I have never posted a blog discussing my personal feelings. I've never even really fully opened up to anyone. But I figured sharing my feelings anonymously would be easier. So here goes nothing.
It started as a child. I would watch the other kids play, not fully able to understand their joy. I wished I could. But I always knew I was different. By the 6th grade I began to recognize my symptoms for what they were; depression. I hated myself for being different. I wore rubber bands around my wrists that I would snap until they were welted and swollen. In the 7th grade Istarted to drink. Around this time was also when I began beating myself. Bruises would mark my legs which I would claim were from sports. In the 8th grade I began heavily drinking. In order to sleep at night I would have to have at least one drink, if not more. This is also when the cutting started. All the confusion, the anger, the sadness could all be chanelled into this one action. I used it as a form of punishment for myself for not being normal. While I would cut I could focus on physical pain rather than the emotional pain that was tearing me apart. My freshman year I started my first real relationship. I began getting happier, until the beating started. At first it would be light punches and playful smacks. As our relationship progressed he became more and more violent. I passed off the bruises as being from sports yet again. Part of me was happy that he hurt me so I didnt have to do it myself. Eventually being slammed into walls and smacked in the head was welcomed by a deep, dark part of me. Once he had his fill he left. I spiraled downhill. I started doing anything I could to forget. At 14 years old I was a borderline alcoholic. To the outside onlooker I appreared to have the perfect life. No one knew how dead I felt inside or how much pain haunted me day by day. The feeling is almost indescribable. Imagine being trapped in an airtight box half your size. It became a struggle to get out of bed in the mornings and walk down the hallways at school. The summer after freshman year I attempted my suicide. My attempt was thwarted when my older brother walked in on me slitting my wrist. I began therapy and medication immediately after. Some days looked hopeful, others not so much. Then my sophomore year my world fell apart again. It was discovered that a boy I considered a brother to me had raped me while I was unconscious at a party. I crashed once again. Weed and vodka became my solace. I resorted to cutting again as well.
I don't know exactly what I hoped to accomplish with this post. I think I just wanted to tell someone without having them know who I am. Maybe I'm hoping someone will see my story and offer me advice that will change my life. I don't know. I'm only 15. I cannot fathom living the rest of my life as someone who completely despises themself and struggles to get out of bed every morning. My self loathing knows no limit. Maybe someone will see this and save me.