My name is Willamere Thompson, but my friends call me Willa. I started cutting when I was fifteen years old. At the time, I was suffering from depression. Anyone on the outside looking in would have said I had a pretty great life. I had lots of friends, and I was the lead in our school's musical. Some would say I was even popular. But Blair didn't care. Blair is what I named my depression when I was thirteen. My therapist told me it would help my self esteem if I didn't blame my feelings on myself, if I could realize that I wasn't in control of my own brain when I had a depressive episode. So, I characterized my feelings into a completely different person.
Technically, I don't just have depression. I have a depressive disorder, an anxiety disorder, OCD, PTSD, and what my therapist calls "a touch of autism."
My PTSD is from a car crash I was in when I was five. No one died or anything, I can't even remember it. But ever since then I've had symptoms of PTSD, and when my therapist found out about this, she grilled my mom on anything that could have possibly caused it. She finally decided on the car crash.
I tried to keep my mental condition as under wraps as possible. I told my two best friends, and they understood. But no one else knew. Until I met him.
YOU ARE READING
SCARS
Short StoryWilla Thompson only looks normal on the outside. On the inside, she has anxiety, depression, OCD, PTSD, and what her therapist calls "a touch of autism." She started cutting because she wanted to feel human, but when she can't stop, she finds help f...
