Tag: national suicide prevention lifeline

Struggling with Depression and Anxiety at a Young Age

I have struggled with Depression and Anxiety a Young Age since I was young. My parents divorced when I was two and a half years old. Then both parents remarried. My mom had two other daughters with my stepfather. He was mentally and physically abusive to my mother, sisters, and me. I never knew my birth father. He had remarried and lived somewhere else. I didn’t have any contact with him. Never did I know the truth until later.

The Truth Comes Out

I didn’t know he was my stepfather until I was 8. When I found out, I cried because I was confused. I remember seeing my real dad on visitation right after he and my stepmom married. That was when I was four, and that was the last time I saw him until I was 14. No one ever talked about my real dad. Then, one day, I asked my stepdad about the man who kidnapped me. That was the story my mom always told me. My stepfather, however, wanted to tell me the truth that he was not my real dad. He tried to tell me that the man I was told kidnapped me was my biological father.

Seeking Approval

At such an early age, I was always seeking my mother’s approval. I guess I did this because she never was around. Since she was never around, I was taking care of my sisters. Someone had to be the mother after her second divorce. Sadly, I was molested by one of my mother’s boyfriends when I was 12. When I was 13, my mother left my sisters and me. There was no reason, no goodbye, nothing.

Life After She Left

I lived with family members until they didn’t want me. Then I ended up living with my best friend and her mom. Finally, at age 15, my birth father contacted me, and I went to live with him and his family. The transition was tough because I had never really had a family before. That transition took a lot of getting used to for me. Having a stepmother, not knowing how to deal with her or what to expect from her. My birth mother was not a mother at all.

I Missed My Sisters

My sisters were living with other family members. I had to get used to having a father who didn’t physically abuse me. He was trying to be a father to me, which I was not used to having. Furthermore, I was learning how to cope with my anxiety and depression by myself. Sure my stepmother got me into therapy as soon as I moved here. Sadly, I didn’t know how to apply it to myself to help me. I was 15 years old and still hurt by my mother abandoning my sisters and me. She didn’t feel like being a mother anymore. I didn’t see my sisters again until I was 19 years old.

Still Seeking Approval

I tried too hard to have a relationship with my stepmother. It was next to impossible to have one with her. She was challenging to get along with, but I still tried. I married my high school sweetheart right out of high school. We started dating when I was 16, and he was 15, soon to be 16. He was my best friend. Still, I struggled so badly with my anxiety and depression. Our marriage had some pretty rough patches that changed me forever.

Resources

If you or someone you know is being abused, PLEASE reach out.

ChildHelp Hotline

National Domestic Violence Hotline

Suicide Prevention Lifeline

 

As you can see, mental illness can affect every ounce of your life. Thoughts come and go like the ocean’s tides, yet she remains steadfast. She is trying and reaching out. Though some days, all appears well with her, in her mind, they are not. Please show grace and kindness to all you meet. You do not know the battles they face.

My Life is Hard

It is a struggle for me on most days to get out of bed. To remember to make myself take my pills that are supposed to help the chemical imbalance in my brain. Aka makes me happier and more “normal.” Sometimes I feel like they work; other times, I feel like my old self. I let the thoughts I thought were gone back in. Once they are in, I can’t get them out. I think about things I’ve done and how I liked the feeling. But then I think about the people I know who would be disappointed in me if I chose that path again.

So I sit and contemplate, should I or not? I liked the pain and the feeling of getting it out in a way only I could feel. I mean, I wasn’t hurting anyone else, was I? But no, I made a promise, so I chose to sit in silence. I decide to do nothing but sit and stare into the emptiness inside me. Most days, I try to fill the hole with anything it holds. I try to keep my mind occupied to keep away the thoughts of suicide.

Some Days

But then there are days when everything seems alright, the pain is still there, but it’s not so debilitating. These days life is not so bad I have the energy I can talk and reciprocate the feeling and put effort into conversating. I can express the things on my mind and try to tell them I’m not okay and need some help and not just for the day. These days I’m motivated, by my commitments, to my job, or to do anything involving another person. These are the days that I see my people the most. I try to explain where I’ve been and why I’ve been so distant, but they know they’ve been there with me. The days that I am okay are the days that I feel loved, and those are the days I return the love.

