My Journal Of Me And Other Things

6: My Depression

Shalom! Today we are going to be diving deep into a subject that I haven't talked about in ages. Today we are going to be talking about: my depression.

It started when I was in 5th grade and I started realizing that I wasn't finding boys attractive like "normal." When I was at school and somebody asked me who I liked, I would say a boy. But when I was at home, I would stay up late on my iPod, looking at pictures of this Disney XD actress from a show my brother watched. But I didn't know why I couldn't tell other people. I remember this one time when this girl in my class was talking about a cute boy from Nickelodeon, and she said to me, " How come you never talk about your TV crush? C'mon tell us his name!" I said she, but then quickly laughed and said, sorry-he. We just laughed about it. But when I got home that night I couldn't stop crying.

Fast forward about 4 weeks and my sister throws away her shaving razor, leaving me to find it in the trash can the next morning. I had the top bunk with my brother and we had 2 hours until mum came home, and about 1 until my sister did. I snuck the razor up into my bed, where I then hid it in a pillow that had a secret zipper, so you could open it up and put stuff in all the pockets. I grabbed band aids and antiseptic and smuggled that up there as well. That night was the first time I ever cut. From there, I stopped eating and dropped about 5 pounds off of my already tiny frame. However, that only lasted a few weeks until I realized what I was doing was wrong. By now, I was in 6 th grade.

My verbally and physically abusive mother only made matter worse as the scars multiplied on my legs.

One fateful day, I ran into the bathroom when I fit I got home. I grabbed a sheet of paper and began to write, a sheet of paper I still have today, a suicide note.

I was just about to do it, finish myself, feel the sweet release when my bff called me. We facetimed, and I didn't tell her what was about to happen. After seeing her face I couldn't do it. 

I still cut, my mothers words and actions still sting, I haven't stopped being lesbian.

My war have not been won. But I have won a battle.