[henrietta-the-hippo]

When I was in sixth grade I started getting sad. Everyone, including myself thought it was a passing phase. Only, It never did pass. With each day that year I became less happy, and more desperate for help. No one understood what I was feeling. I couldn't laugh at jokes, I couldn't bring myself to hang out with my friends. I felt like I could cry at any given second. There was an aching so bad it hurt. I tried talking to anyone. My parents, my friends, teachers, coaches...no one listened. They all said the same thing. "You'll grow out of it." That ache eventually turned to numbness. Later that year, I met a girl who was widely different from everyone else around me. As it turns out, she was exactly like me. She was also sad. Her dad had died from a drug overdose, killed himself. Her mom slept around, and had an abusive boyfriend. She became one of my best friends. I was eleven years old when I learned what cutting was. She took off all her bracelets and showed me her silvery wrists. I didn't understand why she would do something like that. It looked like it hurt. She showed me her stash of razor blades, her Prozac, and I was horrified when she slit her wrists in front of me. I remember crying as I watched her bleed out, she cried too. I never got an explanation as to why she cut in front of me, I only know that it was all I could think about since. With the passing of each day I became more depressed and more infatuated with the idea of cutting. I was twelve years old when I made my first cut. I was amateur obviously. I took apart one of those Venus razor blade refills and made a small scratch in my wrist. It didn't even hurt. I laughed. And then I cried. I didn't feel anything. I made a few more scratches before throwing out the bent razor. It obviously didn't work.

When I didn't get any happier as years passed. I went to God. I begged him to fix me. To make me happier. To make someone listen to me. To show me he loved me, but things with my family just got worse. My parents became more strict. I was in my freshman year in high school, and instead of being allowed to go to school dances or to make friends, I had to prepare for my next debate tournament; practice to become a lawyer. When I had my first kiss, I was grounded for a year. No friends, no TV, no computer, no contact with anyone. I hit rock bottom. I was truly alone. I don't know what prompted me to remember cutting, but before I even realized what was happening I was taking apart another Venus razor blade refill. I was scared and I was sobbing when I made that first incision but for the first time I felt something other than sadness. I felt pain. It was liberating. it hurt, yes, but it also felt good. I gave up on God that night. He gave up on me. I carved "Going to Hell" in my wrist before putting away the razor.

When my parents found out, I lied. I couldn't tell them that they were the reason I cut. That it was there fault because they didn't listen to me, because they had neglected to care for the past five years. I said it was because I was bullied. I was, but I couldn't have cared less. I already didn't matter, they were just giving me a helpful reminder. My dad was so furious with me he could barely form words. He wanted for me to be institutionalized. I used to be daddy's little girl, but around that night, she died. Even to this day we barely speak. My mom just cried silently. I was put on medication. it numbed me in a completely different way. They didn't realize it made it worse. I felt nothing. I became so apathetic I wanted to die. I cut more and more often. I felt less and less. It was my lifeline. I needed it to feel normal, to feel like I could still keep living.

I'm now eighteen years old. I've been off and on all sorts of medication, and nothing has worked. Regardless of whether or not I'm on antidepressants I feel nothing. I've made 32 cuts in the past two weeks. I've lost track of the cuts I've made overall. Last week my mom found out I'm still cutting. She saw the puckered red marks across my thighs that day. I vaguely remember wondering if the shorts I were wearing would be too short. She, without even looking at me turned up the TV volume and told me there was neosporin in the cabinet if I needed it. What the hell. You don't even use neosporin, you use hydrogen peroxide. That was all she said to me. Went back to her episode of BRAVO and her bowl of popcorn. She didn't even care. No one cares. I don't matter. It wouldn't make a difference whether not I was dead or not. She could have at least pretended to give a ****. I'm still living, but I'm already dead.

[Pierro]

Henreitta, I am sorry that you have had such an unhappy life. You have said that you are on and off many meds but have you had any therapy. You are 18 years old and maybe you need to start taking care of yourself. Some mothers just dont know how to deal with emotions, its sad but true.. Best wishes.

I see a lot of me in what you just posted up there.

I didn't "escape" until I was 33.5 years old.

I hope it doesn't take you that long.

Sometimes we have to walk away from our families of origin in order to save ourselves.

It isn't easy, but it is doable.

And there are plenty of agencies and organizations out there that will help you get low cost to no cost mental health counseling if you need it and can't afford it!

I wish you the best ...

[henrietta-the-hippo]

I've been against therapy up until now. I think every person I have talked to at this point has suggested I get some. For one, I do not see myself as being one who can openly discuss their problems with a stranger expected to fix me. And if the goal of therapy is to have someone to listen, it's far too late for that. also, given my current economic situation I couldn't afford it even if I wanted to. Someone suggested I get it through my college, however would have had to have been referred by a professor, which I was not, and even then it is not free.

It's never too late!



I hope you don't really believe that!

And, the therapist isn't going to "fix" you ...

They are going to help (and support) you as you learn how to "fix" yourself!

And there are plenty of agencies and organizations out there that will help you get low cost to no cost mental health counseling if you need it and can't afford it!

Again, I wish you the best!

[nummy]

My dear, my heart aches for you. My own mother was cold, but I came to forgives her as she honestly thought sucking it up was for my own good. That it would teach me to become hard in a harsh world. My best guess is your mother is mentally ill, possibly depressed. Depressed mothers have depressed kids.