Few and Far Between

The good days used to be far and in between, the bad days now that’s where I lived. But now, my days are starting to turn around. I’m not going to lie; they’re about 50% good and 50% bad. I’m not where I want to be, but I’m farther than I thought I’d be. I know ill never be 100% good no one ever is. But I would like the good to be more than the bad for one day.

My Goal

I know the only way to achieve my goal is to work on myself and be honest with myself. I need to be more aware of my feelings and keep myself on the right path. I’ve got to decide to make an effort to get better. And I have; I take my medication when I’m supposed to, and I tell the doctor when I feel like I need something new. I’m trying to go to counseling for the first time. I am honest, and I try to get my feeling across. I am trying.

For me, the thing that’s helped me is the bond between the people I consider to be my support system. They aren’t afraid to tell me how it is and push me to do what I know I should do but am too scared to do. My support people love me because they can, not because they feel obligated to love me. They choose to care about my life, listen to me without making me feel guilty, and help and advise when they feel like they can.

Reaching Out

The one thing that’s helped me the most is finding people that share the same thoughts. It’s easier for me to open up to someone that I know has been in a similar situation or the same mental disorder. We can share our feelings and know that we aren’t alone. We can talk about the bad days and not worry about the looks we will get. Because we both share the same struggles, we can help each other through them. We can talk to each other without getting offended.

Thoughts on Mental Disorder

When you have a mental disorder, taking responsibility for your actions is hard, so having that support group, friends, and sometimes family makes it easier when they can help remind you. You may have a more challenging time making the right decision because of the disorder, but you are the one that makes that decision. Because for the longest time, I blamed everything on everyone, and then I blamed everything on my mental disorder. But now that I’m stable, I can see everything is up to me. I chose what to do and when to do it, so I’m trying to make a better effort.

I am a Work in Progress

My life is hard, but at least I try. I’m no longer sitting in the dark contemplating my life. I may not be all sunshine and rainbows, but at least I now can smile. I now hate myself a little less, and I admit I am a work in progress. I’ll always struggle with this depression and my mental disorder. It will always be harder for me than most, but now I am fighting for my life. I want to live and love. To grow into the person, I was meant to be. I want to use my struggles to help others, but most importantly, I want to be free. Free of shame, free of guilt, and free of hate for myself.

Resources

If you or someone you know is being abused, PLEASE reach out.

ChildHelp Hotline

National Domestic Violence Hotline

Suicide Prevention Lifeline

 

Highlighting Stories of Survivors

In this story, you will read about a “boyfriend” who abuses his girlfriend. The phrase “You Are Not Your Trauma” has affected my heart so profoundly. As my heart was breaking for what this young girl had gone through, in the end, she knows Truth. What man used for evil, He will use for His glory. Somehow, someway, her story will give the strength to someone else to SPEAK UP and GET OUT. Her strength and courage leave me in awe. I’m so proud of this young lady.

A TRUE story of this young lady being controlled, manipulated, abused, and her suicidal ideations. She is NOT a victim. This girl is a survivor and a child of the King. Please be mindful that I will not tolerate judgment or hateful things if I leave comments.

The Beginning

I don’t even know where to begin, so I guess I will start at the beginning. I had a very happy childhood; it was normal until it wasn’t. When I was about 14, almost 15, I was in a courtship with a person older than me. It seemed so innocent at the time. We were almost always supervised by my parents or his.

His Capabilities

When you are 14, you start being interested in boys and all that fun stuff. So it was nice to be noticed by someone of the opposite sex. I had no idea what he was capable of, and I am still finding out what he was capable of to this day. I honestly don’t know when it happened, but he emotionally and psychologically abused me. 

He also molested me. There, I said it. It’s not something I like to talk about at all. Some people in this world are super manipulators. They can play you and get inside your head; you have no idea what hit you. That’s what this person was like, a master manipulator. A snake. That’s a good word to use, the other ones I want to use involve curse words, and I do not think that is appropriate in this context. 

