I am currently sixteen years old, and have dropped out of High School. For most of my life I have suffered with severe depression.
When I was a little girl, I had a very abusive father. Every night he drank himself silly. Back then, he was an angry person, who took it out on my mother and I.
I got a little too far ahead of myself, let me back up a little.
In 1994, my father married my mother. Ceasar was my fathers name, and Simone my mothers. Ceasar was in the closet at the time, and was angry at himself for being gay (He grew up in the 1960’s, and at the time being gay wasn’t as accepted as it is now.). In 1997 I popped up.
Sometime in 1998, my father left my mother for about 3 or so months. Once he came back, he realized he could not make it without my mothers support. They agreed to wait until I was 18 to divorce to avoid custody issues. That’s when he began to drink his anger away.
When I was in Elementary, I had decent grades. It was never good enough for my father, though. Every time I’d come home with a test, he’d demand that he’d see it. When I’d get a perfect score, he’d scold me, saying that “I just got lucky, next time you won’t do so good,”. If I missed one or two questions he’d yell at me and say horrible things such as, “You’re not good enough”, “Worthless brat!”, and other things that my kid brain couldn’t comprehend. At night he’d be on the computer, always drinking and laughing loudly in the middle of the night. Our house had only one bathroom, and that was in the hallway, near the computer. When my mother and I would go to use the bathroom at night, he’d glare at us as we walked in and out, or he’d throw things at us to keep us in our rooms. He’d throw anything that was near him, such as beer bottles, cans, etc.
Eventually when I was around eight or nine years old, I stopped caring about my grades. My A’s and B’s turned into D’s and F’s. Needless to say, my father was enraged by the sudden drop of grades. He’d scream and scream until his throat was raw, and he’d slap and slap until my cheeks were raw. When I was about 11, my mother could not take the stress of having to deal with my father, and kicked him out of the house.
When I got into Middle school, I began to develop social anxiety. I was starting to distance myself from friends that I had since preschool, afraid that I was ‘toxic’ to them. I was afraid of sitting in front of classes, I didn’t want people to look at me. I was extremely paranoid of getting into the lunch line, and sometimes didn’t eat at school for days at a time. To avoid suspicion from my mother, I’d buy breakfast every day (There weren’t any lines for breakfast, so I didn’t have to worry.) for a kid that didn’t have enough money, or arrived too late to grab breakfast. When I was around 12 years old, I began to cut. My whole mindset was, “I deserve to hurt more, I haven’t hurt enough to make up for being worthless”. To this day it still is something along those lines. when I was 13 suicidal thoughts were an everyday thing. I’d daydream about how much nicer the world would be with one less mouth to feed, and how much more stress-free my mother would be.
When I got into High school, I quit talking to people altogether. My grades were at their highest they had been in years, but my suicidal thoughts began to get worse. Every day I’d try to fathom of why I deserved to hurt this much, but I began to over think and made it hurt even worse.
In Freshman year of High school, I was assigned to a ‘Study Skills’ class. This class was given to anyone who had a GPA of 2.5 or lower in Middle school. It doubled as a therapy group and a class that helped with your grades. Every Friday we’d have Group Session, but I had never spoken during it.
When I got into Sophomore year, I stayed in school about a month before my social anxiety got so bad that I couldn’t bear the though of someone being in the same room as me.
I attempted to attend online school, but my depression had gotten so bad that I didn’t have the will, or the care, to do anything. Eventually getting expelled from there.
Four or so months later, my mother and father agreed to go to family counseling. I was dragged along as well.
When we got to the center, I was quiet. I pushed myself into the back of the room that my mother, father, and I were in. When the counselor walked in, she began to talk to my mother and father. She turned and asked my if I had suicidal thoughts recently. I stared her in the eye, refusing to answer her question. My mother chimed in, answering that I had been having suicidal thoughts (A few weeks earlier, I had confessed to my mother that I had been having suicidal thoughts.). The therapist then nodded, and turned back to me and said, “So, since you are a danger to yourself, and possibly others, you are going to have to be hospitalized here for 10 days.”
Little did I know that the center I was at doubled as a behavioral hospital.
I felt the blood drain from my face, breath was taken from my lungs.
On the first day there, I had a roommate named Bridgett. I couldn’t deal with the fact that someone else was in the room with me, and eventually had to be moved to social isolation.
Every day at the center I was at, there were visiting hours. On my first day, my father came to visit me. Once I sat down next to him, he began to scream bloody murder. “YOU KNOW WHEN YOU GET OUT OF HERE YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO FIND A JOB TO SUPPORT YOUR MOTHER I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT YOU WOULD DO SOMETHING SO FOOLISH AND SELFISH I CAN’T EVEN blah blah blah.” I eventually couldn’t comprehend what he was saying as rage surged through my veins. I couldn’t stand him, and my hatred towards him was unbearable. I stood up, grabbed his shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and said ,”You know, you’re a real asshole.” He stood there, for a moment, in complete shock. I ended up punching him square in the nose, feeling a sickening crack as my fist made contact with him. As he toppled to the ground, I told him that I hated him. I have not spoken to him every since.
The rest nine days were uneventful, and when I was released I was forced to do group therapy sessions.
I quit going to them after the first two weeks, and eventually was removed from the program.
It’s been about two months. In these two months I have not cut at all. In these two months I have began to regain my self confidence, motivation, and care. In these two months I’ve finally began to establish to confidence to start studying and preparing for the GED test.
Thank you for taking the time to read this, and please, wish me luck. :)