My Story

Copyright, Dreama

I’ve been seeing a therapist for about 3 years on and off now. It doesn’t really help me, or so I think. I hate talking about my problems to people face to face, it pisses me off. I don’t like my life either. But hey, who does? Not many people do! But anyway I live with my dad and my sister in my grandmother’s house, for three years now. When my mom passed away (in Feb of ‘98) my father didn’t want to live in our old apartment anymore because of the old memories. So I was forced to leave my home there, and everything I had grown to love. My grandmother offered us the upstairs apartment to her house, and my father took it in a heartbeat being he wouldn’t have to pay rent and someone would be home in case of an emergancy while he was at work. Well, when we first moved in to my grandmothers house I didn’t feel very comfortable here. I sat alone upstairs in what is now my room. I sat there for numerous hours staring out of the window. I didn’t eat for a few weeks either, but later on I got to the point of overeating. Eating out of boredom, as well as depression. I became very distant with people around me, including my family. I soon started losing intrest in everything I once loved, and life no longer had much value to me. Things stayed like that for a long time.

In Feb. of 2000 I was sitting by my computer while playing with a box cutter. I noticed there was a rather sharp blade inside of it, so I decided to sit there and play with this ‘new toy’. I slowly touched the blade with my finger, trying to get a feel of how sharp it was. It sliced right through my skin in an instant. I was so relieved from the stinging sensation. And the sight of my blood dripping out, it felt so good. I decided to try it out on my arm. So I lightly ran the blade across my left arm. Within moments I felt relieved. The blood started to flow out of the cut I had made. I was amazed at how sharp this ‘new toy’ of mine was. I began to use it more and more. There were days when I’d cut my arm more then 15 times. I started cutting even when I was bored. After a while I decided to look this up on the Internet. Being I didn’t know anything about it. I never heard of this before. I looked up ‘Self Injury’ sites. I found a lot of information on ‘cutting’ and I realized I wasn’t alone.

I kept cutting for months. Things got worse. I soon thought “Why should I cut myself up, why don’t I just overdose?” In the summer of ‘00 I overdosed on Tylenols. I took about 45 or so. I don’t quite remember why I did it though. I think it was because I had a huge fight with my dad and he said some crap like “oh, you’re better off dead. No one would miss you anyway!” And, well, hearing that from him, it drove me crazy. So I figured I’d give him what he wanted. I took 45 tylenols at around 3am one morning in June. Well let’s say I didn’t visit a hospital or anything, but I threw up for hours on end. And my stomach hurt pretty badly. Later that night I fessed up and told my dad I had tried to overdose and why. He seemed like he cared. But whether or not he really did, I’ll never know.

Well, anyway, someone besides my dad noticed the cuts on my arms, and they made a report to the board of education and my father was forced to take me to therapy. I hate going in there for sessions. It sucks. I hate talking about my problems. But I was forced to. So, whatever. I didn’t tell them anything related to my problems. I never told them why I cut. I haven’t told anyone really, and I doubt I ever will.

OK, well, the therapist put me on medications to help me from feeling so depressed. I wouldn’t say they worked at all. They made me feel weird. Like I was there, but distant. Like I wasn’t even here at all. They made me feel all lightheaded. It was rather, um, different! Me and my father fought a lot. And it didn’t help me feel any better, I kept on cutting.

I’m going to skip past a few months here cause everything stayed the same, but in Nov. of ‘00 I overdosed again. This time, the outcome was a lot worse. I overdosed on caffeine pills. Me and my father were fighting about my cutting habits. And how I had to stop otherwise he’d throw me away in a hospital for a few years. So I said “you want to throw me away in a hospital? Fine!” And I went in my room and slammed the door shut. I downed about 60 caffeine pills and I lay in bed, waiting to die. My father came into my room to check on me and he heard my heart beating while he was standing next to me. He heard that I was having trouble breathing, and he told me my eyes were rolling to the back of my head. He rushed me to the hospital on the spot. I was admitted into the ER right away, they stuck me with all sorts of IV’s and everything. I don’t remember much I only know this because of what my dad told me. And all I really remember was pain in the back of my head. Severe pain. And then I couldn’t breathe, and I guess I just passed out. I woke up at around 2am in the ER room on a stretcher. I threw up for a couple of hours. And, well, they released me at around 10am. I was so lucky to be alive. And I finally realized “wow, my life is special. I almost lost everything in an instant. Over nothing! How stupid was I? God why didn’t I see it before?” And ever since that day I haven’t overdosed or cut again.

Final thought: Isn’t it amazing how someone must go through hell to realize how good they really have it?


Permanent location: