Evelyn’s Story

Copyright, Evelyn

As a child I was often ignored by classmates while the teachers were yawning about me being dumb. I can’t remember a time where I was appreciated by anyone, not really. I didn’t have friends and I tried everything to be accepted. Then, the director of the school picked me out of the crowd and systematically started to he bully me. He made a fool of me in front of the others or called me names and yelled at me.

I felt like being nothing, worse than a bunch of shit and after I got wounded by accident, I started to scratch myself. My parents or the doctors didn’t understand why the wound didn’t heal but I did; I scratched until the wound started bleeding again — despite the pain — and as soon as I saw blood I calmed down. At the time I was just 7 years.

For years I continued scratching in secret, not knowing what for but also assuming that I had to hide it. We moved and I had to start all over again at a new school; and again I was picked out as an easy victim. I never complained and I had given up crying; it didn’t matter how I felt. Finally I thought I had found my way to deal with the world but I was wrong; I got seriously ill and I was hospitalized for weeks. Another reason for others to push me away; I physically recovered but mentally I felt worse. Although my grades were more than fine and I had shown that I was intelligent enough, my inner pain had grown. I scratched more and more to get rid of my pain and to be honest, I do not remember much of those years. A lot of my youth memories are vanished or left in the shadows.

At the age of 16 my grades were no longer fine; in class I didn’t absorb the lessons though I tried to pay attention. My parents had noticed that there was something wrong and they called the doctor. I was depressed. But before I could handle or beat the depression I got sick. In less then 24 hours I was dying; my colon had given up on me; several operations saved my life and after months I was ready to go home. There was nothing left for me; I was broken; filled with fear and panic-attacks and at that point I decided to go to a therapist. He told me I had to deal with the traumatic memories that scarred me in my life.

For a short while I seemed to do well; I graduated and began my education as a practical nurse. Months passed and in winter I felt depressed again. They gave me medication but instead of feeling better, I felt worse… I no longer had feelings, I felt empty and dark inside and one night I attempted on suicide. I took about 30 tablets and a friend of my brought me to the hospital.

It was after that attempt I started cutting myself. I took a scissor and scratched myself, sometimes the cuts were pretty deep but I never ended up in the E.R. for stitches. Again there was decided that I needed therapy. This time I would start in a daily therapy-group; together we would follow the program from 09:30 till 16:00 each day. It was hard, tougher then expected but I felt like succeeding; I didn’t want to give up on this.

Two weeks ago I got in trouble; I was suffering from dissociation and many variations and my cutting-behaviour was no longer twice a week, it happened every day! I was willing to die to avoid more mental pain and not trying to kill myself got harder and harder every day. It was around those days that my therapists found out that I have D.I.D. (Dissociative Identity Disorder) and I was hospitalized in a mental institution.

This is where I am now; I finally know a bit more about my problems; I have several personalities and one of them is convinced on committing suicide. Now I know that he’s there I feel a bit safer, my parents know and they keep an eye on me. I was ready to go home a few days ago and after several meetings with therapists, we decided to quit my old therapy and start a new one. The new group is more structured and a less heavy. This therapy and the faith that one day I’ll be happy again motivates me to go on.

Of course, I still cut myself (or burn) and I know it’s gonna be hard stopping. But this is just the beginning and there’s hope. A little sparkle of hope that will lead me to happiness.


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