Freshman Year

TW: suicidal ideation, depression, trauma,

I was staring at the wall riding a bus home, and I cannot for the life of me stop thinking about all the ways I could attempt suicide, a task I tried nightly, failing every time. I had found myself in a cycle of self hatred, waking to the nagging voice reminding me you failed again, can't do anything right. I tried to shake myself free of the intrusive thoughts that cluttered my every thought until it completely died out. Leaving only the intrusive thought, leaving only plots of suicide.

I made attempt upon attempt on my life, hoping dearly to fall into the simplicity of happiness, yet all I could see in my mind's eye were the razor blades coated in my blood. I didn't know any way to make it stop other than ending it all. I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes for the last time, allowed to rest finally. My mind was full of my past traumas, all flooded back at once along with my very real new trauma of a classmate taking me despite my screams.

I would look for a solution in the shape of alcohol, only to find it made me worse. I later found the only thing that would begin to mask my dilemma. Hide my symptoms. I saw a small relief in my weekly binge of ecstasy, a small pill with a bitter taste that I would soon allow to rule my life, whatever I had left of a life at that time anyway.

My life was an ever present prattling in my head driving me to suicide attempt after suicide attempt, night after night. I would arrive home, only to sequester myself in my upstairs room and try over and over in the hopes of not waking in the morning.

I would fail each time, no matter how fool proof it would seem, making mustard gas didn't help, cutting didn't help, overdosing didn't work. I would wake each morning bawling over the continuation of my life, the continuation of the memories that would flood back over my childhood. I would rock on the floor of my room till it was time to leave.

Once at school, I would be irritable, fighting any who crossed my path, if I had to suffer, I meant to make others suffer as well. Not a good route to take certainly, yet the only one I could think to do. I was stuck in a cycle that would prove difficult at best to break free of. About a year later I simply.. gave up on my suicide attempts. I had tried numerous times, only to fail, so I plunged myself deeper into drug and alcohol use to mask my symptoms. A meager attempt to feel something positive for a few hours before returning to my normal and allowing myself to fall asleep in a puddle of my tears.

I was later diagnosed with Depressive Bipolar Type 1 with psychotic symptoms, CPTSD, BPD, and GAD, which I would see myself overcome a full decade after high school. I may be stable and overall happy now, but I remember vividly how painful adolescence was for me. Coming of age was not something my brain seemed ready for, it would seem. The hormones in puberty hit my hard, and I was unaware of the festering wound that was my awakening Bipolar at the time. I had always known that I had a high chance of developing mental illnesses due to my bio mom, but I was not ready to accept the possibility of being like her just yet.

My bio mom was wholly negligent due to her mental illnesses, that is not to say everyone with her diagnosis would be, but she was. I feared nothing more than turning out like her, turning out so disconnected with reality that I may as well life in a separate reality. I feared losing myself in my own brain, something that luckily did not happen, not yet at least.