I was in the 2nd grade the first time I hurt myself. I would cut my nails so that it made a point and cut myself. I would look at myself in the mirror and pick apart what was wrong with me. Sometimes I’d try to work up the courage to cut off the parts I didn’t like. At this point I just wanted to hurt myself. I thought I deserved it. Within a year I wanted to die. I would try to cut deeper. I jumped off trees a few times. I got really lucky that I never got badly hurt. Though I wonder now if pains I have now are from the effects of all those years of hurting myself. Like I know I use to make huge bruises on my body all the time. I would find ways to beat myself. I was always careful and did it where people couldn’t see or not too much in places people could see. I was a kid and people knew kids get hurt. So no one questioned if my legs were a little cut up and black and blue.
It would be in middle school that I got serious about killing myself. I would OD many times. Middle school were some of the worst years in my life. I had so much abuse going on in those years. I wanted to die most days. I was in denial about being gay. I also would have a miscarriage at 14. Much of the horribleness going on during this time I told no one. I held onto it. I still was looking in mirrors and saying out loud what was wrong with me. I would tell myself everyday why I should die. I felt like I lost most of my life. I felt like most of my family that I loved so much just stopped loving me. I could see how different they were with me. I felt like it was all my fault. I would try to remember I told on my father to protect my sister. I couldn’t let her be abused like that. I didn’t care if it killed me.
I was 19 the last time I tried to kill myself. I do still think about it sometimes. I have had moments when I still was self harming after 19. Some days I really struggle with this. I find myself questioning my worth. I find myself in the mirror trying to tear myself apart. Depression loves to lie to you in that abusive relationship way. It lures you in and then rips you apart. At least for me that is how it is. I have gotten so much better at recognizing the voice of depression.
I am writing all this to say you may not be able to look at me and see how much I was suffering from depression because depression doesn’t have a face. People didn’t know what I was going through. I am also writing this because it shouldn’t be this way. We shouldn’t fear talking about depression. We shouldn’t fear how it looks if we reach out for help. Please if you are struggling get help. You are worthy! You are needed!