Fear

I was afraid. All the time. Fearful of making my abuser angry. Afraid of him hurting me. Afraid that one misstep would be the end. That fear came to a boiling point when he attempted to force me to kiss him by holding my face with a blanket over my head and pulling me towards him. I fought like hell, and he backed off. But that wasn’t the end. I knew that he would hurt me if I said anything. 

He didn’t even have to threaten me. He had such control over my mind that I knew without him saying anything. Then the molestation happened. I do not want to disclose that and don’t have to. I still didn’t say anything. I remember he came to my bedroom window after everyone was asleep and told me it was best if I didn’t tell anyone. That scared me. He scared me. 

Speaking Out

But I did eventually say something. And it didn’t end; I wanted it to end. I tried to forget everything that happened and never remembered it. Maybe if I ignored it, it would go away. No, that is not how life works. Then the police were involved, which was also terrifying. Me, a 15-year-old child, being interviewed by a detective (who, by the way, is a wonderful person. I am forever grateful for how he helped me. Yet it is hard for me to talk to him now. He reminds me of what happened.) The person went away. I only saw him a few times after that.

But it Didn’t End

Even though he was gone, it didn’t end. I remember not even knowing what I liked to do. I didn’t even know who I was anymore without him. I tried to put this whole situation behind me. I “forgave” this person, but I didn’t because I did not understand the scope of the damage he did to me. 

Abuse, no matter the type, changes a person. It eats away at your brain. You get paranoid. Jumpy. Nowhere is safe. No one is safe. Trust is a prized commodity. If I bestowed my trust upon you, you better treat it respectfully. Because the moment you give me a reason not to trust you, you are gone. And there is no going back.

Returning to “Normal”

Growing up after that incident, my childhood returned to “normal.” But I didn’t feel normal. I felt out of place. My innocence was gone. I became very hyperactive. I could not sit still and chatter nonsensically, but the nights were the worst. I felt I needed to be doing something to avoid being still constantly. The nights were so bad. Alone at night with my thoughts, that’s when the dark would try to creep in. 

Moving On

When I got to college, I worked three jobs and took a huge class load. I was so depressed. I would fake being happy. Just put a smile on my face, and everything would be ok. But those dark memories I had repressed for so long kept creeping up on me. I began to have panic attacks and pain in places I had not experienced. These panic attacks stemmed from my trauma, but I didn’t know it. 

I got a big girl job right before I graduated college. I was over the moon. I was good at my job. I met someone, he was sweet, and I gave him some of my precious trust. I thought I was “happy .”But I wasn’t. Those master manipulator traits the person that hurt me had, this person had too. He would make jokes at my expense, gaslight me, and only care about the physical side of our relationship.

Another “Charmer”

Now this person was a real charmer; he decided to break up with me a few months before we were going to get married. I remember being so distraught. That beloved trust I had given him was disintegrating. It tore me to my core. It took so long to be able to “get over” him. I should also mention that I don’t trust. Shocker. I know. I am very distrustful of people that I do not know, especially men. I make it a point not to be alone with men if I can help. I do it almost subconsciously. I don’t even really think about it anymore. 

Spiraling Downward

Then I lost my job. I was so sad, so hopeless. I don’t even know why I lost that job. I had to move out of my apartment to another one. I didn’t have hardly any money after that move because it took almost all the money I had saved. My depression was at its height. 

My parents had to give me money to get by. I didn’t want their money. I didn’t want to ask, but they gave it anyway. I ended up searching for jobs and couldn’t find one. I interviewed for several, and nothing. I returned to a part-time position so I could have some money for my rent. And that was a comfort to me, going back to something familiar. 

But my panic attacks, anxiety, and depression were almost insurmountable. At this point, I thought there was something wrong with me. I had everything when I was a child. There was no reason for me to be this way. What is wrong with me? 

The Unexpected

I ended up finding a different job. I had to go away to training for weeks, only coming home for the weekends. At the time, I was dating other people. I dated some peculiar people. But at that training, I met the forever love of my life. Not expected. 

