avstin
existing
- Aug 18, 2023
- 3
I was officially diagnosed four years ago, but I'm sure I've had it for ages. I've always been that "edgy kid," making disturbing drawings and writing strange things in foreign languages so no one would understand. When I was only twelve, I used to stick my head in a loop of string that I used to lift my bed to see what it would be like to hang myself. At thirteen, I disassembled a sharpener for the first time and slashed my wrist. Of course, it was laughed at. I didn't grow up with the best mother; she was emotionally abusive, and I ran away from her to live with my father and stepmother when I was fifteen. By the way, I blame my mother for all my problems today; she was, and is, a terrible woman. During my move, I went out of the frying pan and into the fire, and that's when I really started seriously hurting myself. My hands were covered in cuts, the wounds opened at school, and blood soaked through my clothes. I cut my legs, stomach, arms, and shoulders wherever I could, often to the point where there wasn't even a scrap of space left for another line. My entire room was covered in bloody tissues, and I can't count how many clothes were soaked in the blood. I was a messed-up child. I went to a psychologist back then; he was the best thing that ever happened to me, and to this day I believe he was the only one who saved me. My father discharged me because he didn't agree with his views on parenting. Around that time, I also received a life-threatening referral to a psychiatric hospital. I was told they had no room for me and that if I wanted to kill myself, I should tell my dad. Whatever that meant. They officially listed it as "adjustment disorder," blaming my condition on the move. I've hated psychiatric hospitals ever since. The internet was also a less censored place back then. I quickly learned.how to make a gallows out of a belt and that partial hanging existed. A month after the psychiatric situation, I had my first suicide attempt, trying to hang myself from a doorknob. I'd also wandered through the woods before, even finding a good spot, but my parents rarely let me out of the house without suspicion. However, every time I tried, I chickened out and saved myself at a crucial moment. Over the years, I don't even know how many times I've pulled my head out of the noose when the first blow knocked me out, how many times I've backed out of a chair mid-fall and returned to the ground. I don't even know if I can say I ever truly tried, because I chickened out every time. I was on medication, thinking things were getting better. I stopped taking it. It didn't. I eventually ran away from my family and currently live alone with my partner. My mental health is getting worse. The last time I hurt myself was two months ago, after my partner told me I couldn't do anything else but cut myself. Since then, my alcohol abuse problems have worsened. With nothing to drink, I drank vodka and water, downed Jack Daniel's, or red wine, and then spent the entire night puking the entire contents of my stomach into a bucket. Vodka, wine, beer, Jagermeister, liqueurs. I drink everything I could, because at least it doesn't leave scars, and I don't know how to cope anymore. I took large amounts of melatonin, but they don't work. When I was undergoing treatment, I took Ketrel and Zoloft, maybe that's why weaker medications don't help anymore. I feel like the world is against me, or maybe I'm simply experiencing only negative emotions from every situation, which I experience several times more intensely than a normal person. Everything breaks me down. I quickly lose my temper, get irritated, and isolate myself. I'm usually a social person, but I seem to be increasingly unable to pretend to be eternally happy, and my natural thoughts and emotions too often show through. All I think about is suicide. I've lost my appetite. I can only force myself to eat one meal a day, and I'm increasingly losing strength. Some days I can barely stand and practically lose my sight. I can't concentrate. I can't sleep either. Every time I close my eyes, I feel such a huge pressure in my chest, comparable to the unimaginable stress of making one of the most important decisions in this world. And even when I do fall asleep, I wake up constantly. I can't do anything normally. A lot of bad things are happening around me, but I guess it's not worth talking about. Basically, the universe is telling me I'm a hindrance to everything, a problem. Every day I hope I don't wake up again or get hit and killed by a car. I don't even know what I expect by writing this. I simply don't know what to do anymore; everything seems wrong.
