Farwell and thank you for making me strong.

Hi everyone, I know I haven't been on here in forever. and to be honest, its been so long i dont know what i have told you about and what I havent. So let me give you a little recap from the beginning.
freshman year, I was naked and vulnerable to whenever someone said something about me or looked at me the wrong way. I was in my first real relationship, at that point going three months strong (one to last one year and three months more.) High school is a whole new chapter in one's life, and i was new. I wanted those four years to be perfect, I wanted to be perfect. Now, I can't remember which came first, the cutting or the refusal to eat. But I remember the first time I decided to do both. I rode the bus with the same people since the third grade, and that meant the same boys. I was always something of a social butterfly and kind of had a flirty personality. But that was just me, and i meant nothing by it. Now at age 14, the same boys who used to sing cutesy songs to me and ask me out were telling me I had gained a little, or I was getting to big for my pants. I never thought words powerful enough to hurt like those did, especially not ones thrown around so freely, that spat so fluently and without second thought that i figured everyone must be thinking the same thing. I dont think I realized what I was doing at first, I think i was too distracted by the thoughts of pure hatred towards myself to realize I hadn't eaten more than a granola bar in three days. I told myself that when my pants practically started to fall off that it was because they must have stretched out. but then people started to tell me i looked good, and around the same time i would feel faint, and a black film would start to enclose my vision, and i would quickly drink a pop or a granola. Anything little to keep my off the cold, hard floor. From keeping people discovering what i had just realized myself. I kept my charade going until I was exhausted from the moment i opened my eyes in the morning to the time i shut them at night. Sleeping, even with lack of energy, seemed impossible. You'd be surprised how uncomfortable you are on a truly empty stomach. I started taking benadryl to sleep at night, when one didn't work I took two. When two wasn't fast enough I took them and some sleeping pills. I got it in my head that there was a pill for every problem. I got to the point I was taking up to 16-18 pills a day on an empty stomach to deal with my ales. I turned into a completely different person, a monster compared to my old self. through this whole time slot I became extremely depressed and even suicidal. I honestly don't know how my friends stuck through it with my because i had turned into such an angry person. Even though my anorexia didn't stay secret so long and I slowly returned to semi normal eating habits, I had a little secret no one knew about for years, and most still don't. I don't remember what the reason was I first cut, but I remember the first time I did it. I remember I found out my friend was doing it and I got her to talk to me about it, I tried everything to get her to stop, and honestly it wasn't that hard. and I kept checking up with her to make sure she wasn't. But my sick little self was taking notes mentally and i went home a few days later and did exactly what she did to get a razor and cried and screamed in my head asking myself "WHY? WHY DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS? ITS GOING TO HURT" my face was pouring tears and i could feel myself wanting to throw the razor out of my own reach. but one little voice told me "it helped her, it will help you." it only took that thought once, and i had done it. i never stopped crying, thinking i would never do it again, but i was most certainly wrong. I would continue with self harm for another three and a half years on and off before being done.
 
Sophmore year, this was probably the smoothest sailing year of high school for me. I still struggled with my body image and eating off and on. I started drinking alot that year though, which never turned out good. there had a been a few times i probably should have gone to the hospital but didn't.
 
Junior year, ahhh hell on earth. I had been dealing with depression and self harm for two years and what I learned that year is that the only thing worse than depression is piling severe anxiety on top of it. By this point my old boyfriend and I had broken up and I dont think I could have been more devastated, i didnt think i would survive (cliche, right?) without him. I thought he was the only person who could pull me out of the dark place that I was in. I thought that he was the person who was supposed to save me, and i felt completely abandoned. I clashed with friends, I clashed with him, I clashed with myself that year. Nothing went well, really. my grades were shit and i was too proud and too scared to tell my mother that i just wasnt right in the head. I couldnt sleep throughout the night without waking up in the middle of it thinking i was dying from the feeling in my chest and the rapid beating of my heart. and the attacks would happen in school as well, mainly in classes i had with my ex and his new love interest. I figured I had to do something, I couldnt take it any longer. I finally talked to a school counselor who talked to my mom and i finally got a doctor appointment set up. I got put off brand sertraline, 25mg a piece, one a day. An antidepressant for my anxiety. For the first week or so i thought it was working great, my thoughts didn't race like before and i didnt have to carry such a heavy weight everyday. but then things started to decay once again, and it felt like with maybe even a little more impact then before. And there is where my old freshman mentality really started to kick back in, I thought that if I wasnt happy enough all i needed to do was take a few more happy pills. it went from one, to two, to four, to six at a time. I would kind of get a high off of them. it was sort of euphoric. but then i started drinking again, and if you have any experience with antidepressants you know they do not mix well with alcohol. i would get way too shit faced every weekend. to the point my friends had no idea what to do with me, so i started skipping doses instead of taking them. which really messed me up, that upon drinking made my mind an absolute disaster. I was scared of what lied within me, i was paranoid and borderline delusional. i became suicidal again, and this time, almost went through with it. I took eight of my sertraline, and about three sleeping pills (and surprisingly i was very groggy but fine the next day), i chickened out before taking all the rest i had and i broke down and called a suicide hotline. they talked me down to where i was calm, i told them i hadnt taken anything but that i had sleeping pills. and they told me they had to contact my parents because i was a minor or the police would have to get involved. i held them off for a few days but i knew the day had to come and when they called i had to let them talk to her. i will never forget the awful feeling of guilt and heart wrenching sadness i felt when my mom found out. i dont know how many times she asked me why, screaming. I will never forget that. I still don't think any of my friends know about that night.
 
