My Experience With Mental Illness Warning May Trigger More Sensitive Readers

!!WARNING MAY TRIGGER MORE SENSITIVE READERS!!

Depression is the most painful thing I have ever had to experience. Broken bones, cuts, scrapes, bruises, fractures, and other physical injuries can never compare to the pain of depression. Every day I woke up and felt like I wanted to die. Every day. On bus rides to and from school I would imagine ways that the school bus could crash, smashing tree branches through my skull or sending my head through the windows. I wondered if anyone would even care. I wondered what my funeral would be like, how many people would be there.

My mother and I talked many times about this topic, and one thing she said in particular caught my interest. “I didn’t want my mother to love me.” My mom also struggled with her relationship with her mother when she was younger and lost her when she was a teenager to cancer. Those simple words held so much over my head. I felt the same feelings, wondering why she couldn’t act heartless. Then maybe I would be able to reason with myself, put an explanation to the sadness ripping through me every night. I had no reason to be upset, I was living with my mother and two brothers. My parents had divorced when I was 10, but I saw him once a week. I wasn’t abused, I wasn’t really bullied much, I had friends and family. I had a roof over my head, and food in my fridge.

I wasn’t on drugs, I didn’t drink, but I started smoking. I cut myself every night either before I showered, or during my baths, watching the water turn red. A few people knew, and expressed the typical concerns. Cutting became my lifeline, what I depended on. The pain from cutting slowly became my only escape from the pain inside my head. It became an addiction quickly and became the only thing that quieted my head for a while. People started making me feel guilty because I was hurting them by cutting. “You’re hurting the ones you love!” All I heard was that it affected everyone but myself.

I developed an eating disorder and by the time I was fifteen I was throwing up every night in the shower. I wanted to be skinny, I thought it would make me happy. I became miserable, always wondering why I never looked any different. I went from 150 pounds to 125 and although it isn’t much, I lost it all in too short amount of time. I was still cutting at this point and was carving horrible things into my skin. I was so depressed and sad all the time and I couldn’t grasp the idea that I was the one making myself so miserable. Everyone kept telling me that I was beautiful and I didn’t need to be any thinner but I wasn’t doing it for anyone else, I was doing it for myself. I wasn’t happy with the way I looked and wanted to change it.

My friend Alex was the only person who kept me alive all through high school. He knew I cut and tried to help me, he bought me food and kept me smiling. He cared about me like no one else did, and never judged me on what I did to myself. He was my best friend and he was the one who pushed my boyfriend Donald and I together, creating the love we share now.

Depression and cutting are real mental illnesses and they are not a joke. They are not recognized enough and need more awareness. Others have it worse off than me, I know that. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t suffer with what I was faced with. I beat bulimia and depression and anxiety thanks to the people in my life, and my only advice is this:

Find something you love dearly, and hold onto that something with your life. Photography, Music, Art, Family, Animals, Books, Boyfriends, Girlfriends, Best Friends, Life Passions. You control where your life goes, and only you can make the decision to keep living when you thought you’ve had enough.

You are the only one in control of you.