I've never been the one to be open about what I've been through with a lot of people, but I have learned that I cope better the more that I share what I've been through so here it goes...

The past three years have been a nonstop fight with depression and anxiety. The summer before my junior year of high school was when I sank to the lowest of lows that I had ever experienced. It's also when I finally got help. August 4th, 2014, I watched my parents cry and threaten hospital trips once they saw the damage I had done to myself. I will never forget hearing my mom go downstairs and fall to the floor, sobbing, or my dad looking at me with tear-filled eyes saying he didn't want to outlive his daughter. My parents had completely lost it because for the first time in their parenthood, they had felt like they had failed me miserably. Little did they know at the time, none of this was their fault. At this point in my life, no one could have saved me from myself. I couldn't even save me at that point in my life. I was completely numb to the outside world. All I ever focused on was what was running through my mind throughout the day.

Worthless. Waste of space. Second choice. Ugly. Alone. Broken. Unrepairable.

It took me a full two years to accept that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't what the thoughts in my head said I was. Two years of feeling worthless, regardless of who told me otherwise. Two years of fake smiles and happiness to get me through another day. I never wanted anyone to be suspicious or worry about who I was on the inside so I pushed through all of that on my own. Some days this honestly just made my anxiety worse, but I didn't want to rely on anyone else to get through this. This was something I wanted to do on my own; something I still want to do on my own.

Before my freshman year of college started, I finally broke down and went to the doctor for antidepressants/antianxiety medications. Throughout this whole process, that is my biggest regret. In just a few short months, I became reliant on those pills. I quickly grew annoyed with the idea of needing medicine to make my happy so I simply quit taking it. I couldn't take it at night because I would have trouble waking up in the morning, but I couldn't take it in the morning either because it made me so drowsy that I was falling asleep in my morning class. It was a lose-lose situation that I didn't want to be a part of.

I would love to be able to sit here today and tell you that I haven't even touched a razor blade since August 4th, 2014, but I can't do that. I will admit that I've slipped up along the way and caused myself more harm than I should have, but I have my reasons for my addiction as others have theirs. As I was growing up I was taught to create a new pain long enough for the other one to go away. While my mom was taking care of a scraped knee, I would pinch my arm because then I would only be thinking about the small pinch on my arm rather than the awful sting I felt while she cleaned up my knee. Somehow that got twisted around in my head, making me justify the awful things I was doing to myself.

I have never actively sought out help for the things I have done. The only time I have gotten "medical attention" was after a minor car accident when I went to be checked for a concussion. They have to ask at the ER if you have harmed your self or self or contemplated suicide in the last three months. They took me straight back to a room and gave me resources for therapy, but it's not something I want. That's never what I've wanted for myself. Not even while I sit here writing this at 5 in the morning with tears streaming down my face. Therapy is not, and most likely will not ever be something I actively pursue for myself.

With all of this being said, I do want to point out that I have never wanted to die, not even one time. Just because I self-harmed doesn't mean I was trying to kill myself. I was coping, just not in the best way. I'm still coping, but in safer ways. Recovery is a long process and it's not easy. I won't lie to you. Recovery is the hardest thing I have ever put myself through, but I hope that one day I can look back on all of this when I'm 35 with a family and say that I made it. I want to be able to be an example that things can get better if you just give them the time to get better. I want to look back on all of this and be able to say that now, I'm happy.