He is unlike any other man I have ever dated. He had no idea of the mental anguish that I suffered daily. I ended up marrying that man, still with this awful job that caused me to be physically ill because I did not want to be there. I still have flashbacks to that job and the horrible things I saw there. It was a dangerous job, unexpected. 

Because I felt like I had to walk on eggshells around everyone, I was constantly on my guard (typical for me, but this was a dangerous situation) for anything to happen. And that is just not the way that anyone should live. I got another job now, and I am so thankful for that one. 

Getting Help

At this time, my now husband encouraged me to go to counseling. And I did. But I didn’t go for the right reasons. I was fresh married, so we had a lot of getting used to each other. I was learning to trust again. And that was hard. I told this counselor what happened to me, but it was never the focus of what we discussed in sessions. It was helpful for the time. 

I was medicated from my first big girl job, which seemed to help a lot. However, I was on a lot of meds. A lot. Too much, and it affected me big time. I felt like a zombie, numb, and it was not an easy feeling. I quit going to that counselor because I thought I was all better now. 

Panic Attacks, Flashbacks, Intrusive Thoughts

Fast forward a few months, at home. Panic attacks run rampant. It got so much worse. I would lash out at my husband, and I didn’t mean to do that. He knew what happened to me, and one day I asked him if he thought it affected me, and he said it did. That struck me. 

My panic attacks were so severe that I would feel like I couldn’t move. I would scream and cry in fear. For some reason, my brain would revert to those fearful times and make it seem like they were happening again, even though I knew I was safe. I would just see his face. The one that hurt me. He never left. He was always there. 

I had the most intense flashbacks that I have ever had. And I realized. I wasn’t like this before this happened to me. I wasn’t hyperactive, I wasn’t depressed, I wasn’t anxious, and I didn’t deal with intrusive thoughts or compulsions. I didn’t obsess over every little thing. I didn’t have panic attacks. I realized that he caused all of this. But what was I to do? I constantly felt like I was not enough. 

Suicidal Ideations

Eventually, I went off my meds because I thought I was bett, which was a big mistake. I was fine for a while, but then I became numb. I didn’t care for the things I liked to do. I didn’t want to do anything but lay in bed all day long. My pain and anguish were so overwhelming that I didn’t think there was a way out. 

Some days I would feel everything. Then other days, I felt nothing. I was suicidal. I didn’t want to do it, but the thoughts were there. It would sit on my brain for hours. And hours. And hours. I was in so much pain. In such a deep, dark tunnel, I thought no one could reach me. I was ashamed of what I felt. When I told my mom and my husband, I feared they would be angry with me. But they weren’t. They worked out a safety plan with me. 

When Most People Think of Suicidality

They think well that person is selfish. That person is crazy. That person needs to be in an institution somewhere. I hate all of that. It is not ok. This stigma surrounds people who have suicidal ideations. The people that are suicidal are not crazy. They are hurting. They are in a mental anguish that you will never understand. 

They need love and support, not to be told they are selfish or crazy. Not to be brushed off as, oh well, you can’t be that depressed. I was told by some people well; you don’t look depressed. You don’t have anxiety. You can’t. Look at all you have; you can’t be depressed when you have all of this. Just exercise. That will fix it. LET GO AND LET GOD. Ughhh, how I hate that phrase. 

Just Listen

Letting it go is not easy. It doesn’t work. If it worked, I would have been “cured” long ago. My trauma would have just disappeared if letting goes worked. But it doesn’t, so do everyone around you a favor and stop saying that. Just. Stop. Take it out of your vocabulary. Also, while you are at it, take out this one: “God won’t give you anything that you can’t handle.” 

God gives us stuff we can’t handle so He can be the one to handle it. I have had to let myself be weak so God can be stronger. And that is not an easy thing to do. So stop saying all these fluffy phrases because you have no idea what people around you are walking through in their lives. 

Unless you are willing to walk through the fire in their place, just be there as a support. But don’t tell them everything will be fine, don’t try to fluff things up. Just be there. Just listen without judgment. I repeat: JUST LISTEN. 