After that incident, I think I stayed in a really dark place for quite a few months, but never really realizing it. I believe I thought I was at rock bottom and told myself i had nothing left to lose. i was in a calm sort of darkness but i felt cold and like there was a whole in my chest, i still felt like a failure. come senior year, i stay in this cold isolation. the weird thing about the beginning of this year is every time i thought things were going good, my mind would turn horrible. it was like for every good day i had an equally bad night. (for every feeling there was an equal and opposite feeling). and by this point, after the night i called the suicide hotline i had completely (and secretly) stopped taking my medication.i felt it was the cause of everything. i had some good times, i went out of state with my best friends family for a wedding and had a blast, but when i came back that opposite feeling started to kick in. I thought to myself that if the pills helped my feel better before that they would help me feel better again. so i took eight, again. just wanting to feel numb for a bit. because i was so sick and tired of the paranoia and borderline delusions and the rollercoaster that was my mentality. but what i didn't factor in was that the medication hadn't been in my system for so long that my body wasnt used to it anymore and it couldnt handle it. I woke up the next morning in a huge state of panic. i looked in the mirror and my eyes were rapidly dialating and contracting, my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. i felt dizzy and lightheaded and heavy all at the same time. i texted my mom and told her i was sick and staying home from school. i took a shower hoping it would help me be okay, but it did anything but. i freaked out and felt like i was seriously going to die. i crawled back in bed thinking to myself that if i was going to go it was going to be in my sleep. and i slept for two days straight. only getting up when my parents had gone to work to check and see if my eyes had stopped going from black to green, which they hadn't. on the third day i felt better by half, but my heart still hadnt slowed, my eyes hadnt returned to normal and my anxiety was still at an all time high. i knew at that point i was going to live but i had to call an ambulance. i have never been more humbled than having to admit to a group of paramedics and police officers that i was at this point, this my firends, lying in bed for two days thinking you are dying of an overdose, was rock bottom for me. i was taking to the hospital by my hysteric mother who was contacted by the police and given medication to slow my heart rate. i was told that if i would have taken one more pill it would have been a lethal dose, and had i came in on the first day i would to have had my stomach pumped. i came very close to losing my life. and yes, i do have some permanent damage from my overdose, my eyes are never dialated the same, the left is always bigger, and i have minor and unprovoked heart palpitations occasionally. i had to start going to a psychologist which didnt last long because i had definetely learned my lesson. pills are nothing to fuck with and i never will again.
 
i have been put myself through alot, and the rest of my senior year was building up my mentality and stripping it of everything it was. i cleaned out the black walls of my cranium and have started a grand transformation for myself . i realize my strength now, and its something that i can lean on, instead of the booze or the pills. just myself. and that is why i am saying farewell to you great great internet friends. you have helped me reach this point, and i cannot thank you enough. you all are so fantastic. if there is anything that i could say to you all it would be remember that recovery is a nonstop process but it is the best thing for you, no matter what your vices are. and that recovery is not meant to be done alone. you need others to show you how to trust and love yourself. and remember that it is never a shame to ask for help. if i wouldnt have called the ambulance, i probably would still be where i was mentality wise.
 
again THANK YOU SO MUCH AND I LOVE YOU ALL. I WILL MISS YOU. NEVER FORGET YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL, YOU ARE WORTHY, AND YOU ARE LOVED.