Before I begin my story, I want to make sure the readers know that what I am about to tell was the hardest and scariest time of my life and should be taken seriously. I don't want your sympathy, but an understanding of my life and others because I know that there are hundreds of kids going through what I went through but they weren't brave enough to get the help like I did.
The sweat is pouring off my face . . . I'm shaking . . . I cant stop myself from shaking . . .all these thoughts are racing through my head . . . some of them which I wish I can some how just stop. No one knows about this, it's my "secret". No one knows that this is what I go through every day of my life no matter where I am or who I am with. No one knows that I am scared. Everyone thinks that I am the happiest girl alive and not scared of anything and that I have no problems. Well, they are wrong. Wait until they see me after I did what I do -- after I take away the pain.
I move the blade closer to my ankle. "Why do I have to live like this? Why
can't I live like everyone else and be happy?" So many questions and thoughts race through my mind. The tears are building up. I try to control them. I try not to cry, but I can’t hold it in. I have to let it out. I have to cry.
I take the blade off my ankle and I just look at it for a second. I stop and I think about what I am going through. I am so sick. Every day I am in pain. Every night I cry myself asleep because so far my life has nothing else but doctors and hospitals. There’s so much wrong physically with me, let alone mentally. I am so sick of being sick. I want to live a normal teen life. I want to be able to join sports, go out with my friends, but I know the reality is that I can’t and I won’t be able to, not until I get healthy. The question I ask myself is: Will life ever get better? Besides my health issues, my family life is going down hill. The fighting is always going on. I feel so alone in my house. Again I feel scared. I am scared to say the wrong thing because it might start a fight. I hate the fighting. I want to scream out, “Why can’t we all get along? Isn't that what a normal family is suppose to do?”
But then I think to myself, we are not normal, I am not normal. I am different from everyone else. In school I am different. I talk weird -- everyone says I stutter. The kids laugh and make fun of me. I try to ignore them. I think that they aren't any better than me. They are just jealous of me. I am not popular, the boys don't like me. I don't like going to school. I feel so alone there, too. Again I am scared. I only have a few friends and sometimes I wonder if they are even my true friends. My best friends are my books and the blades that I use to cut my self. I want to tell everyone my secret? Maybe they will understand me more. I want to show them the pain and the scars. But then, they might think I am crazy and be afraid of me.
I start to cry more. I want more than in the whole world to be "normal" I want to talk "normal," I want to feel "normal." I bring myself back to reality. I don't want to think about these things anymore.
I slide the blade up and down my ankle. At first it just gets red and then swells up and then I press harder. I don't feel any of this . . . it feels like I am in a cloud . . . everything around me is gone. Soon it starts to bleed . . . seeing the blood makes me happy . . . it is like all the pain is going away, escaping from my body. After I do it I stare at it and I start hysterical crying.
I live in my own world. I am so alone. My secret has been with me for almost a year now -- I have been cutting for almost a year. Just think about that. No one noticing that I am severely depressed and that I would much rather sit in my room all day and cry and cut then be out in this terrible world and feel so alone and worth nothing. That's exactly how I feel, I feel like I was a mistake to put on this earth, that I am so hopeless I cant do anything. For crying out loud I cant even swim. I look at my self in the mirror. How can someone be so ugly? How can God do this to such an innocent child? The nights and the days grow to be so long school seems like its getting
longer and longer every day. I hate the mornings and the afternoons. I long for the nights. I long to be alone in my room. I want to be alone, where no one knows and no one will bother me.
My mom asks me what is wrong and why I don't go out. I tell her I don't feel good and she actually believes me. I get mad at her. I get mad at her for not noticing that I am crying out that I am so depressed. I get mad at her for not getting worried. I get mad at myself for living like this. I bang my head on my wall. I think to myself maybe if I hit it enough times maybe I will black out and die. I think that I would never be so lucky to leave this earth. God doesn't understand my pain -- he wants me to live, he doesn't want me to leave. I ask him why? Why must I stay? I only bring trouble and harm? My parents fight every night everyday about me and about what to do. I am so sick they are so sick of me being sick I tell them to get rid of me. I tell them that I don't deserve them that they will do better without me. They look at me and tell me that they love me. I don't believe them. I don't see how you can love someone like me. What is there to love?
I'm at counseling right now. I don't mind being here. My counselor understands me. She doesn't know about my "secret." I want to tell her, I want to cry to her. She looks at me. I think she knows. I think that she sees I am in pain. She asked me what's wrong. I look her in the eyes. I can’t lie to her -- she's too nice, she's been through too much with me. I break down. I start hysterical crying. I start shaking. I tell her everything. I tell her how it started and why I did it and everything. I tell her that school is horrible and that I feel so lost there and the teachers hate me and they all think so low of me. I tell her that I am so sick and that I have no life. I tell her about mommy and daddy fighting. I tell her how I feel so low about my self and I feel like I shouldn't live. I tell her that I cut to be happy. She just continues to stare at me, not saying a word. For some reason I am happy she is not talking. I am happy that she is just listening. I feel like she understands me. I feel like she wont judge me.
She tells my dad, my dad goes home and tells my mom. My mom cries. I cry. I hate my self for making my mom cry. I hate my self for scaring my mom. I hate myself for living like I do. I cut twice that night. I go crazy. I go into the medicine cabinet and take all the medications that are in there. I feel funny, I feel like the world is spinning. I go lay down in my bed. I fall asleep. I don't wake up until that afternoon. My mom is shaking me to get up. I can feel that she is afraid. She is scared. She asks me what I did. I tell her.
She brings me to this place where everyone knows everything. I feel so low. I don't feel worthy. I want to go to a corner and cry. I stay at this place all day. They teach me here there are other kids who are going through what I am going through. I am not alone. I realize it is common what I am going through. I talk. I tell my story. I tell everything, I don't keep anything in. No one judges me, no one laughs at me, they understand, they help me, they tell me advice. I love this place. I don't want to leave. My mom tells me I have to come here for a couple months. I am happy. I like it. I don't cut that night -- that's the 1st time I didn't cut in like 5 months. I don't feel sad, I don't feel alone. I go home and I go to sleep. But I go to sleep because I am tired, not because I am depressed.
I continue going to this place every morning. I don't cut. I haven't cut in like 4 months. They tell me I am better, they tell me that I can leave and that I can go back to school. I want to go back to school. I want to see everyone. I want to show everyone how much better I am. I want to show the teachers that I am not stupid and tell them all I went through. I want to tell them why I always went to the nurse -- it was because I needed somewhere safe. I want to tell them that I saw the dirty looks they gave me and the side comments they used to make. I want to tell them that it just made me worse and to know for next time. I still cry a lot but they tell me crying is normal and everyone cries and that I shouldn't be scared to cry. I believe them.
It's been 6 months now and I am doing a lot better. Sometimes I cut -- I cant say I totally stopped, but I am able to deal with the world around me a lot better. I sometimes feel as if I'm nothing, but my friends and family members help me to change that.
This story was written from my heart so there might be some things that I went on about, but that was just because that's how I feel. To the readers, I hope you have learned from my story. I hope you look at the world differently and be happy for who you are and what you have. And even though you might think life gets tough sometimes, don't ever give up, but keep your head held high.