Post by Deja (Admin) on Apr 8, 2016 3:58:17 GMT
The best way to go about explaining pain is to be blunt. Everyday, I battle depression and social anxiety. Often, I feel this overwhelming sense of inadequacy and this lack of motivation to live. This has been my life since the age of 13. Some may think that’s tragic. I just think its life.
My first suicide attempt was lucky. Lucky in the way that I didn’t die and my parents didn’t know about it. I shoved an obscene amount of pills down my throat and threw up everything in my stomach about an hour and a half later. My second suicide attempt was similar, except for the fact that the pills gave me stomach pains for over a week.
I remember being pulled out of class in 8th grade for a sentence I had written about suicide. I started crying with the counselor in the hallway and in her office and didn’t stop for an hour and a half. I told her about everything; My parent’s separation, family problems, bullying, my suicide attempt, etc. Instead of yelling at me like I thought she would, my mother brought home macadamia chocolates that afternoon and we cried together. It was the first time she had hugged me in months.
By my freshman year of high school, I had stopped going to therapy and started trying to improve my mental health on my own. My ex (and I say ex loosely) told complete strangers that I had been suicidal and had gone to therapy. From then on, I became known as the crazy psycho girl who needed help. Mental illness has such a negative stigma surrounding it and I often experienced it first hand while in high school.
While my depression has improved since my early high school years, I still feel empty and numb from time to time. I sometimes feel as if there is this large weight that is pulling me down to failure. Sometimes I can shake it and sometimes I can’t. It is an ongoing battle each day.
My first suicide attempt was lucky. Lucky in the way that I didn’t die and my parents didn’t know about it. I shoved an obscene amount of pills down my throat and threw up everything in my stomach about an hour and a half later. My second suicide attempt was similar, except for the fact that the pills gave me stomach pains for over a week.
I remember being pulled out of class in 8th grade for a sentence I had written about suicide. I started crying with the counselor in the hallway and in her office and didn’t stop for an hour and a half. I told her about everything; My parent’s separation, family problems, bullying, my suicide attempt, etc. Instead of yelling at me like I thought she would, my mother brought home macadamia chocolates that afternoon and we cried together. It was the first time she had hugged me in months.
By my freshman year of high school, I had stopped going to therapy and started trying to improve my mental health on my own. My ex (and I say ex loosely) told complete strangers that I had been suicidal and had gone to therapy. From then on, I became known as the crazy psycho girl who needed help. Mental illness has such a negative stigma surrounding it and I often experienced it first hand while in high school.
While my depression has improved since my early high school years, I still feel empty and numb from time to time. I sometimes feel as if there is this large weight that is pulling me down to failure. Sometimes I can shake it and sometimes I can’t. It is an ongoing battle each day.
