Dear Diary: How To Unsuck Life?

therapy

I started therapy in march 2023. For 8 months before that I was really not doing good mentally. School was stressing me out, my high-achieving older sister ass was always anxious about failing and I was struggling to express myself and figure out how I felt. I only felt anger or sadness or nothing at all. Since when I was young I learnt to suppress my emotions. It was the best way to go about life and not have to deal with any negative emotions. I mean there still were some, like deception or superficial sadness but the real things were deep down. I escaped through studying and achieving. I was never a social person so going out was not really an option. I just stayed at home and study, or read.
New things overwhelm me. So coming to a new school and having to share a room with a person were hard for me. Especially the dorm. I need time for myself. I need silence after socializing. And having a roommate, I cant have that. And that really disrupts my life.
To deal with the stress, I started selfharming. At first, it was out of curiosity. I saw my old roommate once doing it, and I felt like I am missing out on something. Not missing out, but it is hard to put it into words. So, I tried it. I vividly remember it was at 1 am when I took out my little pocket knife that I always keep in my nightstand. And I made a cut on my left arm, the inner part of it. It was euphoric. All my worries went away for that 1 second and the following 10 while the pain spread through my body. I felt like I was actually myself, not just the Cara I have formed to manage the outside world. I was myself. I was with myself. I was spending time being myself and feeling euphoric. At that moment I did not think about how deep it was, wether or not it would leave scars. Then it went away..... I wanted to feel it again. So after a few minutes I did it again. And again. And again. It was the best feeling in the world. After the urge stopped, I felt guilty. Like I had done something that was sinful. I felt dirty. I was disgusted of myself forgetting how relieving it was. I started to worry about how I would cover it up at school. But I managed it. I told myself that if anyone would notice, I would stop and never start again. But noone did. I made a promise to myself, and didnt break it. As noone noticed, it felt like I had gotten the pass to continue doing it. And it became a habit... First thing in the morning. Last thing before going to bed. Many times, I would wait for my roommate to fall asleep at 2 am and do it just to then pass out from fatigue. Then, I started doing it at school. During the 10 minute breaks I would go to the toilet. Then in lunchbreak. Then when the classes got too stressful I would just ask to go to the toilet. I didnt need to pee. I just needed the stress to go away. In january it got so bad that I would do it 5 times a day. I had little blades hidden in my phonecase, my pencilcase, the pockets of my clothes and even wrapped carefully in my bra for emergency. I went from my arms to my thighs as it was less apparent and the pain would be greater. Looking back, it was really fucked up. Tho, sometimes I still get the urge. But I have been sober for about 5 months now. I hid it very well, for 4 months noone knew about my 'guilty pleasure'. That was what I called it. Or just a method to unwind. I never did it for attention and would do everything that nobody noticed.
When my parents found out, I was doing my hair preparing to go to an award ceremony. I had just gotten first place in a national french writing competition. I was alone in the bathroom but as the doors dont lock and our appartment is small, anyone can come in just under a second. My sleeves were up so that I wouldnt sweat them and my dad came in. I had no time to react. Then I heard whispering and my mum came in angry. I knew she was rather scared but it still came off as furious. I didnt eat the whole day and felt like shit. I didnt want to go home and it was hard to force a smile on my face for the award photos. At home, we had a long late night talk with my mom. Thats when she sent me to her friend who is a psychologist. They advised me to write down what my problems were and I did. It felt like a command. You know they say that you say many things in english because if you say it in your native one than that actually hits deeper. Well, my list kinda was like that. It had 17 different points, and the ones I found the worst were in english. I assumed she didnt know english. Psychologist never do. The one thing I didnt realise was this: the medical term for wanting to kill yourself and trying is basically the same in every language:suicidal. And of course, even though it was in English and I was correct she didnt speak it, she recognized the word. She asked me how serious it was and I thought I had nothing to loose if I was half gone, I told her all about it. What I thought were just bits of information, just little thoughts were actually really alarming. She didnt let me go and called my mum then the psychiatry in our town.
I spent the next day in the clinic taking depression tests and talking with different doctors and psychologists. That was the day my world crumbled. I couldnt hold up anymore the act of being the perfect smart daughter. I had issues and I had to admit it to myself. I didnt cry. I never do. Only when I have a panic attack or when I am very upset. After making appointments with my new psychologist I lead them to believe that they can let me go and I wouldnt do anything to myself. And I was free. Free do my plans:)
To be continued