I figured since I’m new I’d just start with my past and what led me to this site.






My whole life I’ve been a little odd I guess. I could always switch from ecstatically happy to morose and unsocial in a second. In junior high I had a problem with some pills and alcohol. Both promptly ended when we moved because it wasn’t easy access anymore. I confessed to my mom about everything a little while after moving but she didn’t ever act like anything was different or that I’d said anything. In the place we moved I got two very interesting friends who had both been hospitalized with attempted suicide, different ways. One still went to therapy and was on meds and the other cut herself. One was always really sweet and nice to everyone, not an act, and the other loved to critisize people, especially me, and try to tell them how to live.




After two and a half years there we moved again. I was in a very serious relationship when we moved and both he and I decided to remain together. The relationship was a little weird because of distance, and that he didn’t really trust me. He always accused me of wanting to be with someone else, and I spent a lot of time crying and apologizing even when I wasn’t sure for what. We were together for about a year and a half when he left me. He had left me once before, but it was only for a week. Just a few days after leaving me he was with another girl. We still talked every single day, even though it was torture for me. On October 1st of last year I tried to kill myself by overdosing on pills. After puking a lot I thought it hadn’t worked so I just told my mom I got my mom and told her I got sick. She put me on the couch and searched my room that’s when she found the empty pill bottles. She got the whole family, mom sister step-dad and me, in the car and we drove to the ER at about 2:00 am. I was in the hospital for four days. The next time I talked to my friend, the cutter who tries to control my life, barely acted upset and just called me stupid. I was discharged because as soon as I stopped puking I seemed fine. I was smiling and joking, and truly felt fine.




When I got back to school my friends had all told my teachers I had bad food poisoning, but they all knew. They all acted like nothing had happened though. They just fucking ignored it. The only person who acted different is my current boyfriend. He confessed he had loved me for a long time, although at the time he was dating someone else. They broke up and we got together. Then I started having breakdowns. That was the first signs of what all was to come. I had almost weekly breakdowns where I couldn’t do anything but cry. I was sent to a psychiatrist and a therapist. They put me on meds and weekly visits. I began to sink farther and farther into depression.




My family was all acting like nothing at all had happened and seemed to ignore the whole situation. My sister was the only one who showed anything saying she was glad that I was alive, but the next day I found a notebook in which my sister said she wasn’t worried about me at all. Even sitting in the ER she was just irritated that she wasn’t home. She also complained about how much time mom spent with me at the hospital. Soon after that I started cutting.




I cut my legs and arms almost everynight. I used a dagger I own, safety pins, stone walls, shuriken, anything I could find. It made me feel so much better. I used to release by crying but then i couldn’t cry and when I did it didn’t work. Cutting became sort of an obsession I did it everynight, at school, walking home, any time I wouldn’t be caught. I had to stop in January though. January I found out I was pregnant. I immeadiately stopped taking my meds and cutting. I was ecstatic about it, but soon the depression returned in full swing, along with my anxiety. My parents know about the pregnancy, but my boyfriends parent’s don’t. They hate me because I’m bi. He’s 17 and I’m 18. Eveytime he doesn’t tell them I feel like I’m being ripped apart, but I can’t tell him because I don’t want to give him that kind of guilt or worry.




Now I’m struggling to appear happy to everyone, take care of myself for the baby, and not cut. I don’t know how much longer I can. I just feel hopeless.