My name is Becki I’m 23, my bipolar and PTSD started showing its ugly head when I was 13. Well from the age of 5 till I was 11 I was physically abused by my father. He would beat me over little things like going back to sleep after he woke me up or for eating in the living room. I also watched him beat and yell at my mother and younger brother. The time he stopped beating me he started beating my younger brother to the point I thought he would kill him. No one in my family would talk about it and I was forced to hold the secret in for years. I was always scared to go home after school and loud noises and people walking up behind me always made me jump.
At 13 I started to cry all the time and to self-harm. My school saw the cuts on my arm and told my mom to put me in therapy but she refused in fear my dad would find out. After about a month of me going to school with cuts on my arm social services got involved and made my mom put me in therapy. They also told my dad, the day they told him my dad came home and called me a suicidal nutcase and told me to just go kill myself. I started meds for what they called “major depression” and saw a therapist. The therapist I had wasn’t a good one and after 4 or 5 months I was told I didn’t need to see her anymore even though I was still cutting daily.
One day my dad kicked me out of the house and I was 16 and had nowhere to go. I kind of faked being suicidal and was hospitalized. From the hospital I went to a residential treatment place and was there till I was a little over 17 years old. I was kind of doing better till I was at home and had to deal with my father and school. I dropped out after I was kicked out of high school for not doing homework and yelling at a school nurse. When summer came around and I was 18 my dad woke me up told me to pack my stuff and get out.
I stayed at my grandmothers for 2 weeks and then faked suicidal again and stayed at a hospital for 2 weeks. My case manager helped me get into an apartment place for the mentally ill and it was horrid. I stayed there till I was 19 or 20. Then I found NAMI and they got me in to a house pretty quickly. I still live in the house and I go to the group on Tuesdays and I love it. Everyone is so nice and help me out a lot. I was just recently diagnosed with PTSD which explains a lot. I’ve been doing so much better these last few years and that makes me happy. I still have problems with self-injury and depression but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was a few years back. If it wasn’t for NAMI I don’t know where I would be right now.
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