This is my page on what it's like to live with a mental illness. It may have some graphic points and they are not meant to be triggering but they can be.
Please share your stories with me. Send me mail at khansslave@hotmail.com, and I will be sure to respond.
The Beginning: A Time of Confusion
I found out I had a depressive illness about a year ago, after going through about 2 years of severe confusion as to what was wrong with me. I was diagnosed with Dysthymia, which is a depressive illness that lasts over time and becomes really hard at certain times. December 1997 is when I was in one of my worst states, and did not know I had depressive illness. I did one of the strongest things anyone could have ever done. I wrote a letter to my parents explaining to them how I had been feeling like nothing, that nothing could cheer me up anymore, and that I was becoming hopeless.
At this point in time I was not suicidal, but I had become a self-mutilator as I refer to it. I was a mild self-mutilator at the time. I would use a lighter to burn my flesh everytime someone upset me or hurt me in anyway. I did this because I liked the feeling of knowing I had this over them, yet they didn't know I was doing it. Only a few friends knew about it and the one main one was Liz. Liz is best friend and those who knew about it thought she influenced me to burn myself, which is completely wrong. The first time I burned myself was out of pure curiosity and I never intended to use it as a means of dealing w/ my emotions. But it ended up that way. I have about 40 burn scars on my left arm and about 17 on my right arm.
Trying to Get Help
When I started going to counseling to a lady by the name of Deirdre I never mentioned the burning to her. I was afraid to let her know for fear she would tell my parents and I lived in constant fear of my secret being found out up until the day it was discovered.
Well, during the months of January-February-March of 1998 I was on an herbal drug called St. John's Wort. Two words; FALSE HOPE. I thought it was working, and maybe it works for others, but I now realize that I wanted it to work so well I made myself believe it was working. I also achieved a goal of letting go of someone who majorly brought me down and crushed my self-esteem and I thought that achieving that goal was the main key to my problems. Man, was I wrong. It was a problem, and I am still glad I am out of that relationship. And yes, some of those burns belong to that person, but things got a lot worse after that.
Wanting a Real Boost
I wasn't on prescription drugs because my Mom refused to let me take them, she said that they were a last resort. So, during the months of April-may-June 1998 I was seemingly a little bit better so I took myself off the St. John's Wort. Not completely, but I was not taking it religiously, 3 capsules a day like I had been before (900 mg) and I also was taking a different brand.
Downward Spiral
Well, this obviously was not good, because I started to spiral downward again. As a friend of mine explained it to me, it was like a rollercoaster. During my summer break, I had no motivation. I would get up at 2 in the afternoon and do absolutely nothing. I would sleep all day and the most activity I got was walking around w/ my friend Chrissy and hanging out w/ other select friends. I lost interest in practically everything I did, and much to my parents dismay, lost complete motivation in finding a summer job, for fear it would take too much time away from being by myself, and sleeping, and relaxing and enjoying my summer. You're probably thinking, isn't that what summer is about? Nope, it isn't. Summer is about having a good time, and I didn't exactly do that. I had a hard time enjoying the things I enjoyed about the summer. I swam in my pool a total of about 3 times, I didn't tan (which I used to do everyday in past years) till I went to the shore and I wasn't even excited to go there, and when I went to Dorney Park I almost bailed on going at the last minute. And as my friends noticed my spiral downward (crying out of nowhere about nothing, horrible lack of any self-esteem whatsoever, lack of motivation, my constant sad face and mood) I decided I needed to fix things.
I Need a Change, Not To Imitate, But To Irritate
When I went to my shrink in August she was upset, I could tell. I mean when I had last seen her I had felt better, but I was falling again. And I was in bad shape. What's scary is the lack of care I had about it. I didn't care if I got better, I felt it was hopeless. My Mom wasn't going to let me take the medicine that would help me. I started burning myself again, b/c I felt I was inadequate and there was nothing I could do to change my views on myself. I wasn't suicidal at this point, but at times I did wish I could go to bed and never wake up. I was scared to death of returning to school for fear I wouldn't be able to deal with people on a regular basis and I developed a fear of large groups of people. And as I learned within the first week of school, I was not in health for going to school full-time. I learned I had an intestinal disorder. And I missed an entire week of school because of that and my depression. I was so afraid of it all, I couldn't exist as a normal person.
Slit. Slice. Cut.
Now the biggie- self-mutilation taken to an extreme. I became as I like to refer to it a "cutter". One day I was in the shower and I saw my razor sitting on the side of the tub and I had a brilliant idea. I don't know, it just dawned on me that I had the strength to cut that night it wasn't very satisfying. I did three little cat-scratch size cuts. And that was it for that night I thought to myself "I should've done more, Laura you're strong" but it was getting late at night, so I went to bed, w/out the intention of doing it again. But the next night I got upset, and took my razor and it was very dull and I had to keep craving and carving into the skin to make myself bleed. I did 12 that night 12 for each reason someone hurt me. And they were on my forearm rite by my watch. I was questioned about it at work, and I came up with a clever story about how my cat had scratched me. ( I am sorry Olli). Well, the cutting got much worse. I can't even remember all the times I cut eventhough it was within the past 3 months. But there a few main times I remember. Once when I hooked up with a friend of mine's good friend. She liked him a lot and I acted selfishly. I took a razor to my legs and arms that night, at least 50-75 cuts that night. Cutting your calves is so painful let me tell you that. PLEASE NO WATER. Taking a shower was horrible. It hurt so bad, but that isn't where it ended.
