A guest post by the Broken Girl.
I have been depressed. I’ve felt guilty. I’ve felt desolated and I’ve bowed my head having been almost broken by life.
I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started. Darkness is a coward who’ll sneak up on you and slowly grow in your soul until you can’t breath.
I read somewhere that being depressed is fashionable. Sitting in the corner of my kitchen, curled up trying to hold myself together as I was swallowed by emptiness and crying my heart out doesn’t seem all that fashionable to me. Cutting yourself in the girls’ bathroom at boarding school because you are filled up with self hate and such a sadness that you can’t keep it in doesn’t seem fashionable to me.
I was around 15 when I started to realize that I wanted to die. Not that death felt like a good thing but it would be an end to all the pain. I was however too scared to die, but also too scarred to live. I was stuck in limbo. once in a while trying to gather the courage to move on.
Once drunk at a party at 16 my friends had to pull me down from the railing on a motorway bridge. It wasn’t until early 20’s I really took the plunge. A big kitchen knife slicing up the arm and under water to keep the blood flowing. I was set on succeeding. Somehow I didn’t. My parents got me admitted to the local psychiatric hospital and that’s where I spent the next 3 months. Are we nearing fashionable yet?
I used to label myself as dark and twisted. I would warn people not to get too close. Those who did I’d push away. I truly was a broken girl.
It took me a year of therapy to get me somewhat functional again. It took me years to discover that it’s okay to be happy. Over years I got antidepressants starting out with bad ones, switching to okay ones and then getting the ones that almost restored me to the girl I was before life happened.
I wasn’t just cured, snap of the fingers, poof magic! It took a lot of hard work and I still have some way to go. I still have bad days where I cry myself to sleep and feel alone and lost. I very seldom have days where I walk through my flat and wonder “where would the best place be to hang the rope?”
The good days are slowly moving in to stay. And what I cherish most is that I can now say that I have days where I’m pretty happy and that’s okay.
The Broken Girl