In sixth grade I saw someone who had scars on her arm and I couldn't believe someone would do that to themselves, until I did it too. I hated myself afterwards, especially because it hurt a lot more than I thought it would hours later. I told my parents and they told me that if I were to ever do that again they would try and intervene with medical help. It stopped me from hurting myself for a couple years, but then I just found a different place that was more hidden.
In middle school there were rumors going around that I was anorexic or starving myself for attention because I didn't eat lunch much. I found it was easier to hide that I wasn't eating since I never ate breakfast and my parents weren't there during lunch to see if I was or not. This continued all throughout high school and until college when I was constantly eating with other people. The self harm continued, even while in college.
I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety during my freshman year of high school and it felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. I wasn't just acting out, and what I was feeling was finally realized by other people. I tried a medication and seeing a therapist as much as we could afford, but that medication made my depression worse. It just made me sleep all of the time. The next medication didn't help any and I wasn't able to see the therapist very often so my dad became frustrated and I decided not to put him through it anymore.
I became worse and the suicidal thoughts rang louder in my ears. I just didn't want to do it all anymore. I wasn't getting better and I wasn't having any easy fix to my health problems. I needed it to be easier. So I would cut myself while in the shower and hide the blade wherever I could. I would eat as little as possible. My dad began to notice and forced me to sit down and eat my dinner in front of him.
I didn't really think anything of it when I failed classes in high school, not having the energy to really try anymore. I didn't think anything of it because I honestly didn't think I would make it through high school. I would be dead before graduation so it didn't matter if my grades sucked, right? I wasn't going to college, even though I talked about it all the time. I wasn't going to make a family, even if I really wanted to. It just wasn't in the cards for me. So when a college was willing to give me a large scholarship I didn't think twice about accepting, I didn't even look at what majors they offered. The choice made my parents happy, I was kinda happy.
Then graduation was here and I was getting a diploma. It still doesn't make sense to me to this day. I had survived long enough to graduate and now I was really going to college. I really needed to figure this out, I needed an actual plan.
When college finally rolled around I still didn't know what I wanted to do. I had no idea what I wanted my major to be, I didn't even have an actual tour of this place either. I didn't even finish a full year of college before dropping out, but I still can't believe that I survived long enough to do that. I started getting help my senior year and I guess it helped a lot more than I thought it did, because here I am.
I'm still alive and I have no idea what I want to do with my life, mostly because I didn't think I would still be alive now. So now I have to actually worry about my future. I need to make my dreams come true. I get to make my dreams come true. So no, I don't have a complete idea of my future. I'm just getting used to the idea that I'm still here.