Alright well I feel I should say this first: My life is not that horrible, yes bad things have happened to me but I am not living the worst life anyone could ever have, I realize this. I also would like to say that I am not telling this story because I am looking for attention. I am telling you about my life because I feel that others can benefit from the lessons I’ve learned throughout life, lessons I will never be able to learn from school. So if you’ve read through this then I hope you know that I am honestly here to help anyone who will ever need my help.

As a second thing: This ‘biography’ (of sorts) might be extremely triggering. Read this at your own risk.

Part I; 8th Grade:

When I was in 8th grade I really started to get extremely depressed. I went through the whole ‘emo’ phase, wearing black all the time, every day. During 8th grade I started to get thoughts about suicide, people dying, bad things that could possibly happen. I was not thinking good things (and I blame that on my anxiety/OCD). I eventually started to get to the point where I just couldn’t handle how depressed I was. I started to get extremely interested in cutting and self-harm; so much to the point where I started to read books on it (fictional), in which case I found the book “Cut” by Patricia McCormick (very good book by the way).

After reading through various books involving self-harm I just couldn’t get the idea of cutting out of my head. I began by scratching myself, not enough to draw blood but to feel on the edge of something dangerous (I was also extremely scared of cutting but still wanted to try it). As the days and weeks went by, I slowly became consumed by the idea of cutting. I started to take pins and scratch them across my wrist, or poke them into my skin, anything to feel the pain but not keep the scars. As time slowly passed I was completely drowning in the idea of cutting, I took a knife to my wrist. The first cut I made wasn’t that deep, it didn’t draw tons of blood, but it was the biggest mistake I have ever made. The feeling scared me, thrilled me, relaxed me, helped me cope, took away the pain and the pressure, it opened my world up to so many negative things and completely consumed me. I was addicted.

Part II; Freshman Year:

This was supposed to be a super exciting year. It was my first year of high school, I was going to meet so many new people of ages in a similar range. I was going to get more freedom, so many chances for so many things. But I never realized how much heartache could happen within a year.

As I said before, I started to realize that I have depression, but I never realized how severe. As freshman year started so did my diving season, and soon after, my gymnastics season. I had choir and band as classes (I was excited with this) and I was learning things that I never knew. I started to become friends with so many new people, it was great. I thought I was going in the right direction. But soon, classes became boring (seemingly useless), I saw the same people all the time and I slowly start to get sick of a few of them. The drama increased, the stress and pressure to be someone I wasn’t made a great impact on me and my self-esteem. I started to realize that the only way to get through each day was to put on a fake smile, not let people know that you are slowly breaking, cracking on the inside.

As the year progressed, April 21st rolled around. Now, this may not seem like an important date to some but this is one of the most important dates of my life. This day started out like any other. Get up, take a shower, get ready, eat, go to school, talk with friends, learn bullshit, go home. In the evening, though, I had two of my best friends over. They were sleeping over, we were laughing, having a good time. My one friend was talking to her boyfriend on my laptop (video chat), nothing big.

Then out of nowhere I heard a high pitch scream, not human like. My friend told her boyfriend she had to go, she closed my laptop as I ran over into the computer room. I looked on the floor as my mom screamed, clutching my dog. My dad was sitting in a chair talking to a person on the phone (it was a person from the animal hospital). I fell to my knees and started crying (and I hate to/never cry). My friends tried to comfort me but it felt like they were far away.

Soon afterwards, my parents took my dog to the animal hospital and I went upstairs. I locked myself in the bathroom and made two cuts on my wrist. When I came out of the bathroom my friends were there, I was holding my knife in one hand and was clutching toilet paper against my wrist, held up against my chest. My one friend (who couldn’t/didn’t understand cutting) was panicking, my other friend (who somewhat understood) was quiet. They took me to the bed, the one who understood was holding me from behind, the other freaking out and trying to see my wrist and I wouldn’t let her. I told them “I didn’t cut, I just wanted to feel the blade”. And then I asked my friend (the panicked one) to get me some water. When she left my other friend took my wrist off my chest and saw the blood. She sighed and got me more toilet paper. She didn’t say anything and I am so grateful. (On a side note: what I did surprised myself, the fact that I so easily let her see what I had done, how hurt I was).