Now that you're 18, you can legally take over your own mental health treatment, you can go to a therapist without reporting to your parents. I highly suggest that. I also might suggest group therapy. Your mothers failure to act appropriately has left a yawning chasm in you. If there is an Intensive Outpatient Therapy, and you can get in, take it. The feedback will be priceless.

As for medicines, there is a lot of questions out there as per teenagers, so don't give up on them. Young brains don't respond in the same way as us old fogey's brains.... The older you get, the better match. Plus, it can take a LOT of trial and error to figure out what meds work with you (at any age!). My depression began around 6th grade, but I was sad years before that, due to parental neglect. (Which she did her best at, but I was furious for years.) I'm now on an atypical antipsychotic having been just diagnosed with bipolar 1 though I feel pretty sure I was bipolar 2 for decades (the one where the mania doesn't get as bad). It's worked for me in ways no antidepressant ever did.

I'm not advocating the use of my class of meds, but I would consider--now that you're of legal age-- I would consider asking your psychiatrist if he might consider a medicine outside of the class of typical antidepressants for your depression that is seeming, from your description, to defy typical medicinal relief. I won't suggest more. I worry I may have suggested the wrong thing. But having been on the wrong class of meds for 25 years I do worry a bit when I read stories that remind me of myself at that same age. You may have more than typical depression, given your mothers action. There are personality disorders ( just say in') associated with both cutting, and parental neglect. (I do believe I have a touch of this myself.) But be careful with your anger. You need to focus on you right now, not on your mother. Antidepressants are known to cause--cause, mind you--rage, especially in teens and young adults. Do please be careful. And again, group therapy or support group might prove very helpful at the moment, maybe even dialectal behavior therapy. (I'm not an expert on it though.)

I hope you get some relief, everyone deserves to be content. I think happiness is overrated, but to have days where you are content in your own skin sounds very possible ( and even probable!!!!!). Don't give up!! This is not a phase, but treatment will help!! Best to you. I mean that.

[henrietta-the-hippo]

Thank you everyone for your help and concern I appreciate it.

I can't promise anything or give any guarantees, but I'm taking everyone's advice with an open mind. I'm really thankful that the people on this site are kind enough to share their experiences and give their support when many people whom I know personally do not. I really appreciate it.

That being said, I'm curious as to how people benefit from being to therapy. Or at least be willing to help me to understand what happens in a typical session. I have a hard time wrapping my head around the concept of therapy and opening up.

Any and all help is appreciated, thank you.

My biggest benefit is I'm alive today because of it.

Trying to do all this without support would have ended tragically.

My therapists have been like stepping stones as I've navigated my way out of the storms that raged silently in my head for all those years.

They've helped me to find myself and give a voice to that self which was abused, ignored and unheard for so long ... It's a journey of healing and recovery, and also discovery!

A worthwhile endeavor for those who are ready for the challenge!

[nummy]

Therapy took me awhile to get used to, too. Think of it as feedback. You say something, and you aren't always sure what you meant, the therapist will gently give feedback. Think of it as being mentored. You've never had proper mentoring-- a good therapist will show you what you should focus and work on, and how to work on it. They'll explain why you feel the way you do, if you ask in a way they can answer. It's like being mothered, taught, supported, all by a neutral non family member. You'll understand, with time, why certain situations set you off, and how to deal with those moments.

Therapy gave me the courage to forgive myself for being imperfect. It's a constant learning process! I'm still learning "triggers", even after 30 years of therapy. (Don't get discouraged it's been an interesting journey and not all bad, really.)

Ask if you can get a therapist with experience in youth, it's worth asking, anyway.

It's ok to cry in therapy but not mandatory, but it's more than fine if you do.
Just as fine if you don't.

They'll ask a lot a basic questions at first. Your entire first session might be general questions. DONT GIVE UP if they do!! This is very helpful and even necessary.

Let us know how you're doing?

[herethennow]

I think everyone else has said some good thing about therapy. I cannot deny it, therapy has been liberating. But therapy will be difficult, especially in the first few rounds. Especially when your T touches on the things that you don't want T to talk about.

I was like you, at 17 years old I was down. Someone suggested I see the school's T. I was against the idea. I don't like the idea of someone trying to solve my problems. I rejected it many many many times before my teachers dragged me down to the person. Then, I decided to blindly trust the person.. that I am already here, so why not take a leap of faith? Wrong decision... ever. The school's T was a nightmare, I hated him. He would constantly judge me, ridicule me, and play around with what I believed in. He also told about my issues to my teacher, who then went around spreading about me in school. Thereafter, I decided I hated therapy and I would not want to believe in them again.

I decided to take my own leap of faith when I finally dragged myself to treatment. I actually did not open up at first.. letting my T do all the work. Therapy is a process that takes time, and as you get more used to it, you'll open up even more. My current T is someone I truly appreciate, and T is wonderful to work with.

I do get your idea of being against therapy. But sometimes.. maybe we should take a leap of faith and try it out. Sometimes, an outsider's view of things is beneficial too. Therapy is also a safe place where you can just vent within that confined space, and nothing should leave that place. To me personally, I find it reassuring that I have someone who would listen and not ridicule me; someone who cares. And I hope you'll find that person too.