Fast Forward

Now that my soapbox is over, fast forward to the beginning of this year. I had the realization, the aha moment, that my trauma caused all of my pain. All of my mental illnesses. All of it. So I made the courageous step to seek out a trauma counselor. She is wonderful. I bonded with her immediately. She understood and didn’t judge me like so many people have. She listens and lets me cry. She makes observations that make so much sense. She tells me I need to re-parent that 14 years old because she is still there. Desperate for help. She helped me with my safety plan. 

I had the support of her, my mom, and my husband. I got closer to Jesus. He helped me realize that even though I was going through a dark tunnel, he was there. He would pull me out. He was right there the whole time. And it was Jesus who pushed me to get into trauma therapy. While it is hard to revisit those awful things that happened to me, I feel more at peace than ever. I got back on my meds. 

Good and Bad Days

I have good days and bad days. But more good than bad. Trauma processing is something that needs to happen. Because when trauma occurs, our brains do not file those memories away as they are supposed to. So I have to revisit every memory and refile it correctly so I won’t be as affected. It will always be there, it is a part of my story, but I no longer have to fear it. God wants all of me, even the parts I don’t want him to have. He has brought all those fears and memories into the light, so I don’t have to hide them anymore. 

Seek Help

So, for those reading this that are in pain and suffering. Seek help. You will find it. You don’t have to go through life alone. If you are suffering, talk to me. Or find someone you trust and talk to them. If you need medication to get by, then do it. Ignore the stigma behind being medicated. 

Many intelligent people in this world have figured out that mental illness is caused by brain chemicals not being balanced. So meds are there to help you balance your chemicals. Do not beat yourself up for taking meds. Just don’t do it. I did, and it isn’t worth it. It is there for a reason. There is no need to feel ashamed about taking medication. 

If you need to go to therapy, then do it. It is not easy, but don’t feel you have to give your whole life story the first time you meet your therapist. If you don’t like them, find someone else. Get to know them, and make sure they are a good fit. 

You Are Not Your Trauma

Do not lose hope. Even when you think there is no hope, there is always a sliver. Know that you are not your trauma. Know that you are not your past. No matter what you have done, know that you are loved. If you think no one else loves you, talk to me. If I am the only one, then so be it. You have someone that loves you. Your life is too precious to be taken so soon. You have a purpose in this world. You just may not have found it yet. Don’t lose hope. 

Listen Without Judgement

And for those reading this who are fortunate enough not to have any trauma or mental illness. This is for you. Listen without judgment. If someone trusts you enough to talk to you about tough shit, do not take that for granted. These people are reaching out to you; take their hand and walk with them. 

Don’t fluff up the situation. For Pete’s sake, quit saying let go, let God. Just listen and try to put yourself in their shoes. If someone is acting strange, not like themselves, don’t ignore that. Strike up a conversation. Ask them if they are alright. They may lie, but don’t ignore the warning signs. Keep talking to them, and let them know they are loved and appreciated. Tell them that you are there for them if they need someone. Just listen and love. Get rid of your stigma against suicide, mental health, therapy, and medication. Educate yourselves. The more you know, the better prepared you will be. 

Resources

If you or someone you know is being abused, PLEASE reach out.

ChildHelp Hotline

National Domestic Violence Hotline

Suicide Prevention Lifeline

 

Highlighting Stories of Survivors

In this story, you will read about abuse by a stepfather to his stepdaughter. The phrase “My Story Will Empower Me” has stuck in my throat. As my heart was breaking for what this young girl had gone through, in the end, she knows Truth. What man used for evil, He will use for His glory. Somehow, someway, her story will give the strength to someone else to SPEAK UP and GET OUT. Her strength and courage leave me in awe. I’m so proud of this young lady.

A TRUE story of several years of abuse and the suicidal ideations this young lady had at a very young age. She is NOT a victim. This girl is a survivor and a child of the King. Please be mindful that I will not tolerate judgment or hateful things if I leave comments. All names have been changed to protect her.

