Hi everyone! So, I'm new here which you probably gathered, and I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to say. I guess I'm hoping that boys hating my experience that I could help somebody else.
So, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety earlier this year, and to tell the truth I probably never would have made myself go and see my doctor if I had the choice, which I partially did, but once I made the decision I started regretting it, however my mum didn't let me back out. I knew I needed help, but I was embarrassed, I was scared, I was worried that I would be judged and my mum would hate me for letting things get so out of hand.
My time at school wasn't exactly going perfectly, my friends were struggling with stuff going on at home and their own issues. They always came to me though, always told me about their issues, Don't get me wrong, I want to be thereor my friends, I was to support them and provide a shoulder to lean on, a confidante and someone they can just come to when life isn't all flowers and rainbows, which to be honest, it isn't entirely such most of the time. What I was doing however, was I was taking their issues, taking what was weighing them down, and making it my own issue. And when I couldn't solve it for them, I would beat myself up, both mentally and physically.
It didn't take long until I stopped wanting to continue on that path. But I couldn't see any way out without losing my friends. So I started just shutting myself out from everyone. I spent my days in my room. I wouldn't get out of bed. Sometimes I wouldn't even leave my room for meals. But doing this didn't have the effect that I expected. Instead of providing a shelter from the world, it left me to my mind. I couldn't stop thinking and telling myself that I had abandoned my friends, thoug i was still going to school as my parents surely wouldn't allow my not to without a proper reason and I wasn't willing to tell them any of this, and how I was a terrible person. I kept sifting through memories and the days past, thinking about what I should've done, could've done that would've had a better outcome for me. I replayed all the awkward moments, the uncomfortable and upsetting moments of my days, and I must admit, my friends and I joke around a lot though some of them don't really know what is okay to say and what is not, and of course, me being my stupidly self-conscious self, I took all of it to heart. They'd call me squishy in an endearing manner, and that I was comfortable to sit on and to lie on, but I took it as me being fat.
That, amongst everything else, was what drew me to the edge. I had heard of self-inflicted injury from social media platforms and from friends. Prior to the beginning of that semester I had never thought I would be capable of doing that to myself. I learnt just how quickly things can change. I don't want to go into extreme detail about my experience with self-harm, as it is still something that I am trying to bring myself out of, but in terms of how long it has been since my last extreme episode, I am three to four weeks clean. Anyone who has had personal experience with this particular side of mental illness, will understand me when I say that once you start, it is extremely hard to stop. I believed it impossible to end it to tell the truth, as that sensation of pain and having that control over my own state of being, was addictive. The pain became my outlet, every time I was upset, every time I felt as though I had failed somebody, I would retreat to it. I would always regret it in the morning. And I would suffer that pain for weeks while it healed, and then I would beat myself up for doing that to myself, for "being so weak". But then I would feel the need to punish myself, to show my mind that I did have control over my body and it when I really didn't. And so turned the unending cycle of self-hatred.
This continued for months, and if I count back the pages in my diary, it's probably about seven or so months until April this year. When I had a whole lot of stres riding on me due to all of my commitments and responsibilities. I was having mental breakdowns left, right and centre. This time they weren't in the "safety" of my room. They were in the classroom. In the car. At lunchtime. And then one day it was so bad that I had to go home - to be honest I don't really understand how this one was worse than any of the others - and I sat with my mum. And she noticed the marks along my arm.
That's what gor the wheels turning, that and he fact that I had asked my mum if it were possible to be "tested" (gosh my limited vocabulary) for anxiety, not depression. I visited a professional psychiatrist. And long story short I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Due to my circumstances and how serious my issue was, I was put on medication. It took a while for it to take effect, but once it did, I could definitely see a difference. Obviously the meds didn't fix everything. I had to do a lot to help myself and I was given a lot of advice by my doctor which has definitely helped.
My closest friends know, my parents know exactly what to do if something ever happens, and I'm finding more and more people who have had similar experiences to me. Of course this isn't exactly something that there is a "cure" for, but I don't want that to discourage anyone. Things will not always remain dark. You will be ok. Things will get better.
If there is one thing, one person that in any way began my ongoing journey to recovery, it was my mum. She sat me down. And she actually talked about what was going on. She found out just how bad things had gotten. I cannot thank her enough. Without being able to open up about this, and I previously believed it would be impossible to do so, I honestly don't think I would still be her. Please. Please. Please. Reach out to somebody that you think is in need. Even if it ends up being a false alarm, it is essential in ensuring the safety of the people around you. I wish that somebody had done that for me earlier, and maybe all of this could have been prevented.
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