My story 

Hello world.
This is my first post. For a very long time, I thought about an own blog cuz I thought it would feel good to share my thoughts with the people out there. (And my psychiatrist said it would help me.) So here I go, even with tears in my eyes.

First of all, I wanna tell you something about me. Not things like age and name, I’m talking about the personal stuff. Let’s get started: I moved for 5 times, was bullied for 2 years (age 12-14), have a mom and sis I love and a father I barely know today cuz he’s an asshole, got my eating disorder (anorexia and bulimia which means I either starve or purge all day, that changes time by time) when I was 11 years old and my depression one year later. And then there are also my social anxieties I was diagnosed with at the same age and doctors used to call it social phobia until one of them told me that’s wrong and it’s actually a social disorder. Whatever, docs always change their minds! Also, I have the so called borderline personality disorder and no one knows when it actually came up. To me, it means I can’t really handle feelings. There are overwhelming or they disappear and turn into a horrible emptiness no one can imagine without this syndrome or I just don’t know what these feelings are called. I’m like unable to trust people and afraid of letting them get too close, so I hurt them and push them away so they can’t do it. That’s why I usually stay alone. There are people I love, but I feel like they don’t even know the real me because I can’t show it. I hide behind a wall of lies, act like I have so damn much self-confidence although it never existed in my whole life. I’m a liar, but I can’t help myself cuz I’m way too scared to tell the truth. And because of all this stupid stuff, I started to self harm when I was 12 years old, too and tried a bunch of different ways to do it like burning, cutting, piercing, hitting, slapping and freezing different parts of my body and the oldest scars I have cover my whole legs. I’m glad at least the ones on my arms have disappeared cuz I hate it when I always have to hide them in summer.

What else is crazy about me… I almost forgot my trauma- no, I didn’t forget it, I suppressed and eliminated it. The memories hurt so much. And of course, you want to know what I mean and I’ll tell you because you guys don’t know who I am and I’m anonymous on the Internet. It happened with my first boyfriend when I was 13 years old and because I didn’t tell him my real age, he thought he was allowed to have sex with me. So I lost my virginity and we fucked a couple times and I thought he’d be my one true love (you know, first love is always being overvalued by the teens) until I realized who he really was. An abusive, violent, addicted junkie. Sadly, I noticed it way too late. When he had me, he started to always boss me around and made me feel like his slave. Because of his aggressive behavior I got scared of him and when I said something against him, he hurt me. I didn’t tell anyone (fear!), so I lost control and it had suddenly gotten so far that I did drugs because he wanted me to and had sex with him even when I didn’t want it because when I told him my opinion, he turned from the perfect boyfriend he was in front of others into the fucking asshole. Then there was the day when I finally stood up and defended myself and well… I went through a night I will never forget. He abused me, sexually. Rape. For weeks, my skin felt like it was on fire and I had never hated my body so much before. I felt like I was rotting from the inside. I can’t tell any more details, it’s really private. The only person I ever really told about it died. Also a depressing fact about me. I lost my very best friend. She was the only person that knew everything about me. No one will ever get my whole trust again. I was finally able to completely open my heart and head and… Then she killed herself. Not that I’m mad at her because of it, I know all the reasons. I’m just hurt and disappointed. There will always be something missing in my heart. Emptiness. A piece of me that was ripped apart by this loss. The very best quote I ever heard about this topic was said by Damon Salvatore (The Vampire Diaries):

“When you lose somebody you love, every candle, every prayer is not gonna make up for the fact that the only that you have left is a hole in your life where that somebody that you cared about used to be. And a rock with a birthday carved into it that I’m pretty sure is wrong. So thanks, friend. Thanks for leaving me here.” 

I could never express the feelings better than Damon did in season 4 (watch it, it’s epic).

Because of all this shit, of course I went through a couple therapies. The first one when I was 12, a stupid psychologist who didn’t have a clue. One year later, I attempted suicide for the first time. Tried to throw myself in front of the train. Because of my fear, I had gotten drunk before, so I was so damn stupid to miss the train I wanted to be killed by. Someone in the train saw me and the police found me before the next train could come. (I lived in a cottage, so not many trains passed) I was sent to a locked psychiatric for a whole month and I really wanted to recover. The problem was… They lock you up in there, but don’t cure you. They lie to you and say everything would change. But I never met someone who can say it really worked. This kind of hospital only exists to protect: you from yourself, the world from you or you from the world. The therapies are there to keep you from dark thoughts and boredom. But that’s the fact they don’t tell you in there. Of course I had a bad relapse at home and even attempted suicide again. Deadly drug overdose. You know how easy it was for me to get drugs although the only things I’ve ever been addicted to were cigarettes for 3 years and weed for 4 months. I’m ‘clean’ today. Back to the topic: I didn’t die because I was found by my mom and taken to the hospital by the emergency. I almost died, but barely survived. Today I don’t know if I should be happy or sad about it. Locked psychiatric again, for 3 weeks. Then I was send to an open one. Only difference: school and day-release with other patients depending on how much the doctors think they can trust you. I was allowed to go home after 4 months and yay, had another relapse. I wasn’t stable enough yet and bullied again when I went to another school. But this time, my mom realized my condition before I could try to kill myself again. She noticed it because I was very underweight at that time. The ED made me barely eat and exercise way too often. I spent other 3 months in the same open mental hospital and then people decided to not allow me to go home again. A therapeutical residence or facility, I don’t care how you call it. It was so horrible there and everything was getting worse and worse until even my body almost gave up. I spent some days in a normal hospital because I spit blood all the time and my heart didn’t beat normal. The passing out had already started at the age of 12, but now it was so bad that people noticed something was wrong with my physical health. I couldn’t stand it any longer and told my mom about it because I didn’t want to do another suicide attempt again. Wise choice. We finally found a great hospital, a so called psychosomatic clinic. You know why only this one worked? They have a real therapy concept! You don’t spend your day drawing pictures and making music, you have to cope with your illness! They focus on the reasons why. The disorders are only symptoms for your problems! That’s why their especially for your disorder made therapies work. They know what it is about. And they don’t tell you any lies there. You don’t just get through the stuff in there and then you go home and everything’s fine. NO. That’s not how it works! It’s not like a broken leg. You lay there and wait until the docs have cured it. NO. It’s a very long process and the relapses are part of it.

There is no key to recovery. But this year, I was able to find a way how to get through this without giving up. It’s okay not to be okay as long as you’re not giving up. Yes, I’m scared and I often think about dying and I binge and purge, but I have already gotten so much better! I have a completely normal weight, my body’s fine and today I purge like once or twice a week. I once did it 10 times a day. I also barely self harm, can eat in public, don’t control my weight anymore, can go to school, got my concentration back and I had sex again. Drunk, yeah, to suppress my fear, but I know I’ll soon be able to sleep with my boyfriend without any alcohol. And I’m able to live at home with my mom and my sis. I’ll try to fight, no matter how hard it is because this year, I finally found reasons to live, goals to reach. That’s the most important thing in recovery: a goal.

Although I feel so desperate and empty right now. I’ll just keep going and try to make it through. People don’t want to kill themselves. They only want to kill their pain. Stay strong, guys. Thank you so much for your attention.

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