Her Story

Donald,

Sometimes, I like to lay in bed and daydream about what my life would be like had you not abused me for many years. I want to think that I would be able to look at myself in the mirror and not be utterly disgusted with myself. Maybe I could undress in front of a mirror without cringing every time I see myself. Perhaps I would feel more comfortable around older men.

I Wasn’t the Only One.

You took a genuine interest in my sister, but you preferred to take pictures of her. You saved the majority of touching for me. One of the primary examples of touching I remember is when we would walk next to each other. You would put your arm around me and grab my butt. Sometimes, you would switch it up and rest your hand on my butt.

When It Began

I remember the abuse started when I was about nine, but I’m sure it happened well before then. Never will I forget you making us change in front of you. I remember my sixth-grade year when you made me and my sister rotate, who would change directly in front of you, and how you wouldn’t let us wear anything to the bed besides our underwear. I also remember when you were in a particularly good mood, and you would make us sleep naked so you could come into our room and stare at our bodies.

Innocence Stolen

What traumatized me the most was when you made me and my sister go into the little garage with you. You made my sister lock the door and told us to get completely naked. I remember how shaky my hands were while taking off my clothes. I was so scared of what you were going to do next. You called it “checking us for ticks,” but I know that’s not why you were doing it because you didn’t make our brothers do it either. I also know that wasn’t the real reason because I remember you waited until our mom left to do it. We couldn’t have been in the garage for long, but it felt like a lifetime trapped in there with you.

I vividly remember what it felt like when your rough hands traced every single inch of my body. If I had the choice to forget one day in my life, that would be the day. That was the day that you took my innocence from me. I was ten years old. No ten-year-olds should ever have to feel how I felt on that day. Ten-year-olds should be playing dress-up, not getting abused by their stepfathers. I trusted you. I loved you, and I thought you loved me too. What you did was not love.

Wanting Out

At night, I would lay in bed and think of ways to kill you so the abuse would stop. If I wasn’t plotting to kill you, I was planning ways to kill myself. I didn’t care what it took. I wanted out of the situation. It’s crazy to think about how much I wanted to die at ten. How many ten-year-olds do you know that want to commit suicide?

Anger Flows Freely

I’m angry that you took my innocence from me. You took my childhood. I’m mad you didn’t feel guilty for what you did to me. Also, I’m angry that you didn’t spend the rest of your life in jail. Honestly, I’m mad that you are still alive and my mother still loves you. I’m angry you guys got married. She chose you over me. I’m mad you locked my brother in his room for a week because you thought he was faking it. I had to sneak him food and water. I am so angry about that. I’m mad you waited so long to take him to the hospital.

Even after he was diagnosed {with brain cancer}, you treated him like crap because you thought he was doing it for attention. I’m angry I didn’t get to be there with my brother as he was dying because of you. I don’t know how you live with yourself. How do you sleep at night? I hope you are miserable. I hope the guilt about my brother eats you up inside.

Wishes for My Future

If and when I have children, I will do everything I can to protect them from people like you. I promise that I won’t be like you or my mother. My children will never have to worry about men watching them change or shower. My children will never look in the mirror and hate themselves because of what happened. Hopefully, one day, I will be able to forgive you. I hope one day I will look in the mirror and be proud of who I am and what I have overcome. I wish I could say that this won’t happen to other little girls, but I know many people like you.

My Story Will Empower Me

I hope one day soon that I will be able to publicly tell my story so that other women can speak up about their stories. You will lose your grip on me one day, and I’ll love myself again. Soon, I will love my body. I will no longer be ashamed of you, and my story will empower me. One day soon, you’ll die, and I will sleep a tad bit better at night. You will get what is coming to you and deserve every bit of it.

You will have to answer for what you did to me one of these days. There is nothing you can ever say or do to make up for what you did to me. One of these days, I will be doing better than ever. Your abuse never has and will never define who I am or where I’m going. I hope you are happy with the choices you’ve made in life. I hope that it was all worth it in the end.

Yours Truly,

Nicole

Resources

If you or someone you know is being abused, PLEASE reach out.

ChildHelp Hotline

National Domestic Violence Hotline

Suicide Prevention Lifeline