book about my insanity

my story

Trigger Warning
If you are not comfortable reading about depression, cutting, or suicide, I do not recommend reading this.

My experience with depression has never been something I hid, but it's also never been something I've openly spoken about.

That's changing now.

My story begins in seventh grade when I was twelve. At the beginning of the year, I was growing into a teenager as most twelve year-olds do. I developed my own sense of style that were usually skinny jeans, blouses, and occasionally an age appropriate dress.

At this time my life seemed perfect. I was taking violin lessons and excelling in those, I had several best friends, I joined band and was doing well as a tuba player. Everything seemed to be okay.

But then I befriended a girl.

To this day, this girl is known for antics of "cutting" and "depression," but I know it's all an act; I know it's just her way of getting attention.

But I didn't recognize that until midway through the year.

Because now I know if you cut, wear shorts by your own choice, then cry about it, that isn't genuine anguish.

I befriended this girl because she was the only person I was remotely "friends" with in a class. I sat by her everyday, and talked to her. Every day she would show me her cuts, whether they were on her arms, legs, or stomach. Her words cut deep in me: "I'm so fat" "I'm so ugly" "I need to lose weight" "I'm worthless" "I should just die."

It all stabbed me like needles that were attempting to get under my skin.

The sad part is, I didn't fight it. I was too weak to fight.

When I finally started to understand the truth of depression and the sorrow behind my insecurities, I finally realized how fake this girl was. I no longer was her friend, but the wounds still remained.

One Wednesday afternoon before my family was leaving for church, I got off of the bus and walked into my room. I knew somewhere in my bathroom was an old razor, so I grabbed a pair of scissors and took the razor, cutting it apart until the blades were held between my thumb and forefinger.

I'll spare the details of this gruesome chapter of my story.

By the time I set the blade down on my desk, both of my arms were covered in cuts from the bend of my elbow to my wrist. I didn't know it then, but I was so close to slicing my veins. Because of this, I nearly lost my life at age twelve.

It wasn't pretty, right?

Later that night, my family met at my local Mexican restaurant for dinner before church. I remember sitting there, forcing a smile, pretending everything was okay. I said I wasn't hungry; that I'd eat the chips and salsa they offered us and that'd be it. I didn't eat at all.

Thus begins the next chapter of my story.

Every day I was obsessed with my weight. I would skip breakfast in the mornings and head directly to school, drinking only green tea until lunch. I knew starving myself wasn't the solution to losing weight, so I still ate very small portions. Every day at lunch, I would eat only an apple and drink an entire bottle of water. Sometimes, I'd reward myself with a few baby carrots, but it was never anything more.