Recognizing My Illness

     Mental illnesses are something that not many people willingly admit.  When most people think of someone with a mental illness, they probably think "oh, they're just a nut case".   Being someone with two mental illnesses, I can see where they are coming from, but no, we are not nut cases.   We are ordinary people that are sick.   We are sick, and we can be helped just as any other ill person can be helped.

     When I was a sophomore in high school, people started to give me a hard time because of some of the choices I was making.   Understandable...right?  No matter where you go, people are going to be mean, they are going to talk, but what they don't realize is how much this impacts someones life.  Some people are tougher than others and can handle more.  I was so tough, until things became too much.  

     At this point in time, this is when my best friend left because "I was too much drama for her to handle".   This was HORRIBLE.  In this hard time I needed her the most.  Everyone started to walk all over me and when I say I cried every day after school, that means sometimes I would leave school because it was too much for me to be there.  I begged and begged my mom to let me leave my school.  She just said, things will get better, you'll make new friends.  Little did she know, I wouldn't make a solid, trustworthy group of friends until my senior year.  

     It never even crossed my mind until junior year that I was depressed.   I thought that I was just going through a hard time.   Yeah the constant partying and drinking and self-harming should have been a neon light to say that I had a problem...but I guess I was just being naive and telling myself that everything would be okay.  As things progressed and as I got worse I began doing my research.   You know what they say, never self diagnose yourself over the internet because you could search "my hand hurts" and it'll tell you that you have foot cancer.  You just cannot trust everything that you read.  At the time, I was taking a basic Psychology class, and one of the topics that I covered was mental illnesses and how it affects your brain and your daily life.  

     All along, as stated, I thought I was just sad because of everything that was occurring around me.   I wasn't, I was severely depressed, and I honestly didn't care.  I didn't care what happened to me, some days I went to bed and prayed that I wouldn't wake up.   Senior year I started to get really really bad anxiety about things, and I figured it was just nerves and that once again, it would pass.  As time went on...this anxiety got so much worse.  I have panic attacks that make me pass out because I don't know what is going on and I don't breathe right and I pass out.  

      I have finally decided that it is time for me to do something about all of this.  I am tired of hurting, I am tired of crying, I am tired of being miserable, I am tired of being tired, and I want to be okay.  I made myself a doctors appointment and went and spoke to her about my anxiety.  She diagnosed me with generalized anxiety disorder and prescribed me a daily dose of Celexa of 10mg.   The first two weeks of getting used to it, were HORRIBLE.  My friends at school HATED me.  (this occurred as a freshman in college).   I was a bitch, I wanted nothing to do with anyone, all I wanted to do was sleep.  Now the anxiety is a little better, but the depression seems to be getting worse.  The cutting is getting worse, and with the severity of the cuts, means the scars are a lot worse.   They're becoming harder and harder to hide.


     Some may ask: "What is recovery?", or "What are you recovering from?".  Well I'm here to tell you a little about my journey to my recovery, my recovery from anxiety, depression, and self harm.
     So, what exactly is "recovery", if you google "recovery definition" it comes up as this: "a return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength".    Recovering from something can be as minimal as being scared by a spider to as extreme as a horrible accident or illness of any kind.   Recovering from my mental illness so far....has not been all.
     It all started out when I was in 8th grade.
     When I was in 8th grade, I guess I was going through a "stage" as most would say.  Boys were finally starting to notice me, and as any girl does when her crush recognizes her, she freaks out.  I was so excited that he finally realized who I was, I mean he actually knew my name and that I existed.  I started wearing a lot more makeup, and was only talking to him and my "friends" kind of hated me for it, because I was getting attention from a guy that EVERYONE liked.   They all started to isolate me..they stopped inviting me places..they even kicked me out of my own lunch table.   I started getting called a whore, and a slut, just because they were jealous. I was in 8th grade for God sakes I didn't even have my first kiss until freshman year I couldn't have actually been a slut.  I stopped talking to the guy hoping that they would start talking to me again.  They didn't.  I was all alone, I had no one.  

     Freshman year came along.   I met another guy.  We started to date and it was pretty first.  He started pressuring me into doing things I was not comfortable with.  He tried pressuring me into doing things such as drugs, and slowly becoming involved sexually.  He HATED that I was so to say "inexperienced" but I just wasn't ready.  I was 14.   I started giving in because he "loved" me, and told me things like, "if you love me you'll let me do this".   I hated it.  I proceeded to try and break up with him because it was becoming way too much.   He started telling me that if I broke up with him, he would kill himself.   I had to get out of this, but I didn't know how and I let it go on way too long, but that was something that no 14 year-old should have to deal with.  Eventually he finally realized that he was wrong to do these things and backed off.  

     This destroyed me a little.   I wasn't comfortable in my own skin knowing that I was pressured into doing most of these things.  I was disgusted by myself, and more and more people were calling me a slut because of the things they heard.  Little did they know, this stuff was pretty much happening against my will.   I started drinking.  A lot.  I liked the feeling it gave me, I felt invincible.  All along, I only had one friend, and I felt like I couldn't even tell her what was going on.  I was still alone.  The drinking lead to heavy partying, which lead to me throwing my body at guys to try and numb the pain.  They liked me....right?  No, they liked that I was being easy.

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