Perfect Depression

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: March 04, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 04, 2017




“Worthless!,” “No one cares about you, much less love you!” these are the words that helped start all of this. I had enough of the bullying; I had tried everything from skipping school, to telling a teacher; and then finally fighting back when getting into fights. I had realized that no one had an impact on the bullying and it wasn’t going to stop any time soon, even my retaliation against them accomplished nothing; in fact, they seemed to enjoy fighting me, because it was no fun to shove me around without a reaction. I had no way of expressing my emotions, so every thing, the bullying, issues with my mother getting drunk every night, and failing grades snowballed into my depression. I had begun cutting and burning myself as a way to escape from everything and give temporary relief because of the endorphins my brain released, but that did nothing to the bullying and I knew it wouldn’t do anything except scar my arms, legs, chest, and stomach. I had gotten to the breaking point on April 18th and I wanted to go to school one last time before my pain was over. When I had gone to school on April 19th to say my final goodbyes to my friends. I had broken down in my English teacher’s classroom, after class she asked me what was wrong and I told her everything. After we finished talking she walked me to the counselor’s office where I was told I was going to Regional West after she talked to my therapist over the phone; Regional West is a hospital for the suicidal and other mental issues, but I’m unsure of what they are because I was one the “Teens, Depression” floor. When it was time for me to leave for Regional, two police officers (which were very kind), handcuffed me and walked me to their SUV. They searched me and helped me into the SUV because I am too short to get in without the use of my arms. My English teacher watched through her window visibly crying because she knew what I would have done if I had gone home that night. We drove to the ER in Rapid City for blood testing and other things. The entire drive, I sat in the back, handcuffed, and crying; the officers told me I was not in any kind of trouble and that they were here to help me. I spent a week in that hospital and I faked my way through all of it, I did not want to be locked up in a place where I was supposed to receive help but felt like a prison.


 The recovery went “well” assuming “well” meant nothing had changed, the bullying, issues and home, and my mind set. I only got better at masking my cuts and burns to stop the sympathy I did not want. Every day for 5 months I had self harmed in secret, some way or another whether it was cutting, burning, punching things until my fists bled, or hitting my head against walls. The stress of being disowned by my father for my sexuality, and my mother being drunk every night took its toll. I am not afraid of suicide, I’m afraid of the reactions from it. If I fail it looks like it’s for attention, if I succeed, the people that care for me will be devastated. So instead, I distracted myself with gaming, hoping it would take the evil thoughts away or at least fade them, but it didn’t do anything; I had lost all interest in video games but I still played with some internet friends. I had began keeping to myself in my room; complete solitude with the evil thoughts that scatter my mind like mines in a war zone. The only things I cared about in my room was my bird and my computer. The bird’s name is Nanners and she is special to me because she was bought for me for my 15th birthday, and the computer was like an escape from my home troubles; I used it to find people to play games with and even go on Reddit where friendly people would post things telling me to stay strong. This gave me the thought that on the internet, no one needs to know who you truly are, so I made a persona; where I was happy and when I would get into a TeamSpeak channel (Like skype except it uses less CPU on a computer), I would fake the “happy”. I never told any of my internet friends about about my problems, with one exception; this guy I met from Canada and I exposed my fake persona to him, but for the most part I wanted to keep my troubles in the real world and not in a digital one.


Skip ahead to a few months ago where I had become part of my friend’s family. I had gotten so used to being up there I had started to call his mom, dad, and grandma from their names to calling them mom, dad, and grandma. They understood my situation and were accepting of me. They didn’t care about my sexuality or anything, they wanted me to be happy. I had been accepted into such a nice and caring family that I haven’t had since my mother divorced my father back in 2011. I’m, sitting in this sphere of darkness; thoughts of suicide and these people and my few friends are my only light. I began to open up to my second family about my problems at home and the self harm, they wanted to see my cuts to make sure I didn’t need any stitches, but they had to convince me to show them. Instead of telling me “It’s just a phase, you’ll get over it” or telling me I’m an attention seeker like my real mother did; they sit, listen and talk when I need to talk. I get hugs from them when I need it or when I just want a hug, they care for me like I am one of their own kids. I spent Christmas with my second family and I was faking a smile almost the entire time, because good people like them shouldn’t have to worry about anything on a holiday that is supposed to be happy. I even spent new year's eve with them, and stayed up to be awake for the transition into 2017. Even with all of this, I’m still struggling with Depression and the dark thoughts cloud my mind like the clouds of a storm that rages over a peaceful farm. A few days ago I got into a physical fight with my mother and I had cut 8 times on my leg. I watched as the cold, sharp, steel met my warm, dull, skin; piercing, slicing through flesh until crimson rain rolled down my leg like water on a window, like the tears that seep from my eyes onto my face; feeling the pain, feeling the relief, feeling my problems momentarily disappear. When the relief fades away, I think to myself “Why did I do that! I’m such an idiot!” and my problems return to haunt me only to repeat this process several times a day. I’ve become so dependent on this habit of scaring my once beautiful skin, that when anything bad happens, my mind screams “Cut, cut, cut!” but my body says “No, it’s not worth it”. My mind always wins; but yesterday I promised my friend’s grandma, the one from my second family; that I would not cut for an entire week, then to slowly increase the times without hurting myself. With one day without cutting, I’m getting this urge to do it; but I’m going to keep my promise or at least give it my best shot.

