TBD

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            I didn’t really know where to start. Which part to come in on. How much I want to tell.. I suppose the beginning would be a good start. Figuring out where my life started becoming my own is hard to pinpoint, so let me bring you to December 2014. I was entering middle school with optimism dripping from every crack in my acne prone skin. It was me starting my journey in growing up, I just didn’t comprehend how much growing up I could do.

            I thought homework in middle school was bad, just wait till you have to take Geometry sophomore year. Eight pages of Trig. Homework for our last unit of the semester really showed me how much my procrastination is a love-hate relationship. Anyway, middle school homework required a sharpened pencil as does most homework. In an attempt to waste time and take a longer break from homework, I took on the stair one foot at a time making sure both my feet had a turn on each step. At my house, we kept an old red Nike shoe box on top of the fridge with every single school supply that was salvageable after we had used it in elementary school. Being as vertically challenged as I was, I needed to jump up on the counter and stand in order to reach the box. I was swiping markers left and right in order to reach the one pencil that was left, but that was the moment I noticed the yellow college-ruled notebook under the box with envelopes sticking out. One with my Dad’s girlfriend’s name on it and one with my mother’s. My parents barely talked anymore since my Dad cheated, why would he write her a letter? A question that would soon be answered after I read the paper underneath that had my name on it.

            “I’m so proud of you and your brother.”

            I was ten years old. I thought it was a letter he was going to give to me just saying he was proud and loved me. Although he claimed that was the reason that he wrote it.

            “I’m a disappointment and I’m sorry.”

            The need to shake my head become evident. Then came the need to cover my mouth so he couldn’t hear me cry from the next room. I kept reading about his regrets and his disappointment in his self. He let some amazing things slip out of his hands and he let some others fill the spot. Except these others weren’t even close to amazing, instead they told him of all his flaws. Some of which were not even his own.

            “You’re a terrible father, you barely even pay attention to your kids! You never take your daughter seriously and you never punish your son for his terrible behavior.”

            Some of these were her own problems, but in the end, they still somehow found their way back. Perfect couple, right? They both were cheaters and they never realized that it’d become a conflict in their relationship.

            My father was not the best. Not even close, but let's be honest, who is? The fact that I influenced this through her and how it affected him shattered me into pieces I still can’t put back together. We still have to work on our broken pieces though. My father didn’t see the point in trying to fix it. To fix him or anything in his life. Because he no longer wanted his life, and I was the only one to know this.

            Scientists always brag about accidental discoveries and how amazing they are. How beneficial they are. My discovery was one I wished I had never seen. I was about halfway through pages and pages on how he wanted to die and how part of him already had. After reading that, something in me died too. I ran back up to my hot pink bedroom and cried into my pillow. I still couldn’t let him hear me and I couldn’t hold in the pain I felt at that moment. I calmed down though. I could breathe again. I wanted to know more if he moved it before I had the chance to finish; before he left me. I’d be crushed. I read the rest of the notebook. The parts that went in great detail. The ones that today I can still feel what I felt when I read them, but no longer know exactly what they were. The thoughts piling together and how in the end it all seemed to trace back to me completely broke me. To the point where I couldn’t be fixed. I ran out into our garage right outside the kitchen and I climbed into our old grey Malibu and I screamed. My world was spinning and everything came roaring out. People always say that the scream that comes out of you when an emergency is in play is one you’ll never forget. One you’d never think you’d be able to do. They were right. Looking back onto that scream, and experiencing that at ten is something that will always be with me. It will always bring me to tears and it will always have a spot in the darkness in me. Darkness we all have, but we try to hide away because we want to seem like perfect people. Living the American dream. Nothing could ever be wrong with us.

            My father said nothing to me that night. I had called my mother barely being able to speak. Telling your mother that Daddy was going to kill himself was something a ten-year-old should never have to experience. It’s one that doesn’t leave you alone. My mother called him and he said nothing still. Not to me, not to anyone. It’s been six years and he hasn’t said anything to me. It’s been six years and our relationship has completely fallen apart. Simply because we can’t talk to each other anymore without there being a sliver of pain jabbing its wedge in between us. That doesn’t mean I gave up on it.

 

            There’s always a reason something happens. Something that starts a whole sequence of events. The shifting of tectonic plates under the ocean floor causing big waves to form causing hurricanes and tsunamis. Warm and cold air moving in just the perfect way to cause tornados. The temperature dropping enough at night to leave dew on the grass in the morning. There’s a cause for everything. Reading that letter started everything. Screaming until it felt my lungs were bleeding, covering my cries with a pillow, and every single step I made during that process started my journey. That’s not what rose me up. It’s been six years, do you really believe that’s all it took to get me started on this?

            December 2014 is when my depression started to creep out of the depths of my eyes and pour out of my fingertips. It was in everything I did. The next day I got ready for school. Threw on the same hoodie and skinny jeans. Brushed up the same ponytail. And I said nothing. Sitting next to him in the car was agonizing, I didn’t want to leave him yet at the same time I didn’t want him to see me cry. I must’ve left class five times that day to sit on the floor in the most spacious stall and let my eyes run like a river. Everything I looked at, he was there. In everything I did, everything I said, every breath I took. The constant thought of right now at this moment there was a possibility you would no longer be Daddy’s little girl. You could’ve been at home with no father. He could be gone and you wouldn’t know why.

