How I Ended up Here

Copyright, Lillehammer

This is my story of how I ended up as a suicidal and self-injuring person with depression.

I’m a nineteen-year-old boy from Lillehammer, Norway.

I don’t really know how or when it started, but it started sometime around 3rd grade. Anyway, everyday from that year and until the last year of high school, I have been picked on and pushed around. At first I didn’t know what was going on. The first years I couldn’t understand, because somehow I got used to it. I remember one time when I wasn’t picked on for about a week, and I missed it. At this time I can’t understand why, why did I miss being picked on? I guess it was because it was a part of a “normal” day for me. I guess I can compare it with my SI, it’s something I do everyday, even though I know it’s not something I’m supposed to do, I still do it. Because it has become a part of a normal day for me.

When I started at junior high school I thought this was going to stop, but it didn’t. Even though the teachers managed to stop the person who had been after me since 3rd grade. How they found out, is that this guy started picking on me during class, until I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I started hitting the guy, while starting to cry during class. Then I and that guy were followed to the principal, and he tried to say sorry. Guess it was so he wouldn’t get in trouble. Anyway, after what I can remember, he stopped from sometime around that day, but then other people started.

Sometime between 8th and 9th grade I was getting my first suicidal thought, I just wanted it to end. Luckily it got away the same day. I was taking a school bus, so it was a lot of trouble there, most of the time they wouldn’t let me sit where I wanted to sit. So one time, I was hit in the head by a person sitting behind me, just because he didn’t want me to sit there.

Finally I was finished with three years at junior high school, so it was time for a new school and new people. My plan was to study to become an electrician.

First month or so started out with some picking, but not so much so I didn’t see it as a problem. Then one day one person in my class was seeing me picking my nose, and since that day I wasn’t exactly picked on but I knew perfectly well I was hated in that class, pretty much hated by everyone.

After that year was finished I started in a new class, I didn’t get in on second year as an electrician. So I started at electronics instead, so mostly new people, but one from my first year. Of course he knew that I had picked my nose the first year, so he told this to everyone. Someone was supporting him. Someone didn’t really care. And someone I felt was on my side, but not many. So that was the start of another year that was going to be hell.

When I was finally finished, I was on a waiting list to start studying space technology. Somehow, don’t know how, I got in and moved about 1500 kilometres away from home, to start on a completely new school. One person from my electronic class also got in, luckily he was one of the person I felt was on my side. And that showed up to be my first year without any picking or pushing, I finally felt accepted. At the end of that year I was watching a documentary, don’t know the name. But it was about people chatting on internet and committing suicide. I guess that triggered me back to the time where I had my first suicidal tought. But this time it didn’t go away after one day, it stayed there.

I remember that we were supposed to have one last party before everyone was leaving home. So I was sitting home at my place, drinking some alcohol before going. And I don’t know why but I wrote lost with some sort of a needle on my left thigh.

I got the idea from that documentary but I did it because that was how I felt, so it wasn’t planned to just copy from that I did it because of my own reason. My dad was coming to pick me up with all my baggage, and I was scared that someone would see what I had done with my thigh, a month later or something I wrote it once more with a knife this time and above my right knee, but a lot smaller.

After that I have turned out to be a cutter, I had tried too cut before but just couldn’t make it deep enough to make it come blood. One night I managed to do that, I managed to cut deep enough so it would come blood. That just ended up me crying about an hour before finally falling asleep. That night I really wanted to die, just cut over my wrist and see blood coming, cutting so I would see all my blood just coming out and I would fall asleep forever. But I couldn’t because I just couldnt leave my parents or friends in sadness.

I also started smoking, why I don’t know. Guess it was because then I could hurt my body from the inside as well.

My parents still don’t know I’m in this situation, I haven’t talked with someone professional about these problems. Only two out of four of my friends IRL know about my problem, and to tell the two others I have to be wasted. Because if I’m not I won’t be able to tell them.

It has been about four months or so since I first got my depression, and I have been cutting for about one and a half month. Sometimes when I see my scars I get scared because of what I have done with my body. But I also kinda like them. They remind me of who I am and it has becomed a part of me, a part of my body.

Why I do SI I don’t know yet, but I feel it’s helping me through depression and it’s also keeping me away from suicide. So at this point I can’t see any negative things about SI.

At this point I feel everyone who hasn’t been SI’ing and havent had suicidal toughts is pushing me to seek help so that’s why I haven’t because at this point I don’t see the reason getting out of it. If I do that’s good of course. But I’m afraid I will fall as I have done so many times already. I remember I had a period of four or five days where everything was perfect, after four or five days, I woke up one morning and I was back, I had fallen back and hard too, it was like a punch in the face. I’m afraid that if I have a good time of a longer period like a month or a year, I will fall back so hard. That I won’t survive it. I’m afraid I will kill myself because I was pushed into being helped and it failed.

The ironic part of this story is that most of my life I have been scared of being dead. But now, I’m not. I’m not afraid of death anymore.

The time I will get professional help is the time I understand I need to get out of this, when I understand I can’t live my life like this anymore. But not before. And I will never do it as long as I feel pressed into a corner by people saying I need help.

Here are a quote that I have been thinking out, it just popped into my head when I was having math. Scars on the outside is healed with time, scars on the inside seem to never be healed.


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