Hey everyone. So this is my special update. I asked Saffron if I could take this day and post instead of on our usual Saturday. :3 Why you might be asking? Today is a very important day to me. This is the first time I'm going to say ANY of the following so please bear with my repetitiveness. (Also it's super long. ;-;) Please don't read if it will bother you. It's not graphic but i don't want people to hurt because of me.
This account is nomorescars, we all know why this book itself exists. To tell our stories. So I'm going to start telling mine.
I've never had a good relationship with my actual dad. He was an alcoholic and growing up, very emotionally abusive. My parents divorced the day before my 12th birthday and i don't know what happened the next couple years. Fast forward to ninth grade.
I had been having health problems - severe pain and being unable to move - when school started. I was sick the first 2 weeks of school and barely went. Early September, I was at my dad's. He had always made me hate myself and maybe I do have "daddy issues" because of how terrible emotional and mental abuse became. I remember once when i got one cookie - one and he looked at me and said "you don't need that." I cried for 2 days. I stopped eating. I lost interest. This whole time the pain continued. My two best friends left me because they said I was withdrawing and they hated me.
I was alone. All I had was Wattpad and slowly my friends here hated me too. Everything was building and bundling and it kept on for months. It was sometime early spring when i remember the first time i hated myself enough to want the pain to stop. I wasn't in control of my life, I could barely even tie my shoes. I was failing classes (me being a straight a student until then) when I had only had one B in my life. My friends hated me. Everything just went downhill.
I cried myself to sleep every night. I hated who I was. My voice, my smile, my laugh. I don't know what changed but one minute I woke up and the world was darker. I don't even remember the first time it happened fully. It was towards the end of the school year, probably about this time.
I'd never heard of anyone doing this, i didn't know about depression, about anxiety. I craved control. I needed the pain gone. I couldn't handle the pain inside, why should I not make it on the outside? At least then I could stop it. Soon it was a habit.
I'm not the one walking around in long clothes and teary eyes. I'm the one who had the smile on my face and wore shorts when the weather was nice. Why? Where was all the pain I thought I deserved? The least obvious places of course.
At the very top of my right thigh, I still have scars. Small ones, but I cry every time I see them. It's a reminder. I also have one other place i feel like I'd get severe hate for. Stand up. Look straight down. I didn't walk outside in sandals without feeling like i was going to have a heart attack. I have one bruise on my wrist, a small permanent one I hide with bracelets because I can't look at it. But the biggest scars? They're INSIDE.
My life fell apart. My doctors didn't believe I was sick, I still didn't have friends, I was still failing, and I couldn't do it anymore. It was 5 months before I pulled out the little inconspicuous container. The one that hid the only control I had. Here it went again. And again.
I stopped eating at one point. I stopped drinking. All I did was sleep. One day, I googled my symptoms. An article titled "DEPRESSION" came up. I read on and on and I think that's when I realized I has an actual problem. I still didn't understand the self harm. I didn't even know what to call it.
Last June? I cut the tip of my finger off. How? Using my knife to take apart razors of course. It was all I could do not to be that person again. I cried all the time. Then I was told I was sick. That I wouldn't get better, it couldn't be cured. I was chronically ill. My mom still thinks I reached in my backpack and caught my knife when it was open.
I had a friend finally, she told me about how she had depression and anxiety and she got angry when she thought I was acting like i understood. She still doesn't realize I did.
(This is all over the place. But i have a lot more I'm so sorry.)
This January I snapped. Suddenly I didn't even want to breathe. I was having anxiety attacks 3 times a day at school (i still do) and I could barely get out of bed. I wasn't eating, I wasn't sleeping, I was barely living. One severe anxiety attacked caused me to tell my mom that I needed to see my old counselor I had seen when her and my dad divorced. I hated things hurting, people hurting.
I came home in tears every day. The kids on the bus called me all kinds of names. I know it seems stupid, but I may act like things don't hurt - they do. I'm sensitive okay.
The container of memories went everywhere. I found out at age 12 I was diagnosed and seen for depression. Though I didn't know at the time. I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression. My counselor told me I had no reason to hate my life, to hate school. She made it worse. I felt invalid.
All I've thought about for 6 months has been not existing. No, i don't mean dying - just simply not existing. About a month ago, i would sit on my bed with my knife in hand just needing something sharp and run my finger over the tip lightly (it never broke skin) and it reminded me of the reasons i couldn't do this.
I don't want to live anymore. I see no future for myself. No one will ever stay. I'm not good enough. Everyone thinks I'm getting better. My new counselor I just got thinks all my problems are linked to school. She doesn't know that my worst anxiety attacks and depressive moments happen at home. None of them know about the scars.
For the last week? I've fought reaching for them.
I didn't think I'd make it this far.
365 days.
Granted I barely made it through this last week without *cough anxiety fk cough help i don't want to say this* cutting. It's that pain inside building up, the hatred, the anger, the fear. I feel almost numb. I burst out crying at random times and my medicine doesn't help. I hate myself. I feel my fingers itching, almost as if they need the feel of the metal in my hands. I have flash moments of seeing it.
Do you want to know the ONLY reason i haven't? So i could say i did it. So i don't have to be who i was. I know this is all pointless and if you've made it this far you're probably annoyed. But I'm so tired and i can't think to fully type out things the way I wanted.
Guys. It's not the answer. Ever. Please. Please. One Year. Now i need to make it another. This. This is proof. I left out so much to avoid telling my life story, but i know it's still long. F. My anxiety, I'm actually crying right now and i can't breathe. Please don't hate me.
This is it. Proof that it is possible. You can beat this. I'm always here any time anyone needs me i mean it.
- this sucks I'm sorry but i can't stay awake anymore,
Caity