            Many thoughts filled my mind. What else was I supposed to do? Talk to him? No, it crossed my mind but I couldn’t bear it. I would lose myself every single night from then on. Crumbling to the floor as the crumbs little kids drop from the table. The difference is at that time it didn’t affect you if things crumbled to the floor when you were little. Back then the most hurt you ever felt was falling off your bike and scraping your knee, or in my case trying to take out the angry cat I put in the dryer (not while it was running). This was a whole different hurt and I let it completely consume me.

            Depression is a nasty beast you never mess with. You never joke about. You also never let it show. I only let my depression show to one person. She was my best friend. We’ll call her Anna Marie. Anna Marie had been my friend since the first grade. We shared every secret. Slid back and forth on my frozen swimming pool. Sat out on the roof at night talking about boys and sex and our parents. We’ve also cried on the phone together when we thought about killing ourselves. There was only so much that could be helped by one person. It still wasn’t enough, because how were we supposed to help each other when we couldn’t even help ourselves? Now let me bring you to August 2016.

            I had been dealing with depression for about two years at this point. I was utterly fed up with my emotions. I needed to take the first step in making a change. Growing up and being strong for something I needed to do. The thing I needed to do was talk to my dad. I needed to clear the air and say everything. I had planned to spill everything when I graduated and have a whole speech planned to let everything out on how I was completely broken because of him and how I picked my self up before it was too late.  As I realized I couldn’t let things get worse and to continue how they were, I called my dad upstairs to talk. I told him I felt invisible in this house. That there was no longer anything between us and that we needed to fix it.  I spit everything out  I needed and he kicked dirt on every single word. Erased every word I said from the air. My father took it as he did something wrong. That everything was his fault. He told me he wasn’t the one isolating me and locking me in my room. Except he used more swear words than I could keep track of. He walked out slamming the door with no care for how quickly I fell to the floor and cried. I’d reached my breaking point. My father didn’t care there was nothing between us. That I was locking myself away from the world because I couldn’t take being in it anymore. He couldn’t see and he led me to believe it was completely my fault.

It was at this point I became the darkest I’ve ever been. Suicidal thoughts came every night. Being the creative person I am, I thought up all of the different ways I would do it. I put them on a scale. On one end I had all the ones that would be the most painful, but quick. For once maybe I’d feel something different than what I’d been feeling and if I didn’t like it. Well. It wouldn’t last long anyway. On the other end, I had the least painful, but long. I could think about everything for one last time and then get rid of it. Whichever end I chose I would finally be done. I wouldn’t be in this pain. I wouldn’t be alone. I tried once. Clearly, it didn’t go through. I broke a mini pencil sharpener and took the blade to my left forearm. I went as deep as I could bear until I no longer could. It wasn’t deep enough or major enough. The scar puffs out and is the largest of my battle scars, and the largest reminder that I am stronger than I thought. Just because I didn’t go through doesn’t mean I stopped. I have other smaller scars on my right forearm from continuous cutting. It was the only thing I could feel. On the inside, I was completely empty.  I was alone with every single thought that I was no longer good enough. I was dead inside, why not be dead as a whole?

 

October 2017. I had started talking to a guy I thought was there for me. I opened up to him with however much truth I was comfortable with. He was perfectly understanding on me not saying everything. It was a fresh start for me and I thought that for the first time I could be genuinely happy. Except the happy I felt was happy you felt when you see a puppy in the window and buy it on a whim, forgetting about how much it’ll cost you. There was a day that fall that was insanely hot outside and I was complaining to him on how hot it was and how I thought fall was supposed to be between hot and cold. He offered to give me a ride home and I said yes. We talked the whole way and I’d catch him every once in a while turning towards me and just smiling. When he pulled into my driveway he called out to me and asked if it was okay he hung out for a little bit. He had an hour till football and didn’t want to drive back and forth. I said yes. From then on I spent the next hour trying to escape him. He had walked upstairs and looked around making odd side comments. I thought maybe if I went downstairs he would too and then he’d leave. I got to the landing at the top of the stairs and he grabbed me. He gripped my arm tight and pulled me in forcing me to embrace him. He ran his hands all over me to the point where I shuddered and squirmed in resistance. Going downstairs did nothing. I stood at the door to open it and he came up behind me grabbing my hips and forcing himself on me. Eventually, he spun me towards him and tried to force me to kiss him. I snapped and told him to get out. Later he texted me and told me not to say anything about it. Guess what? He didn’t want his girlfriend to find out. I didn’t know about her until after everything. I completely lost my immense feeling of knowing my worth. Whatever I did feel, was more worthless than that I had worth. I degraded myself for a guy and one that was using me for my body the whole time I felt maybe there was something there. Falling back into old habits came and I needed to talk it out before it started getting worse again.