Eventually I cleaned up and went downstairs to join my friends watching T.V. I acted like I was happy and told them that I’m trying not to be sad. Finally my dad came home and brought the three of us to the animal hospital. I was sitting on my friend (the understanding one) and trying not to cry. Everyone said their goodbyes to my dog (I loved her so much) and cried. I asked everyone if they could leave the room and shut the door. They complied and left me alone. I went over to my dog, laid my head on hers, closed my eyes, and let myself cry. I poured my heart out, telling her I loved her and to stay safe wherever she was.

As the days passed everything seemed so depressing. I went for runs (and I hate running) to stop myself from thinking so much. I would lay in my room balling. My parents would cry (and my dad never cries). Probably the most meaningful event during this time was when I walked into the computer room to see my dad in the chair crying. I walked over to him and sat on his lap. He said to me “her bowl is empty”. So I got up, grabbed the bowl and filled it with water, the other with food. He said “do you think she’s hungry?” and I said “I’m not sure”. Then I sat on his lap and cried with him. Another meaningful event was when I was in my room, crying to my friend on the phone and both my parents came in and cried with me.

Eventually over the days, I consecutively went to my counselor to cry because I didn’t want to cry in front of my friends.

As the days passed I was talking with my parents. I told them this: “For a long time I was really considering suicide, I’ve been really depressed. And even though I don’t believe in god, I still believe there’s something, and whatever that ‘something’ is, it was trying to show me how hurt my family members are by our dog dying. And that, if I were to die, it would make 1000 times more of an impact.” My dad said to me then: “if you died, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. Please never kill yourself.”

That meant so much.

Part III; Summer:

Towards the end of the school year, one of my best friends started to really like this guy (this is the girl that didn’t flip out on me over cutting after my dog died). She dated this guy for two months and then slowly started to become distant from him. At first, it was great. Me, her, her boyfriend and her boyfriend’s best friend would all hang out together. It was our little group. Two guys and two girls. Well, after she started to become distant from him she started to become distant from me too. There was even this one moment where my mom was all driving them home and she sat in the middle flirting and being all over her bf’s best friend while her bf sat in the car, head between his legs, crying. She eventually broke up with him (and by that time I had already started to like him and was talking to him every night over video chat). So I distanced myself from my friend and didn’t talk to her for months.

Over the summer, I started to get really close to both guys, but my friends’ ex more. I really started to like him and would talk to him all the time. For the first few months it was video chat, then that slowly turned into instant messaging. Over the next few months it became phone calls between me, him and his best friend. Every night we’d do a three-way call and if one of us couldn’t talk we were still on the phone.

Within the first month of summer this guy got me to do things I’d never dreamed of doing. And within the first two months, I had sex with him. I started to really fall in love with him and we said ‘I love you’ to each other all the time. But, we were never public with it. I had sex with him as often as I could over that summer.

Eventually, towards the end of summer he wasn’t calling me as often. We weren’t talking every day like we used to. Sometimes, even, he wouldn’t talk to me for weeks on end and I would freak out. I was panicking, thinking he hated me, that he wanted some other girl. And I’d freak out on him, which only made things worse but I was scared. I was in love with him and he didn’t seem to love me back.

During those moments (days, weeks, whatever) I was cutting heavily. I was destroying myself inside and out.

Part IV; Bits Of High School:

Each year of high school got better and better. Sure there were some ups and downs (as everyone has) but I was slowly doing better. I was starting to cut less after about March of my sophmore year and things felt like they were looking up.

There were complications with this of course. I still couldn’t getting the love of my life out of my head, I was still cutting for a while, I was more reclusive. I also went through a long, long rebound stage. I refused to go any further than kissing, although with a lot of boyfriends I had had, I didn’t even do that. I was jumping around from relationship to relationship, breaking hearts along the way because I wasn’t comfortable with myself or anyone else.

Sophmore and junior year really didn’t have too much extreme excitement. Nothing super bad.

But if there’s one thing I’m proud of, for a year and two months I did not cut (I relapsed for the last time January 1st, 2012) and, as hard as it was (and it was so difficult) I pushed through.

Part V; End Of Junior Year:

Towards the end of junior year I started to like this guy and he liked me. Granted, we only dated for a little over two weeks but I was doing much better with the rebounding than before, and the guy I was previously in love with was starting to, just very slightly, fade from my head. I was feeling stronger, more confident, more comfortable with myself. I felt like this guy was closer to what I was really trying to find as the “perfect” partner for me.

I broke it off with him because he wasn’t right for me, but he was the real kick-off to falling in love again (side note: I am still great friends with this guy and he has a beautiful girlfriend who is the sweetest thing ever).

TO BE CONTINUED…