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  (#1 (permalink)) Old
Chazby Offline
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Name: Caroline
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Question Story time. - July 8th 2011, 07:06 AM

I dunno, I just felt like I really needed to get this out. Tell me about your experiences.

I first noticed stuff was weird after this football game I went to in 9th grade. Although I’m pretty sure that the actual event was not the trigger. I just remember it was around that time.

I actually don’t even care about football….my friend invited me to go and I said sure. I saw the usual: teenage girls with masks of makeup and a tube of eyeliner and mascara smeared around their eyes. Flat-ironed hair. The shortest shorts you can imagine….push up bras; thongs for all I know. They flirted with boys in pastel polo shirts and stupid khaki pants. It was hell. I was scared. I sweated so much at those things….my heart would race and my palms would sting. I would feel sick. I felt eyes on me everywhere—I just knew that they were all looking at me; judging me. I cowered in fear. But that was nothing new.

I had been experiencing this for years. This kind of anxiety. I’ve generally hated school through the years…middle school could’ve very well been the worst 4 years of my life. Some days were ok, some were great, actually—but I never really fit there. I never even felt like I existed much. I was sad a lot, and I felt so ugly. I didn’t look like anyone else. I had pale skin, a round face, long blonde hair, and acne. Some days I would cry in the morning. I broke down a few times in the car, and once I missed school. I just knew I couldn’t face all of those preps. They were perfect: miniature Barbie dolls who wouldn’t shut up. Always talking, always laughing. Tons of friends. They liked boys. They wore makeup. They were perfect. (Of course, this wasn’t everyone—but the school is an expensive one where all of the preps in town seem to congregate).

I’d always been insecure. When teachers called on me in class, I would get scared to the point of almost being sick. Just waiting for them to call on me made me tear up. Lots of times I cried when they did call on me for an answer—even if I knew it. I was just too terrified to speak. I sat there with tears all over my face and I felt the stares from the other girls. I hated myself.
Getting home was such a relief. It was a safe-haven. It was like I had two entirely different personalities at school and at home: the ‘school Caroline’ didn’t talk to hardly anyone. She was scared of going in the lunch line and telling the lady what she wanted (which resulted in her getting a turkey sandwich every day for a year) and she was terrified of having to walk to her seat at the table. Her face maintained a constant redness from embarrassment over nothing. She felt stupid when she didn’t say the right thing. She refused to sing in chorus. She covered her drawings with her arms and long, messy hair. Caroline knew she was the most pathetic and moronic person in the entire world. She dreaded school so much that the pangs of nervousness hit her before she was even halfway there in the mornings.
And so, as it is for many, middle school was rough.
This didn’t actually become a real problem until the beginning of ninth grade. It was when the fear took over. The anxiety just got to be too much to handle.

I was determined to start anew. I had all of my supplies laid out; I got a new room, and for now, at least, everything had its place.

And so it went. Things were alright. I still hated school, but I had a loving family to go home to every day. I loved my mom, my dad, and my grandparents…even my bratty little sisters. I had a few friends at school. Generally, I was liked by teachers and students alike. I was that nice, artistically talented shy girl with the long blonde hair.
But it began to get too much. The new responsibilities along with the impending threat of social encounters began to consume me. I had to write long essays; an assignment that made me so nervous that my mother basically had to dictate them to me. I didn’t want to do anything on my own, because I KNEW that I would fail. There wasn’t even a question.
Then came the breakdown. It began with a day or two of melancholy sadness, which magnified; stretching into a period of weeks. I found myself so upset at times that I had to excuse myself to my room or the bathroom to go and cry for awhile. Suddenly, things that I did to make myself feel better (reading, drawing, taking baths, etc.) did nothing for me. I was scared. I didn’t understand what was happening—was this just ‘growing up’? I thought of Christmas (a holiday I’m usually extremely excited about) coming up, and I realized that I didn’t even care. This was not good.