            January 2018. I went to this thing called TEC. Teens Encountering Christ, contrary to popular belief it is not a cult. It’s something that opened my eyes to God. I was raised in a Lutheran church with my mother, but I never really saw God. In the way, I saw teens work together and share their stories. For a short time, I was happy. It didn’t last forever, but it was a step. Right before I had left for the TEC weekend I had thought about committing suicide and this time going through. Seeing and feeling the happiness I did make me crave it more. I had another person helping me. He knows who he is, no false name needed I know he’ll read this. He was my superhero when I needed saving. He was the perfect hero and he didn’t even have superpowers. This guy talked to me on the phone late at night. Gave me awkward hugs when we first started talking. Now it’s nearly January 2019 and through all the weird conversations with me asking if his homeschooled self knew what a locker was and if he thought aqua man helped find Nemo, stupid I know, but he’s still with me. I wouldn’t be doing what I am without him. He showed me light when I needed for once to really see. Every single face I met and got to know at TEC showed me the light. There is no darkness when all of them are together and looking back nearly a year later I can’t imagine not meeting the people I did. Though they may not have physically done much or said much to me, they impacted my heart and started my next step in coming out of the dark. To work on me and become light.

Not long after I the weekend, my mother announced that she was pregnant. I have never known joy like this and I never thought that today I would deserve to have such a sassy and beautiful little girl as my sister. I promised myself that I wouldn’t let that little girl grow up as I did feel alone. That I would always be there for her and that I’d be the person I wish I had.

April 2018 I had a major decline. Everything was starting to become hard again. Every waking emotion I felt was hurt all over again to the point where I didn’t want to move. Where I didn’t want to eat. I had a few month problems with becoming anorexic. I went days without eating and watched as I got smaller and smaller. I felt a little better about myself. I suppose you could say it started when things with my father started to go downhill again to a point where he's on and off girlfriend made me feel unsafe at home. I got a restraining order put against her to protect my brother and I and my father never forgave me for that. I don’t regret it, but at the time I had lost his trust and felt I had lost everything. We went a week without talking and it was easier that way. At the same time, it wasn’t home anymore. For a month I bounced back and forth on the thought of asking my mom to gain full custody of me so I could fully live there. A home where I felt safe and loved. Where I actually had a father. Thinking became more important than eating, so I chose that over food. I mean, if I was slim enough I’d be prettier and then I’d have one thing going for me again, right? It got to the point where whenever I would stand up I would become dizzy and fall onto the wall until my vision cleared. That same month I worked my first TEC and I worked with the guy I had met in January. We were just starting to become good friends and I got to know him even more throughout the weekend. I said nothing to him about my condition. In fact, this might be the first he’s heard about it. Working with him and knowing how God has worked in his life and how far he’s come from where he started, I woke up. It was the first time I ate all week. It was the first time I was starting to really find myself.

 

November 2018. I was seven months clean of cutting. I was finally figuring myself out and finding who I am with the new people in my life. Problem was, the old people didn’t care anymore. Anna Marie was now simply an acquaintance. Someone, I’d go days without talking to and the connection we once had was severed. Over the course of a few months, we had both changed in good, but different ways and went our separate ways. Nothing lasts forever. Anna Marie had found habits of partying. Drinking and drugs, bragging about sex. All of these as I had recently come to know who I am, I knew I didn’t want for me. I knew I was done with being pressured into it and that I couldn’t become who I wanted to be if my heart was still stuck on this person who didn’t even care anymore. Nearly ten years of friendship where we talked about every single hurt we felt and we sat out late at night talking about our dreams, never once did I think that a day would come where growing out of old bad habits would mean growing out and away from each other. I still had growing to do. I needed to get away from my past feelings, yet still, use them as lessons. I told her how I felt we weren’t even friends anymore and how using me to see her boyfriend and to talk about partying with wasn’t the kind of person I was now.  It was hurting me to stay. Trying to mend a wound that had already dried out was pointless. We grew apart and that happens. I didn’t want us to have to change back in order to make our friendship work. I could fake support everything with her and pretend to love everything she started to become. I still loved her, everything she had done and every single memory we had is something I will never let go of. But I loved her enough to let her go. To let her be who she was changing into and letting her become the beautiful person she was with the people who really support every choice.

At the same time, I still needed support for my change. This time it was support from myself. This time, I really wanted it and I really needed to work on it. This time I put all my trust in God. He saved be two other times in January and April, now I needed to make sure this one was constant. Letting God in changed everything. It is currently December 2018 and I am happy walking in his light. I’m not done yet. I still occasionally have two week periods where depression leaves a smack in the face that stings furiously. It doesn’t break me to the ground anymore. I haven’t cut. I haven’t had suicidal thoughts. I haven’t skipped meals. I didn’t let my relationship with my father stay broken. One thing I have done was start loving myself and who I’ve become. I’m not done yet. I’ll never be done. There’s always going to be work to do on myself and I’m always going to graciously look at God for those answers. Finally opening up was my next step, and here I am. Having spilled it all.