mystory

      I am 16 years old and I am currently finishing my sophomore year in High School. In most ways I am the stereotypical teenager. I go to school, I live off of music, I am getting my drivers licence soon, I go out with friends on the weekends, and I can be pretty relentless when I want to make a point. There is one major difference between me and most teenagers. I have been diagnosed with Major Depression, and I have been hospitalized for suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, and for self injury.
       In actuality, I never attempted suicide, it was confused with my self injurious behavior. I will elaborate more on that later. Right now lets start at the beginning of the spiral downward.
       I remember the first time that I “cut.” That is in quotes because it wasn’t really a cut, but more like a scratch. I had been extremely stressed out and depressed. It was the end of my freshman year in High School and the pressure was on. Between school, family problems, my home life, my friends basically ignoring and rejecting me, and other stuff, I was feeling pretty down and hopeless.
       My parents are constantly fighting. They always have for as long as I can remember. My dad struggles with alcoholism, which he still does not think he has a problem with to this day. My mother isolates herself from the world, and pushes everyone who loves her away. She is very co-dependant on my father. Both of them are very depressed themselves. I remember when I was little hearing my mom and dad yell and scream at each other. My father would rant and rave about this or that, and my mother would yell at him about wanting a divorce. (Sometimes I wish that they would have, it would have been easier on everyone. They didn't because "they wanted what was best for me.") Then she would go off on how she would just go blow her head off and it would make everyone happy. Not exactly the things a little girl should be hearing her parents fight about.
        Through the years they just got worse and worse. Now they liked to drag me into their arguments and put the blame on me. After a fight when my mom would drive off in rage my father would come into my room and yell at me. He would say, “If you just would have done the dishes ONCE she wouldn’t act like this. You never do anything around here and you are so damned disrespectful. I go to work and bust my ass to earn a living to support you two, and I come home to THIS! The both of you wonder why I fucking drink? It’s because I have to put up with two mental cases like YOU!” Then he would leave. My mom would come back and start in on me about this and that. She would say, “ You always take his side, you never back me up. You just sit around and never do a goddamned thing. You expect everything to be handed to you! You are so ungrateful! I cook, clean, take you to school, and what thanks do I get? Maybe I should just drive my car off of a cliff or blow my fucking head off! That’s what all of you want anyway! Then when I am gone, you will all see, you will be sorry.” I am grateful that they never physically abused me, they never laid a hand on me. They made up for that with verbal abuse. Eventually it takes its toll. A person can only take so much. All of that among many other factors I needed to find an escape, a way of coping. It actually found me.
         I had fantasied about killing myself many times before but I never had the guts to do anything about it. One night I let everything get to me and I sort of “phased out.” I had a safety pin sitting on my desk in my room and I picked it up. I opened it and traced lines on my wrist with it as a sort of “preparation” to slit my wrists. I didn't want to die, I didn't really know what I was doing. I pressed the pin deeper into my arm and jerked it across my wrist. It started to bleed and I felt this “release” and I felt much more calmed down, even though my heart was racing. I scratched more lines into my wrist and I felt even better. The cuts were very superficial yet at the same time satisfying. I felt relieved. I did not really want to kill myself, but now I had found something that lessened the emotional pain. This pain I could deal with easier than the rest. I bandaged up my wrist and went to bed.
         Then the next night I felt the urge to do it again. So I unwrapped my wrist and slashed at it again with the safety pin. I thought that I had gone COMPLETELY insane, but I didn’t care. I loved the way this felt. Again, it bled for a while then I bandaged it up and went to bed.
         About a week or more had passed and I had managed to keep it hidden, no one suspected anything. Then one day at school my best friend saw my wrist which was not bandaged and gave me a weird look and asked me what happened. I had scratched it up pretty bad the night before. I made up some lame excuse and she just seemed to shrug it off. We had been having problems for a while and she had been distancing herself from me.