Everything got worse. I was trapped in the bell jar: I could see the world move around me, but I stayed. I suffocated. It was pure hell. I was trapped inside my own goddamned mind. There was no one else. Just me. Alone.
When my mom confronted me, she said: “What’s the matter? Tell me why you’re sad.” And sobbing, I told her “I don’t know!”
She offered to get a psychiatrist’s help. I refused. I didn’t want to see anyone or do anything. I slept a lot. I remember, during school, I would go in the stairwell and cry where no one could see me during breaks. I began to do something I never thought I would do: I hurt myself. I cut myself with things. At first it was a paperclip, then a safety pin. Later it was my pocket knife. I didn’t make deep scratches at first; I made little cat-scratch lines which I kept digging at until I bled from them. It didn’t make me feel better. I just felt selfish. I felt selfish and stupid and ignorant, but I didn’t stop. It’s just that I felt so sickeningly numb sometimes. I didn’t want to do ANYTHING. I didn’t want to sleep but I slept. I didn’t want to eat, but I ate. I got up to go to school every day, and I was nervous every day. I kept hurting myself. I kept hating myself.
I began to see a psychiatrist. I had finally agreed to go, and it was an awkward consultation. I remember the doctor asking me “have you ever thought about suicide?” and I said “sometimes I just don’t want to wake up in the morning. I just want to go to sleep and have it over with. I think about dying—thought passively—a lot.” She asked me if I had ever tried to self-harm. I hesitated for a second. I said no. When my parents were out of the room, she asked me again. Again, I said ‘no’. To this day I’ve told no one about that. It makes me feel terrible. Sometimes I want to do it again, but I don’t know why…and that scares me.

I was diagnosed with depression and an anxiety disorder (which, nearly two years later, I still am taking) and I still visit a psychotherapist. I’m going to tell you right now: there is absolutely NOTHING glamorous about depression. In all of my 16 years, it was the most hellish experience I’ve been through. And I remember my low points well:
There was one night in particular that was really really bad. I can’t remember what set me off. I just….wanted to end things. I was so tired. So damn tired. This was the time that I realized the terrifying fact that I really, truly, at that moment DID want to die. I didn’t want to exist. I wanted to kill myself. I really wanted to do it.

It was winter, and I lay out in to snow face-down. When I realized hypothermia wasn’t going to set in anytime soon, I went to the house. I got an iron shovel-thingy from by the fireplace, and I hit myself in the head with it. Over and over and over. It was stupid. I kept doing it. Eventually, my face was covered in bruised lumps. I was still alive.
Then, I sat on the couch and cried so hard that I couldn’t breathe. I cried and cried. It didn’t feel good. I was so sad that I thought I might barf. And I recognized that this very moment was probably the lowest of my entire existence.
There is much more to tell about my experience, but you get the gist. My point is: depression IS a serious mental disorder, and it needs to be treated like any other disorder. It was the most painful thing that has ever happened to me, and I think that if there really is a God and there really is a hell, that is it. Depression is hell. Not only is the feeling of sadness overwhelming, but the feeling of emptiness. Nothingness. It’s absolutely terrifying.

Anyone can be depressed. It is often caused by an imbalance in the brain chemistry. I was a happy kid; living a wonderful life with loving and caring people all around me—yet I became severely depressed. Sadness should not make you feel guilty because your experiences aren’t as bad as another person’s. Sadness is universal. It is felt by everyone. It hurts us all the same.

Anyway, I’m done now. Just felt like I had to get that out.

(And if you’re wondering….I’m doing quite well now. I’m still on medication, but I’ve become much more confident and made close friends. I’m 16 now…and I’m not sure what the future holds, but I think that I’ll be able to cope now. Life is precious…please don’t forget that. Any of you.)

(I'm impressed that you made it this far. Congrats!!! )

Last edited by Chazby; July 9th 2011 at 05:45 AM.
  (#2 (permalink)) Old
Wtf- Offline
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Re: Story time. - July 8th 2011, 09:32 AM

I love success stories (I'm referring to the end in brackets - good for you). (:


Isn't there another section for this? I think there used to be..

I just decided to mention it because you were getting no replies, and that annoys me when he happens to me, so...

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  (#3 (permalink)) Old
bailatyvm Offline
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Re: Story time. - July 8th 2011, 12:37 PM

Hhh taylor I try to respond to all of the ones with a lack of response because it gets on my nerves too..

congrats! I didn't think that story was going to have the happy ending it did (primarily because on here, it never does) but I'm sooo proud of you for making it through that!!!

searching for myself...
and hugs. mostly hugs.
  (#4 (permalink)) Old
Chazby Offline
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Re: Story time. - July 9th 2011, 05:26 AM

Thanks very much....I actually don't know. Sorry if I posted this in the wrong place, but I'm new here :/

I actually didn't expect that to end as a success story...but I'm glad it did I still struggle sometimes, but I at least have the strength now to keep trying for better.
  (#5 (permalink)) Old
Chazby Offline
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Name: Caroline
Age: 25
Gender: Female

Posts: 5
Join Date: July 8th 2011

Re: Story time. - July 9th 2011, 05:27 AM

Your message meant to much to me. I really can't thank you enough. If I could give you a hug through the internet, I would. <3
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