Scarred For Life
I had a really bd week and was out of school for an entire week because of Sinusitis, and in that entire week span I did not cut. Well, I attempted to work on that Friday and couldn't stand up, and the people at work gave me a hard time about it. I got extremely upset, and walked home w/ the motivation to take a razor and cut long slits. Well, it went a bit farther then that. I now have three huge scars on my arms from this 5 minute anger torment, actually the agony lasted for 48 hours. The cuts bled for about 2 days, and I know I needed stitches, but I was too afraid to get them, b/c my parents still did not know at the time. So I attempted to take care of it myself, and I called my friend Chrissy. I put alcohol on it and screamed so loud, it was one of the worst pains I have ever felt in my entire life. Well, Chrissy and me tried to bandage me up and my brother got Band-Aids for me as well as alcohol swabs. The cuts did not sting, as normal cuts do, they made my entire arm ache and ache and ache. My friends that I did tell thought this would help me to stop, but it didn't only a few days later I got upset and took a brand new sharpened razor and cut myself 100 times. On my wrist over my veins. I also cared worthless and misery into my arm. if it wasn't for this, I don't think my parents would've found out as soon.
The Secret Revealed
the next day in school I was called to the guidance office, thinking that it was just a routine visit. When the counselor said to me, " You probably know why you're here" this horrible sense of fear came up into my throat, I was terrified, b/c I knew I would have to reveal my secret to the world, and to my parents. What would they say? Well, I admitted it, after she asked me to see it, I was going to say it was my cat, but what about the other 100 on my arm as well, and the other scars. So I admitted it, and I went home to my shocked mother and my dad was shocked as well. I never meant to hurt anyone and I tried to explain this, but I guess they were hurt. I don't know, never will understand that, but anyway... I was forbidden to cut anymore by my Mom. My Mom took my razors from me, and I promised her I didn't have anymore and I wouldn't cut again, which was a complete lie, b/c I have many stashes of them everywhere, and it is impossible to find them all. I broke that promise only a few days later. Someone at work upset me and made me cry and I cut my legs up. The words of choice were "I want to Die" " Worthless" and about 50 little cuts all over. I also carved in "my own prison" and "Crucify myself". These are words to songs I truly believe in. The pain was so much that night and I couldn't sleep, I wound up telling my Mom I had cut myself and I ended up crying for hours. I didn't go to school the next day. It was a complete emotional breakdown of the feelings I had been feeling.
Pain Willed Upon Myself By My Own Hands
I have cut since this time, when someone has hurt me and upset me, but these are the times that are most vivid in my mind. Except some of them aren't. I can't remember the cutting so much, but the pain afterwards. The pain the next day is so much greater then the pain at the time. And it made me feel stronger then anyone who had hurt me at all. It made me feel like I had something over them. They hurt me, I cut and they get paid back in a way. It is so hard to explain, but I still think of cutting everyday. I want to cut, I want to see my blood trickle down my arms and legs and into the bathtub and onto that towel and onto my hands, and everywhere. It's like a part of me is released, my pain is taken away. In some way, it is. It is so hard to explain it, but it does.
Hopeful Thoughts Arise In My Head
Well, now I am on 100 mg of Zoloft everyday, and I believe it is helping. I haven't been suicidal in a few weeks. ( when I say suicidal I mean constantly thinking about death and pain and how to die, and how to end it all). I have been able to concentrate a little more and to enjoy my life the way a teenager would. I have missed 2 1/2 years of my high school experience and right now i am constantly trying to catch up on what I have missed and make up for all that horrible time i spent as a depressed teenager. but what's twisted is no matter how happy I am, I will still think of cutting, I still will have setbacks, and i am hoping right now that i am on the road to recovery. No matter how bad I was, and no matter what, i will have setbacks, but the important thing is that I am learning to live life again, even though I find it pointless, I am still here, and I am not begging for the almighty to take me away anymore. I am starting to smile and talk more and not constantly snap at everyone. And someday I hope that after all this pain and suffering I will finally be a happy normal girl again. I hope to be the person I once was.
Part II: An Update Of What Has Been Going On
Ok, I am going to update my story, and maybe add in some things here and there.
An Increase in a Little More Then Happiness
Well as of the last time I wrote I had my medication increased to 150 mg of Zoloft a day and I am becoming a happy little bunny I guess you could say. It's weird because when I was so depressed it seemed like everyone was so happy, and now I feel like that has switched around somehow.
The cutting has not stopped. I had gone 29 days at one point where I had not cut and up until yesterday I had managed to go about 23 or 24 I wasn't really keeping track, and I was planning on breaking my little record, but I gave into that little voice in my head that wants it's craving fulfilled. When I go to sleep I think about cutting, it's in my mind most of the day, not as much as before but it is there. It is like that whole other personality is there telling me to do stuff to my body.
