Trigger warning: Before reading this post, please be aware that it contains details of self-harm.
Hello. You can call me S. I am a pansexual 14 year old with depression, suicidal thought, and OCD. I have most of the things anyone my age could ask for. I have two loving and supportive moms who both make a good income. I have a bunch of lovely pets. I draw, and I have so much to live for. My moms have been separated since I was young, but it doesn’t bother me at all, but when my birth mother remarried, I grew attached to my new step-mom. She was fun, and our little family went on plenty of trips together. During this time, she was having an affair with my teacher. Yes, my teacher. When my step-mom left us for my teacher near the end of 5th grade, I became… angry. All the time. I grew to hate myself and they way I dressed. I hated the world and everyone in it. This whole time, I pulled a big smiled and acted fine the whole way through. I lived with this anger, but never considered myself depressed, I wasn’t sad all the time like the movies show. But when I got caught having a girlfriend near the end of 7th grade, I told my mom about my anger towards others and myself. My mom, worried about her one and only baby, gets me a councilor. This is when I realized just how messed up I was. The anger started to shed its skin and show the true sadness that had been hidden for so long. I felt hopeless, yet I went on, smiling like I was okay. Weeks felt like months, and the sadness only got worse. I thought of not being here anymore. My moms gun, I thought, was my only option, but I didn’t dwell on it too much. This is when I started reading about people cutting themselves to release tension. I still have the box cutter that I took out of the tin that day. I put it to my skin. I knew I wouldn’t do anything extravagant, so I made some pretty light swipes against my skin. As I peered down, I saw the blood come up. Horrified, I passed out. When I came to my senses, I cleaned it and hid it just as my mom came home. This is what started the spiral. Suicidal thoughts everyday. A constant daydream of me jumping off this bridge or standing in that road. The summer vacations helped, but when the excitement died down, my happiness died with it. During this time, I would vent to my best friend. She never told anyone, and thankful, I kept turning to her to vent. I told her about how I didn’t want to exist anymore. I wanted to fall asleep and never wake up.
I gave up
Until one day, after a long day of 8th grade, o get home to the empty house. I decide I’ll die
I found the keys, and I started jangling them in the weird keyhole of the gun case.
It didn’t fit
I was devastated. Later on a Friday night, I vent to my friend about how I was going to kill myself. After ranting for a while she disappeared. I was worried.
Then the text from the mom whom I wasn’t with. I freak out, panic, and start crying. The mom I was with comes out of her room, standing at my doorframe, in the phone with my other mom, speaking frantically. I zip up my bed tent, and ask my friend “ Did you tell her?”
“ My mom say the text when I showed her something in Insta”
I freak out. I tune out the noice of my moms, one on phone and other in person with my music. Headphones plugged in, blasting with the sound effects of my video game. I swipe and tap frantically, trying to erase the horror unfolding in my life. My birth mom arrives, frantically begging me to talk to her. “ I’m not getting out of bed” I repeat over and over
She calls the non- emergency police
They come and drag me out of bed
I was in the hallway of the hospital for 15 hours, a small room for around 8, then sent upstairs. I was left there for 8 days. Those days were some of the worst I’ve ever experienced in my life. When I was released, I felt so free!
They started me on antidepressants, and made sure both of my homes were safe. For 5 weeks, instead of school, I spent my time at a riverside place called ****, where you have group therapy with other kids. I got asked out by two boys, raising my anxiety. That’s where I was diagnosed with OCD
I look and act nervous, and the second I was given a paper and a pen, my leg stopped bouncing, and I relaxed. I would obsess about things no one cared about, like the light switch order on the top steps. The top ones deserve to be in the same order than the bottom ones.
Overall, I still have flaws, but looking back two months ago, I was completely done with trying. If your depressed and reading this, I know that your reading this and thinking, “ Oh they’re just going to say that they love me and it gets better, whatever. We’re not the same” and your right, we’re not the same. You might have it just as or even more than me. As someone who read those love quotes like “stick around” and “I’ll miss you” and scoffs, I won’t retell them
Just know, you’ve survived all the battles you’ve fought so far. Why haven’t you killed yourself already, what’s stopping you?
I’ve you’ve given up, and your not changing your mind, okay, I won’t try to change it, but please be open to change. It seems hard, and it still is, but even if you don’t want it, it can get better.
Good luck 😉