         The next morning at school I got called into the office. I cringed at the thought of me being found out. I just kept saying to myself, “Maybe they are going to talk to me about excessive absences or something.” That certainly was NOT the case. I was told to go to the counselors office, but the door was closed, so I had to wait for what seemed like days. Finally, the door opened and the counselor and the school nurse told me to come in and sit down. Right then I knew I was screwed. They both had odd looks on their faces. The counselor asked what had been going on with me. I tried to down play it and act like everything was ok, needless to say she didn’t buy it. She asked to see my arms. I reluctantly started to pull up my sleeves and she stopped me and told me that I had to take off my sweater. I had wrapped a hair tie around my wrist and she pointed to it and told me to take it off. So I did, and they looked at my arm and sat there shocked. I asked them who had told on me ( I already knew that it was my 3 friends) but the fact that she wouldn’t tell me made matters worse. Then the interrogation began. They tried to contact my parents but no one was home. So they called someone from the local crisis center to come and “evaluate” me. He pretty much asked the same stuff. We talked for about an hour, talked to the school counselor, and left. I was in that office with the school counselor for about 4 or 5 hours being questioned and having my brain picked apart. I tried to tell them that I was ok and I wasn’t really going to kill myself. They wouldn't let me return to class or even go to the bathroom. They couldn’t get a hold of my parents so they let me go home. HELLO?! Is there something wrong with that picture or is it just me? If I was supposedly “suicidal” why did they let me walk home ALONE? Goes to show what a good school I attend.....HA!
        Anyway, I walked home and my parents had both driven up. I knew that the school would undoubtedly be trying to reach my parents to let them know what was happening. On my walk home, I told myself that it would probably be best if I told at least my mom about what happened that day. So, I asked her if I could talk to her for a minute and I took her into my room and shut the door. I told her all that had happened that day and she stood there and stared at me for a minute, then replied, “Well? Did you learn your lesson?” I was shocked and I didn’t know what to say. She then turned around and left my room.
        About a week after that, I found out that my friends had been banned from seeing or talking with me anymore. This was very hard for me to understand, we all had been friends for more than eight years. I called my best friends mother and tried to talk with her. She was cold and unfeeling and in my opinion downright cruel. She told me, “Ann* is doing much better off without you around. You just cause trouble. I don’t want you around the house, her, or me anymore, and it is going to stay that way.” What did I do?! I still don't understand why she had to say those things to me. Everything was fine until they found out that I was less than perfect and I actually had problems just like everyone else. It was ok for them to dump on me about everything, but as soon as I needed them, they got rid of me at the first oprotunity.
        Needless to say my self esteem that was already at an all time low, had just been thrown into the realm of nothingness. Over that summer I completely isolated myself from everyone for fear of being rejected again. It wasn’t that hard because the people who I depended on most had already distanced themselves from me. To be quite honest, I don’t really remember last summer, it is all a big blur. I was either so deep in my depression that I was literally unable to function mentally or physically, or I was asleep. Even though I slept so much, it seemed like I never got any sleep at all. The more I slept, the more tired I was. By now, my cutting was very intense. I moved up from the pin, to a small knife, to x-acto knives, and razor blades. Any time the littlest thing happened I would cut. I would usually cut my left forearm. The sight of the blood was eerily comforting. The pain calmed me down and was even soothing. If it wouldn’t have been for my cutting and being so deeply depressed, I am sure that I would have killed myself that summer because of everything that had built up inside of me over the years. In a way, as strange as this may sound, cutting saved my life.
       Also that summer my mother did get me into counseling. I disregarded everything they said to me. I didn’t care anymore and I didn’t want to be preached to or have them put a label on me. I usually just sat there and let them do the talking as I stared at the wall trying to think of a way to escape from everything. I really didn’t know for sure why I was so sad. It just took over me completely. I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want to do anything but hide myself away and sleep, or die.
      School started again and I tried to resume my normal life. For the first few months, although I was still caught up in this depression, I did alright. It didn’t last long. My cutting just got worse and worse. I was really starting to scare my parents and my counselors, and even myself. Still, I didn’t care. To me it was worth it, and I deserved everything that I had done to myself and more.           Finally in October of 2000, my cutting hit it’s peak. Around Halloween I had cut my wrist with my x-acto knife, fairly deep. Not satisfied with that, I saw a pair of metal tweezers sitting on my desk. I held the tweezers over a flame until it became very hot and the metal was smoking and smelt how a very hot curling iron does. I held out my arm and pressed the burning metal into it. I held it there for what seemed like an eternity, but was actually about 10 seconds or so. I lifted it up from my arm and looked at what I had done. My skin bubbled up and peeled off, layer after layer. I watched in amazement. When it started to bleed I freaked out. It finally started to hurt, but it felt so good to hurt. I had a pretty bad second degree burn along with a few others I had done after words, but they were very small. My arm was covered with rows of cuts and was badly burned, and my wrist was slit open ( I didn't hit the artery or the tendon but it was bleeding alot.) I would think any rational person should have been horrified. I just looked at it and smiled, almost proud of what I had done.
