Yeah those rumors. When I look back now it seems so unnecessary to even care about haters who want to hurt you. It really doesn't matter but back then it hurted so much. I didn't want to live. So I started cutting. It was my own way of blocking out my destroyed mind. I thought that if I hurted myself physically it would stop to hurt my inside. But guess what. It didn't help. It was just a short relief. Every time the blood was dripping from my razor blades as well as from my arms and legs I felt alive. I felt pain. I felt anything at all. That was better than the usual numbness.
In school I wasn't speaking to anybody. I became a fulltime outcast. My mind traveled to places where there was no pain, no people that desperately wanted to hurt you. My grades got bad but I didn't mind. My teacher asked what was up, I told them I'm ok. I told everyone who asked that I was fine. I mean there were only three or four people who asked but I lied to them. Just like I lied to myself. I always used to tell myself that I was ok.
Another thing that went down was my sleeping habit. I wasn't able to sleep. I laid awake the whole night, afraid to fall asleep because I exactly knew what was waiting there. Nightmares. Bad dreams of all the bad things that happened to me on my bad days. Daytime I could afford enough energy to block out the demons. But they were ruthless. Came creeping around. Brrruh just thinking about this made me feel sick.
So I could only go to sleep by swallowing sleeping pills. They made me feel even more numb than usual. But a good kind of numb. A dizzy state of just feeling to lazy and tired for doing anything but it was a sweet state of not feeling anything. And it made me able to drift of to a complete calm and dreamless sleep. I took at least six of them every afternoon until I went to sleep and I swear when I got 16 I was completely addicted to them. As well as I was addicted to smoking. I didn't even remember how that started but I always saw those Instagram pics of those "Yolo" kids smoking cigarettes so I tried it and it also did calm me down. When I inhaled the warm fume, I always thought of my lung getting darker and darker and finally stop working. And this thinking of my death made ma calm. I was always too much of a coward to really kill myself by taking pills or rip my artery but I tried everything else to kill me passively. I tried sleeping pills, smoking, drinking, cutting. I even lost a lot of weight because I refused to eat. I would have vomited anyway.
And yeah this feeling of darkness kept going on and on until I finished my sixteenth year of my life. I can't even remember complete month because I was either to drunk or to dizzy to do anything. But then -shortly before my 17th birthday- my parents sent me to a therapy. It was never the fault of my parents and they really tried their best to help me, my complete family tried to get me out of my ruined mind. But none of them was able to do that. Not even my little bunny.
I can remember my parents reading every guidebook of how to deal with a depressive child. They phoned so many hotlines and they took me to see so many doctors. They literally did everything possible and so did my whole familiy. Now I appreciate all their love and support and I really am the most grateful for having such an amazing family but I couldn't handle that back then. I was in to deep. They shouted at me and even my dad started crying when I stumbled home drunk more and more often. But they couldn't help me out. So when there was no way left. They took me and all my things to a hospital ( I was drunk and had taken two sleep pills so I didn't wake up when they brought me there) where I should stay until I was "normal" again. I didn't try to escape or anything but I refused to hit a group talk and to tell a therapist all my secrets, I just wasn't ready yet.
