When I was about 10 I was just constantly sad, not to the point of constant tears but just glum. I had no energy for anything . My friend had moved to Queensland and I was alone in year 5 which is a big step at the school I went to. I found myself crying very easily and not being able to make up my mind. My anxiety got worse to the point where I wouldn't talk to anybody because I thought absolutely everyone was against me (you can pretty much thank my step dads mum for that). One day I was sitting the bathroom and I had scissors, my bath was running I saw the scissors I picked them up and well very slowly dragged them across my legs. They weren't very sharps and barely cut it. So in a mad rush I scavenged through the bathroom cupboard until I found an old razor and I took it apart. Not because I thought it was cool, in fact I didn't know was depression was let alone self-harm. There was more blood than I expected there would be lucky I had a towel on hand.
Eventually my technique was good. I would sit on a slight obtuse angle with a towel on my legs as high as I could push it and I would swipe against the top of my leg and lean forward pushing the towel forward. Swipe and Lean, swipe, swipe and lean (And everything makes sense to a certain reader)
I'm still cutting today. Not any less if anything more. I stopped at the start of the year (February12th-March 26th) because I was happy in a relationship which turned out to be fake. He didn't love me at all the entire time (you can imagine how that impacted my anxiety). Fuck Connor!
My bipolar has by far worsened this year. For some reason at around 5:00pm-6;00 pm every fucking single night I am super depressed, I'm so fucking anxious with everything, I can't make up my mind on anything and I cry at least 3 times in the period of that hour. My mum got worried around May and sent me to a mental home whose name I don't remember but its pretty much a girls camp. WOW next chapter will be crazy fucking memories of that place.
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