A home life that included emotional and extreme physical abuse, the extent of my antisocial, depressive, and self harming behavior made school not great either, and being grounded for 5 straight years meant a non existent social life. that plus a very small family history of depression.
I dont know if I should blame my father for the issues that each therapist can attribute to him, i always had the option to call cps, but i never thought it was a good idea for one reason or another, maybe it wouldnt be so bad tomorrow, maybe it would be worse to be in foster care. plus he was my dad, yknow? you dont just call the cops on your dad. Eventually I was able to change my guardianship to my grandmother. God bless her.
I was diagnosed at around 16 or so? but I've felt depressed since 14 I think. 16~17 is when i started cutting as a way to cut down on the thoughts of actually killing myself. bartering system with my own depression. It started with a dull kitchen knife i had to grip the blade and pull the end to make the cut. I eventually switched from knives to razers. they are more easy to make the cut happen with, and you get a dull pain for a while from them as they heal. the dull pain helped me almost as much as the actual cutting to ease the internal discomfort. the cutting lasted till i was 18, and covered my chest/arms/legs. my left arm and chest got the brunt of it, being opposite my dominate hand, and both still have a couple keloid scars that I don't think will fade. If I get a tan, my scars show up a bit more than Id care for to be honest.
Brimmed with thoughts of failures and flaws and pros and cons i first attempted suicide at 18 i think? i had been to 2 different therapists who helped me try 6 different combinations of pills, school counselor, and had even talked to the pastor at a youth group I frequented. i spent countless insomnia ridden nights trying to figure out how come everything was always terrible. the only thing i came up with was that i deserved it, it was because of me. i didnt do that right thing enough. i wasnt good enough. that part still sticks with me. So i tried to hang myself. turns out 18 year old me was much more of an idiot than i thought i was, as i tried to do so with braided twine, not having any rope. this snapped when my weight hit it, and although i didnt know this at the time apparently I wasnt from enough distance to snap my neck. go figure more failure. the next few suicide attempts were nervous flickings at my wrist in the tub that i couldnt fully commit to. There is something very visceral about attempting to kill yourself by cutting yourself. seeing the blood, feeling the pain move slightly behind as the razor moves; it was all very daunting for me. I saw myself as a coward everytime. i couldnt fix the problem that was me by just killing myself. i kept pussyfooting around it and making it worse on everyone.
After going to a clinic for anxiety attacks, them seeing my current state and my scars/ still nearly fresh cuts forced me into an actual hospital visit for depression because i was a threat to myself. after being taken to a room specifically for suicide watch i was questioned for a while by two very nice nurses about why i wanted to kill myself and if i could please not want to do that any more. after telling them probably not to be honest i was told i had the choice to stay in the hospital for 2 weeks, or do 2 months of out-of-house therapy. i chose out-of-house and was lucky enough to be able to choose current therapist for that.
This made things worse as there were people with actual problems there. two women I remember very vividly from this group therapy, one had her house burn down, and the other was having a crisis because her husband and father and best friend all died within a month. they both were so nice and so sweet to me the whole time i was ordered to do the therapy. It would be a discredit to them to not mention how much of a struggle they were going through and still had that compassion for someone like me. the guilt for still feeling depressed after people like them, and my grandmother and friends trying to help was at an all time high.
Eventually I caved to the "easy way" again. I saved up 2 months prescriptions of remeron and depakote, 80 of one, 40 of the other. cant remember the doses. I sat down one planned night, with a 6 pack of hard cider. Surely I couldnt fail this attempt because i was too scared. You take the pills, wash it down with alcohol. and pass out and never get back up.
I made the mistake of saying goodbye to my two best friends at the time. I made them both promise not to say anything to anyone before I admitted it. and I trusted their word. I learned later that one of their wives heard me talking about it and called the police for him.
After about 2 hours passed since i had taken the pills i fell asleep. a short time later i was woken up by cops in my room and a flashlight in my eyes. I was under the legal drinking age, so this was an immediate uh oh moment, suicide attempt or not. after asking me to follow the flashlight with my eyes (which doesnt seem like a thing that would be pleasant/easy to do anyways with how bright they were and how i had just woken up from a pitch black room.) and me apparently failing. i was taken out to my own living room, made to put on my coat, made to sit down on my own coach and wait till the ambulance they were gonna make me take got there. 1 week stay in the pediatric ward, no clue why they put a 18-19 year old there. guilt from using that resource. 2-3 week stay in the mental health ward. locked behind two doors from the rest of the hospital with security at at least one. bars on the window. i was roomed with a pleasant old man. the acquantances i made vary from a a boy who thought he had the ability to control smoke and fire, to a 90 year old man who was in and out every couple months or so.
ive been to jail, and gone through processing, i promise this place was worse for my sanity than my stay there. i have no benchmark, but its left me even now with the thought that i will do anything in my power not to go back. i wanted to kill myself before, but it was only much worse during and for a while after my stay there.
At 21 i decided that i had a goal to complete that i couldnt complete while dead. and even after i complete it it still kind of stops me from killing myself for a long time after. its nothing i can accomplish for years so thats what i have to keep me ticking. turning 23 this year i have cut twice since then, small marks more to remind me that i can rather than with actual intent behind them. A therapist of mine once told me that not wanting to live, and wanting to die are two different things. i think he is right as i no longer really want to kill myself, but it is still really hard to find the will to live.
Also as much as I fully support everyone in getting the help they need and trying every option they morally can accept to try to get better. and love the responses that some of the community has given. It puts a sour taste in my mouth to notice this thread is yours Tury. i can only hope that that video along with your comments isnt a lie like much of what I heard from you when we were polite acquaintances. i truly hope this isnt another concept or human emotion you are using to exploit people. It pains me to agree with Battlemage, but if you havent gotten help since you lied and faked the death of a family member, you probably should soon.