Love, hate, depression, sadness

My story

This might be a little different from what it normally is. Today I'm going to open up a little bit, about my life.

Straight out, I was diagnosed with severe depression when I was 8 years old, I started self-harming when I was 12 and then when I was 13, I got diagnosed with anxiety. It's not really easy to be honest. It's caring a lot about something but at the same time not caring at all and sometimes it's so overwhelming and it hurts me so much that I have the urge to cut my wrist. I don't even know why I started with this. First, I thought, maybe now they will stop bullying me, but then it became more like, what if they saw my arms.

I never had it easy, I know there are people who had harder life than me but I'm not so strong. My parents got divorced when I was 7 and my mom made it clear that my older brother was her favorite child. I was the one who was responsible for the divorce, I was the one responsible for the fact that she was cheated on. And you know why? Apparently, my father always wanted a girl, a daughter, but not a fat one, not an ugly one. This is what started the whole thing.

My school life wasn't much better, I started to get bullied few months after my parents got divorced. Being the only fat girl in the class and a village girl in a city, deadly combination let me tell you that. One boy from my class started a rumor that I had HIV when I was 9. He told everyone if they touched me, they'll have HIV too. Nobody dared to touch me, my friends stopped talking to me and I had no one to talk to. Then a couple of boys invited me to spend some time with them and I fell head over heels for one of them, let's call him Mike. Me and Mike were both youngest siblings at that time, I was only 8 days older than him and it just felt right, we planned our future together, what car would we drive, how many kids would we have, where would we live and what jobs would we do. I was madly in love with this boy, he made me laugh and I felt so good with him around.

When I was 12 nearly 13 Mike had to change schools. Which meant I wouldn't see him anymore and that scared me. I cried the whole day, and nobody knew how to help me because I never told anyone how I felt about him, he was the only one that knew I loved him. I took a pin out of corkboard we hard in class and started to scratch my arm with it, I don't even know why it just felt right and I did it only when he wasn't looking. We had cats at home so that was my story prepared for my mom, but she never asked and never cared. The Monday after my hart got broken, I spent the whole day dragging the pin down my arms, we weren't allowed to have phones in school, so I took mine out and started my research. I looked at all the pictures online. CUTTING, SELF-HARM... I was fascinated. Don't get me wrong I was really scared to try it, but something attracted me to the whole thing. I started to get anonymously bullied on the Internet by my classmates (don't ask how I found out it was them) and I couldn't bare it anymore. I took one of my mom's unused razors, broke it and then I drew a line on my wrist. It wasn't really deep, but it was enough to feel the pain and see the blood. That was the time I fell in love again. I was so proud that this might make my classmates realize what they did, I wore a short-sleeved shirt to school the next day, but I froze. What if they think I'm crazy? I went to a store and bought first bracelet that I saw.

This was me through out my teenage years, cutting and then wearing long-sleeved shirts even though I hated them or wearing bracelets and watches. Sometimes people saw, but only those that knew me that well. When my parents found out they said I don't need help, special help I just needed to put my shit together and continue with my life as if nothing ever happened. Never say that to your kids!!! If you see them changing their behavior even slightly, ask them if they're okay. I never cared for music, I only liked listening to it, then I asked for a guitar so I could play sad songs for myself. I was never patient to draw or paint and that is something that has become my biggest get away from people. I never though I'd like English, yet here I am writing an essay about my shitty life in a language that I took because I had to. I find it fascinating that I can talk about my feelings in English so easily but it's hard to do in my own language. My parents never questioned my behavior, and we lived like that for a few years and, than my mom found my diary. That's how they found out, but they never did anything and after few weeks they forgot what was happening. Like it never happened.

Now I'm here. 21, living with my father because I'm still studying, having the smallest room in the house so I kind of feel like Harry Potter. I have blades and surgical blades all over my room. In fact, I'm looking at one right now. I know I need help but what would it do after all those years? I don't need people telling I'm sick, I don't need people judging me for what I did and secretly thinking how pathetic I am. Why is it always easier to tell strangers how you feel and what you're going through than your own family and friends?

Anyway, thank you for sticking here up until now. Thank you for reading my story. If you're going through something similar just send me a message and I'll try to help you. Don't be afraid to tell your story, you have a voice so use it to make this world a better place. Try to spot any difference in the behavior of your loved once, your family and friends. One simple hug can help someone through out the day. If you see that someone is not okay, hug them, tell them that you see that something's up and you'll be waiting for them to be comfortable enough to share their story with you. Be patient, spread love and don't forget to treat people with kindness.