So, my mental illness has always been with me, even as a child. While everyone else was laughing and socializing, I was the child afraid of everything. In about 4th to 5th grade I realized that I wasn’t the same as other kids in my grade. I would have rather read a book than talk and hang out with my “friends” at recess. I say “friends” because I was that girl who was the 3rd wheel that someone didn’t even know was there I was so quiet. I had lost my true self because I put my true self away just to please others. Going into middle school was harder for me than anyone else. I was afraid of chance, everyone would make new friends in a day and it would take me 2 months just to work up the nerve to talk to someone new. After the first semester of middle school. My “friends” got rid of me, they told me that I was just making them not able to make friends because apparently I was over-weight. It was hard. Hard still sitting at the same lunch table, going to the same classes as the people who called my fat. I kept replaying that day in my head until I finally believed them that I was fat. Months went by, I would stay up late working out and trying to lose weight. Coming to school tired but making it through the day, just enough to eat something little and try my hardest on homework. Finally, finally. I met people with the courage to come and talk to me. After giving out social media contact.
We became close friends. I was started to eat more, sleep more, my grades were better, and I was smiling for the first time in a long time. Winter in 7th grade I lost my best friend. My grandfather. It was the hardest thing I had ever went through. I cut myself off from the outside world and from my family. I lost my friends. I started self harming and wearing long sleeves every chance I had, when someone would notice I would just blame it on the dog. After coming back to school I was working in class one day and the phone in the classroom rang and another girl’s grandfather was sick. After he had passed. We became close friends due to that we had just lost someone important in our life. Fast forward 7 months to 8th grade. I had figured out who I really was with the people who treated me like family. I was still self harming and even in the blazing heat I would wear a long sleeve shirt. The second Sunday started out like any other. My dad would force my brother and I to go to church even tho I’m atheist and my brother was fed up with church. After church, we went into the city to take pictures for our Christmas card. That night I was fed up and feeling numb. I had a headache and I didn’t want to go to school the next morning. Feeling numb was how I was pushed over the edge. At 11 at night i sneaked into the hallway closet to get the largest bottle of pills I could find. After spending that night in the emergency room I was moved into rehab for 2 weeks.
I was ready to die. I had faced bullies, assholes with opinions, and self hatred. I finally almost a year after my suicide attempt number 5, learned to love myself. It’s hard. I know. But knowing, liking who the true you is, and not being ashamed of your past is the best thing that happened. I dont believe in destiny and stuff like that. But i truly believe that this has set me up to doing the right thing for once. I still have all my scars on my wrists and arms and I dont care who sees them, but it’s different for every person. I still get started at on the streets because of them. I’m not proud of my past but I’m proud of the person who I am trying to become because of my past. My name is Megan, and this is my story.