My inspiration...

About me

This part is a little bit about me and my situation.

I have been struggling with depression for quite some time. The only problem is, I've never been diagnosed. I've never been taken to a medical professional. And I've never received help. I am still depressed.

I really started to notice my depressive behaviors in 10th grade. I was always sad and very quiet. I didn't really talk that year and I made pretty bad grades. The feelings I would get began to fade as 2nd semester started, so I no longer thought it to be a problem. I was still depressed, but I didn't even notice. 11th grade was pretty decent. Now I am in 12th grade, "the greatest year of your life!" Let me tell you, that is BULLSHIT. More like the most stressful year of your life. But I've had many many factors play into my stress. I've had a lot happen this year that I never ever imagined would happen to me. And I assure they are not good things.

A few months into senior year, I began to self harm. It went on for a few months and I knew I needed help. I was a majorly different person than I had been during the summer.

I wanted to ask for help, but I was terrified. My mom constantly told me, "I know you're not depressed." Or "you can't be depressed" anytime I would bring up something remotely suggesting it, like mood swings and morbid thoughts. She believed that there couldn't possibly be anything wrong with me.

One day I had decided that I was going to ask for help and I did. I told my mom that I needed to see someone. She asked "why?" Then she proceeded to ask me questions about my thoughts and feelings. She asked me if I had ever thought about hurting my self and I looked down and said nothing. She asked me if I had and I started crying. She comforted me and told me she would get me help. That was months ago....she still hasn't gotten me help. And she treats me like shit.

I relapsed in November and harmed myself again. I went to see my boyfriend a few days after. His hand was placed on my stomach over my shirt. I was shaking and my anxiety was skyrocketing. I stopped and grabbed his hand. He asked me what was wrong with a very concerned look. I began to cry and I lifted up my shirt to show him the slices on my stomach. I couldn't physically tell him, it was too hard, so I showed him. He made me promise not to do it again and I agreed as I laid in his arms while he comforted me.

The next day, his mom told my mom. My boyfriend tells his mom almost everything, not expecting her to share and she normally doesn't. She just knew that I needed help, so she thought it best to tell my mom. My mom was furious with me. She was mad at me... Does she expect something like this to just go away?? She said "you were doing so good, I thought you were getting better." How am I supposed to get better if you do not get me help? That's not how it works. People don't just get better by telling someone or stopping self harm. Things like this don't just get better. I went to her for help and she didn't get it for me and then she just expected me to get better?

My choice of a blade was a shaving razor. She confiscated them. I have to ask her to use them if I need to shave. One time I asked for one and she asked me "can I trust you with it." Another time she said, "make sure you don't cut yourself with it." I felt these were very disrespectful remarks and they were rather irritating.

Anyway, I still go without help. My mother always says she'll get it for me, but never does. It's so bad that I have to make a plan with my boyfriend's mom and my stepmom so I can find a way to get help. I have to go behind my moms back just so I can get help. The plan is in progress, but the problem is I can't get my insurance card and until I can, I can't see anyone.

My depression continues to get worse. I wake up almost every morning dreading life itself. Some days it's worse than others. Two days ago I almost made the decision that I was going to plan to end my life. That was December 31st, 2018, the last day of the year. It didn't matter that I knew I only have 5 months until I graduate. It didn't matter that the new year was in a few hours. It didn't matter that people would miss me. I just wanted the pain and dread to stop. I almost decided that I was going to die, all because of my depression. All because no one has gotten me help. All because I ran out of hope...

"I can save you from your mother, but I can't save you from your depression if you decide you can't handle it one day." -my stepmom (Danielle)