hate me…… and by change I don’t mean all quarters either, it’s an assortment of every coin, 60 of which are pennies (as you can see I’m from the united states in north america -_- ) so that should be fun. But at least they will feed me, I haven’t really been eating that much, mostly because I don’t want to wash dishes, which makes it kind of hard to prepare food…. but that’s probably for the best since there is very little food left anyway. But eating a little bit of warm food should be nice, it’s a barbecue so I sort of hope that means burgers will be an item that’s made…… Wow this got sort of ranty, I think I’m going to take a quick shower. wow now I’m also starting to worry about the things for school that I need to buy too…. I wish I was a real person, or dead, either would work for me.