This has been a problem for a while now, so I'll start from the beginning.
Up until last night, I thought the problem started when I was around 8, but then I realized it went back further than that - further than I'd ever thought. As a baby, I slept about the same amount I do now (2-4 hours, if I'm lucky; it got better in the middle). When I was 3, I had nightmares about bodily mutilation. When I was 6, I would often get sad over how "no one believe[d] me" and I'd sometimes go days without eating because I wasn't hungry. I was also obsessed with band-aids, to the point that when told I'd only get a band-aid if I was bleeding, well...
However, it did start to get worse when I was around 8. My mom was preoccupied with my little brother, who'd started having behavioral problems because of the stress of moving to a new country, and when my dad wasn't on a business trip, he was locked in the study, having a conference call. I started getting bullied at school because of my brother's problems and the fact that I was a different nationality than my classmates.
Eventually, it got to the point where I wanted to kill myself, and I'd even planned how to do it. I'd jump off the school's roof.
It never happened though, because despite my desire to die, I was afraid to venture into the unknown.
It only got worse from there. My dad started having problems at work and started hitting me, though to this day, he will deny it. After seeing the sheer amount of cruelty in the world and the fact that it wasn't just me, I lost what little faith I had in the possible existence of a god.
Of course, with my loss of belief came the questions, "If there's no god or afterlife, what am I living for? Why do I exist? Why should I continue existing?" (Also known as an existential crisis)
This only added to my already suicidal mindset.
I remember crying a lot that year.
The next year, I started wearing wristbands because I was imitating the characters from all the sports anime I'd just gotten into. My teachers didn't know I was depressed, they just knew I was quiet and didn't have (m)any friends. I got sent to the counselor because they thought I was cutting, but I didn't know the reason at the time. I told her all my problems and made her promise not to tell my parents, or at least not till I was ready.
As soon as I was out the door, she called them. That day, I found out my mom didn't care if I wanted to kill myself as long as I didn't go around telling people and ruining her image.
After that, I started numbing my feelings in order to survive. I didn't care anymore. I slept, went to school, bathed, occasionally ate, and listened to music (this is where my twitter name comes from).
In 8th grade, it became too much and I started up the old habit again. I only did it a few times though, because it stopped helping after a while. To this day, no one knows.
Then came 9th grade. I started coming home from school and going straight to bed. Sometimes I'd sleep through the time I was supposed to leave for school the next day. I was a high-achiever and I hated having to miss school even though I hated school and everyone in it because my grades were what kept my parents from adding to my misery.
I'd also had to miss my after-school guitar class on a few occasions because of this, which I hated even more because it was the one thing in my life that made me happy.
We ended up moving that summer and I started 9th grade in America. Since the toxic environment was gone, I felt much better, and didn't give much thought to killing myself anymore. I thought that maybe I could finally live a normal life - finishing high school, going to college and getting a job.
Things were great for a while, other than the flashbacks. Those were getting less frequent with time though, or so I thought. 9th grade was great, and when I started 10th grade, I finally made my first real friend. I love her more than anything, in a platonic way.
I can remember things going great until about October 2014. My rollercoaster started coming down and I didn't know why. Once, I had a panic attack so bad that I had to go home. Other times, at home, I had flashback attacks. Before, it had only been single flashbacks that I could distract myself from, given the right distraction. Now there were just these flurries of auditory flashbacks that wouldn't stop and would hinder my work.
When asked the question, "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?" I can't answer. Of course, I have an answer, but it's not something I can say out loud.
I see myself being dead in 10 years. I don't want to want to die, but I don't see any other options at this point. As I mentioned in the first picture, I want to get help, but it seems to be currently impossible.
Now that I think about it, my relapse might have been because I realized that if I'm going to kill myself, it's going to be before graduation. I'm going to start 12th grade in about a month, so it's not far away at all.
I guess I never got past being suicidal after all.
Songs
