The thought of this post scares me to my spine. I'm really, really frightened about writing this, but I feel like it might help someone... and it was about time I told my story.
I don't have any problem with telling I had anxiety, depression and social phobia. I can admit it openly, I'm just vague about it. What I keep extremely hidden are the details, just like the fact I wanted to commit suicide. Less than a handful of people knew it. Until now.
First of all, I want to give a shoutout to Jolien Nathalie, because she opened about her experience with depression and suicide and she inspired me to write this post. Go over to her blog because she's amazing!
Okay, let's get to it. I was 8 the first time someone bullied me. I was a bit too smart and a bit too nice and ingenuous for others not to use this against me. This situation got bigger and bigger and I was left alone for three years. Then, I left elementary school and started high school on a different place than my former classmates, so I was ready to start again.
Only I couldn't because I got bullied again. I got bullied on high school. I got bullied on the Summer sports camp. I got bullied on my extracurricular activities. Wherever I went, I didn't fit in. I thought everybody hated me, and what's worst, I thought I deserved it. By the time I turned 14, I was deep into a depression and social phobia from which I couldn't escape.
I was so sure something inside me was rotten and wrong and I wasn't enough that I started to feed on those thoughts. The first time the idea of stopping it all came to my mind, I pushed it aside as quickly as I could. But it kept coming and it became stronger and stronger every time. A month after turning 15, I was on holidays in Italy and felt really attacked by my family, and I just felt like it was really wrong that I was alive. I ran away from them and found the worst thing I could have found: a balcony. I looked down and knew that, if I jumped, it would all be over.
The thing is... I didn't want to die. I just didn't want to live any more. When you're at that point, you become your pain. And everything you want is for the pain to stop because you just can't handle it any more.
There I was, looking desperately for a reason not to jump and not finding any. Until a face came to my mind. I told you a long time ago I owe a lot to my best friend, who has Down Syndrome, and it's true. I literally owe her my life. When I saw her face, I stepped back and knew my life had produced something good. I knew I was good for her. I was enough because she thought I was. So I stepped back and I cried.
Since that moment, I've fallen into depression again. Two years later anxiety paid a visit and hasn't gone away completely. I've self-harmed. I've cried. I've seen people commit suicide and I've seen people try and fail. I've had highs and lows, but I've never come that close to killing myself because I know I mustn't.
What do I do on those low moments? I fill a list. I write down all the things I would have missed if I had died on that day. I wouldn't have seen my brother and sister blossom. I wouldn't have read books and watched TV series and movies that struck me as they did. I wouldn't have found my beliefs. I wouldn't have known who once was my best guy friend.
I wouldn't have written as much as I have.
I wouldn't have worked with children and received the love and happiness that has come from it.
I swear... it hasn't been light-hearted, it hasn't been easy, but it has been a hell of a ride and I wouldn't change the things on that list for the world. Life hurts, but somehow, I've fallen in love with it. If I have done so much in six years... just imagine what the years to come could bring me.
So if you're going through something similar, I have some things to tell you.
Hold on. Have hope. Trust me on this: you'll do so much. There's a blank page ahead of you and you decide what to fill it with. You'll cry. You'll laugh. You are enough. You deserve to be happy.
It's not your fault. It's not your fault. IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT.
A big big hug,
Acqua