       A few days later I decided that I was getting more and more out of control. I didn’t want help, but I knew I needed it or I would end up seriously hurt or even dead. I went to the school counselors office and told her a little bit of what was going on. She rolled her eyes and seemed annoyed with me. She called the counseling center and had a person come over on a crisis. I don’t even remember that session because I was so out of it. I didn’t care if I lived or died and I didn't think anyone else did either..
      On November 1, 2000, I was admitted to a mental heath hospital. To me it felt like I was being punnished for punnishing myself. My parents drove me the 90 miles that night. They admitted me because of suicidal ideation, suicide attempt (not true), major depression, borderline tendencies (which was later ruled out), and self injury. They had me on suicide precautions for several days while I was there, and that angered me because I hadn’t tried to kill myself. I guess that it is a precaution they take anyway to be safe. I am telling you right now....never take your shoelaces for granted. I know that sounds so stupid, but when you get everything taken away from you, even down to your shoelaces, you learn to not take things for granted.
       The first day is always hell. You don’t know what to expect, and when they start your day off by waking you up to draw blood (and have to stick you about 5 times) it isn’t that great. After that I took a shower and got ready for breakfast. One of the staff members brought me a notebook, a felt tip marker to write with, and a manilla folder with worksheets, guidelines, and rules in it, and she also gave me a daily point sheet. I went to the nurses station and one of the nurses bandaged up my arm and I went to breakfast. I found my trey with my name taped to it (spelled wrong no less) and sat down. Several of the boys there were arguing with each other and everyone else was pretty quiet. There were about 6 other people in the adolescent ward. I sat there and refused to say anything to anyone. Finally a boy asked me why I was there. I just glanced at him and looked at my plate again. He said, “Suicide attempt isn’t it?” I nodded. I didn't want to get into the whole long story or explain myself. He said, “It really isn’t that bad here, this is my second time, both times for SA. So don’t look so blue.” After that I felt a lot better. I am not sure why, I think it was because someone went out of their way to actually talk to me.
         In my 7 days of being in the institution I learned a lot. They made me fill out endless worksheets and forms and attend groups all day. Also a big thing that contributed to my feeling better was the arrival of my new room mate. She was there for the same things as me. We had a lot in common. Both great students, have parents who love us (unlike alot of kids there), and basically just the way we viewed life. We stayed up well after our bedtime just talking to each other in the dark. Just being able to relate to someone and have someone understand what you are going through, helps so much. I am so thankful for her. We still keep in contact over the internet :).
        When I went home, they had me under very close watch. My parents had gone through my room and taken away any knives, razors, matches, and candles I had. They even hid the kitchen knives and utensils. I felt like a prisoner in my own home and it was really horrible. It took a while for me to earn back their trust.
       After my visit to the hospital I did not SI for a long time. Then on new years eve I cut. I don’t even remember why. I felt so bad and like I had thrown everything I had worked for away. I didn’t cut again after that for about 3 months. I have been cutting, and on the rare occasion burning myself, but not nearly as badly as I had in the past. Now it is several weeks and often months between each time I SI. I think about it a lot, but I do my best to keep it under control. I am still going to counseling now and then, they have let off a bit since I am doing a lot better. They have me on meds, and they say that they seem to be helping. I’m not so sure of that, but they don't listen to me. Of course I wouldn't know whats helping ME or not. People make me so mad!
       I am just taking it one day at a time and waiting to see how things turn out. I am still struggling with depression and SI day to day. It isn’t something that just goes away. Even if I do completely stop someday, it will always be a part of me and who I am. I will have constant reminders up and down my arm forever. In a way I am glad for my scars. They keep me in line, and remind me of the things that have happened, along with the consequences that came with them, and things I’ve learned through all of this.
       Two of the most important things I have learned through all of this is: What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and change is constant. Those two things are so true, I didn’t believe them before, but they make so much sense now. I know this didn’t cover a lot, and much has been left out because I am not ready to discuss some aspects of my life just yet. I am thankful for what I do have, alot of people have it so much worse off than I could dream of. Despite everything my parents do love me, and they can be good people when they want to be. I hope that in the least it gave you an idea of some of the things I’ve been through, and a little bit of what it is like to live life as a self injurer through my point of view.