My moods have been up and down lately. I think that they're fluctuating and I have been getting 2 side effects of the medication very often. The headaches can be unbearable, to the point where I can't do anything. Another side effect of the medication is the nightmares. I have the worst nightmares, and lately they have been every single night. Nightmares about huge storms, drowning and huge heights. I used to have these dreams recurring, but now it is almost every night. But with the help of therapy I am working to figure out what these signify.
Your Words Will Eat Inside Me and Cut Me Into Pieces Outside
I have to say this: Do not discuss with me how you feel about my illness. I don't want your judgment, and I absolutely cannot deal with it. If you had a disease that impairs your ability to accept judgment and criticism would you want people placing their ideas on you? Their ignorant ideas? I didn't think so. And when I had to deal with a huge situation like this, by someone who thought they knew me and my personality and more then they really do about depression and how it impairs your ability to be a normal person I flipped out.
For about 3 days I was in cut-mode. I cut my leg 500 times at once. I counted this. And sadly, no, I am not exaggerating. I also cut words into my leg. The phrases were "You will pay for ur sins" " Hate is what I feel 4 u" " I want u dead". I cut another time before then and I am not sure what the reason was behind it. But I cut about 75-100 slits in my leg and I carved in the word "crimson"-- I guess it describes the color of blood and stuff. I am not sure, it just popped in my head, and I cut it. I also cut up my arm again. No words this time, and I cut my upper and lower arm. But I started to run out of room, because I had cut so much. The little slits I guess you could say were about 150-200.
Longing For More Pain
During all these times, I didn't feel fulfilled when I stopped. I just knew I had to. Two of my friends were aware of this, and when they saw it they could not believe how many I did. Yet I found it kind of minimal. It didn't hurt enough. It had that burning sensation, yet I wanted it more. It seems like the more I cut the more cuts I need to do. Kind of like a drug addiction where you need to keep adding more to get to that first high you once had.
This isn't true for one part though. After the 500 cuts I put neosporin on them. This hurt so bad. I know it's supposed to help it heal and to feel better, but it didn't at all. I couldn't walk it hurt so bad and the pain was shooting up my legs, but I went to bed after that. And in the morning I was feeling a bit better then before. But the showers are horrible when you have cuts on your legs.
Not For the Faint of Heart
SOME NASTY STUFF: The blood in all this is the best part. Watching it drip into the tub after putting the shower hose on it and seeing the water turn red is the best. I have started a collection of blood towels as well, and blood letters. I have a creed I wrote and after cutting I put my hand on my leg and imprinted a bloody hand onto it.
Scars are starting to upset me. ALOT. Wherever I look on me there is a scar. My arms and legs are the worst, and I am starting to worry about those summer months that are coming up when I will need to wear a bathing suit. But I guess I will worry about that more when the time comes.
The Pretenders
One other thing I want to mention is how much I hate it when people try to make themselves to be self-mutilators. That is the most pathetic thing I have ever heard. To actually do this because you think it looks cool??? This is attention wanting, not self-help. Especially when you tell everyone "Look what I did." If you think people will respect you then you are wrong. I have to deal with so much judgment from others, from my parents, family, and friends. It is horrible. To have to deal with the constant question of "Have you cut yourself lately?" When people try to look like they are self-mutilators it is so pathetic. It is defeating the purpose. Or at least the REAL purpose.
I have to deal with how am I going to explain this to this person and that person. This is because my work uniform is short sleeves, and when people can see my scars it is very hard to make up a story, especially since huge scars that are about 2/16th's of an inch wide and 3/16th's going across. Yes, I did measure them. Dealing with scars is NOT fun, especially when considering how much moolah you will need to spend on laser surgery for their removal. I cannot describe how much I hate it when people wish they were self-mutilators. It drives me nuts. It gives me a reason to cut. To prove to them they're not as strong as they wish they were, and to show that they can't understand the strength that is received through cutting and burning, and the mutiny of your own body.
Having Too Much Fun
I have experienced first hand what happens when you mix an antidepressant with alcohol. Since alcohol is a depressant it makes you feel even worse then before. I am not going to go into details about what happened the night I did this, but it seriously sucked. It increases your ability to get drunk, and I can barely remember details of what happened and I had only 6 beers. I came close to SERIOUSLY hurting myself that night, through actions I am not going to explain here. It involves a knife though. I also cut up my hand this night, but not too serious. The cuts were gone within a week's time.
I also mixed my zoloft with caffeine. I don't get very much sleep because I like to stay up late, and when I have to get up early i take caffeine pills. My freshmen year of high school I was addicted to them, and it took me a month to finally feel back to health again, as in not wanting to sleep so much and need that instant boost.
Well last time I mixed these 2 lovely substances I felt really weird. It is very hard to explain, but it felt like my whole body wanted to shut down or something. I was VERY irritable. I was at work when this occurred, and I would look at people and just want to scream. Thankfully this passed, after I got home and got some sleep, but I know that I am not going to mix them again anytime soon. For now, I will stick with Coke and Coffee.
Go Back To Your Hiding Place!
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