When I was young (4 or so) my father was abusive. He beat me, and my mother did nothing to stop it because he'd beat her too on occasion anyways. She finally realized that we needed help (I have a brother 2 years younger than me) and proceeded to move us out, have him arrested, and life was unstable and rough for a few years. As I got older, I used to refuse to go to my father's house even though he had visitations and when I did go, I wouldn't speak to him nor participate in anything he tried to get us to do... I couldn't forgive him and I didn't want to because he didn't deserve it.
My mom never got me any therapy, thinking that my bad behavior was just that... me misbehaving, really bad. When I started middle school, I would have panic attacks and would act out even more. A really bad fall out with a group of friends pushed me over the edge. I was attending a small private school, so when I was pushed out of my circle of friends, I had no one to turn to because there were no other students. Things got bad for awhile and finally one night it pushed me to the edge and I attempted to slit my wrists. My mom walked in and called 911. I was put into an institution for about a week, because I lied my way through it all.
My mom decided to let me go to the public high school the next year which didn't help things. I was bullied by quite a few kids because I was different... I listened to different music, dressed differently, and had a really bad attitude. I fell into the wrong crowd and became addicted to pills, which obviously didn't help my problem and only made it worse. I began having really bad panic attacks at school, able to hide out in the bathrooms or a secluded area until they passed. When one of my friends caught me one day in the middle of a panic attack, they called a teacher and got the nurse, I was sent across the street to a therapist and they told me and my mom that I was schizophrenic. My mom finally decided that maybe I should get some real help.
We found a program in Vermont that I was going to go to, but never went because I didn't want to leave the friends I had behind. We found out that I was suffering from rapid-cycling Bi-Polar disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and severe depression.
Since then I wish I could say that my life has gotten better, and easier, and that good things happened to me. But they didn't. I ended up in an abusive relationship, lived with my dad who continued his abuse for about two years, and watched a lot of my friends fall victim to drugs and alcohol.
Today I live with untreated bipolar disorder and PTSD. But Three years ago my bf (at the time we had been together 4 years) and I had a son. It was truly a life or death situation and I nearly lost my life in the process of saving my son's life. We are both here today and although I could say that I don't think about suicide, there are times where I feel like I can't do it anymore... where I feel like giving up and just ending it all. I'm lucky to have a handsome, smart, loving 3-yo son who reminds me I have something to live for, and in just one month, he will have a little brother and I will have a second reason to continue living my life, even if I can't do it for myself... I have someone, something, to live for.
I remind myself that I was once faced with the decision to live or die... one that was essentially out of my control, and that I chose to die to save a life. I feel like God blessed me with a second chance. A chance to show the world that I am worth it, and that I can beat it. And you can too.
If you've ever been there, and you've stepped back from that edge, then you can do it again, and you can help other people step back from the edge. It's a dark place, but you can be a light in someone's world. You could be the one that shows them they are worth it and there is more to life than what the eye can see.
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