Date is 2/8/17, it’s my birthday and I went up to my second family’s house. When I walked in my mom, dad, grandma, brother, and sister all said “Happy Birthday”. In my head I had everything planned but almost nothing went that way. I was supposed to have a job so I could pay to take everyone to dinner; but I had failed to get a job. My mom and brother were sick and they went to lay down for a bit and my sister volunteered to make a cake for me. She wouldn’t let me help and told me that I couldn’t look. When the cake was baked she frosted it and used candy as candles. I had to put all 18 Jolly Ranchers in my mouth and eat them before anyone got cake. I ate them all and we had cake; I went home later that night.

“I can’t take it anymore” is what I had mumbled when I caught my birth mother abusing my younger brother, (who is mentally disabled). I had stepped in and shoved her off of him after she kicked him in the stomach. When I did that she was furious because a pilgrim in her “Kingdom”, (I would call it a concentration camp,) decided to grow a backbone and stand up against the cruel acts that are her “Laws”. As I was heading back to my room she told me to “Get the fuck out” and as I heard those words, I whipped out and phone and started recording. The Queen then decided to call the Guards and have me removed from her sick and twisted Kingdom. I gathered my stuff  (what I could carry in a backpack, laptop bag, and gift bag) and went up to my second family’s house. I told them what happened and I started tearing up and my mom gave me a hug, I hugged her and cried. My dad and brother helped me get the rest of my stuff that includes stuff from Christmas and my computer desk, along with anything else of value.

After I moved in with my friend I went up to my family’s house, (at this point I disregarded my birth mother as “Family”) and I gave my mom and grandma hugs and I started to cry. It wasn’t out of pain… but instead it was out of thankfulness, happiness, and I got a feeling inside of my chest that they actually did care about me. I was a little nervous about everything and I didn’t sleep well that night. I had wanted to end ties completely with the wretched person that is my mother; but I sent 4 text messages read: “You will die a lonely woman who drove all of your friends away.” I have had minimal contact since I sent that; I know what you may be thinking, “How could someone be so evil and send that to their mother?”, well I had enjoyed sending it to her, her life hadn’t mattered to me since all of this started.

All that I wanted was to end my pain, but the consequences that come after it is what has stopped me. The consequence is that my mom, dad, grandma, brothers, sister, or even my friends would suffer and possibly one of them could take their life. By ending my pain, it would be passed on and spread out over all of them and none of it returning to me. I stand in my bathroom, and start to cry; I start thinking “My meds aren’t working!”, I don’t want to slip into my old habits because of the promise that I’m trying to keep with my grandma but at this point I don’t care. I started a warm bath and locked the bathroom door. I seized the medicine box from under the sink and pillaged it for aspirin. I dug my razor out of my pocket and swallowed the entire bottle of aspirin. I stepped into the warm bath with my clothes on and I sat down and let the heat flow over me. I grabbed my razor and cut down on my wrist and watched as my blood dripped into the bath water. Soon it started to look like Jaws had happened in a kiddie pool and everything faded to black.

Two days later my brother took his life, my mom has resorted to heavy drug use, my dad and grandma have eating disorders, and my little sister self harms and cries herself to sleep every night. Meanwhile my friends and everybody else mourned over me taking my life.

I’ve learned with experience that living with depression, living in a society where everyone thinks it’s for attention; is like having a mind that wants to die, but with a body fighting to survive against itself and having no one believe you when you cry wolf for first time.


If you or someone you know is wanting to end their life, call: 1-800-273-8255

You're not alone and there is help.

© Copyright 2018 Duke S.. All rights reserved.

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