*Trigger Warning. This post includes mentions of self harm, anxiety, depression, suicide, suicidal attempts and mentions of books such as 13 Reasons Why, By the Time You Read this I will Be Dead and Looking for Alaska.*
Should I even be writing this? Is it too much? Still too raw to admit too? I don’t want anyone to be hurt because of this, of what I tried to do but perhaps what happened afterwards is what really mattered. The memories are blurred into an unspecific timeline which I can barely attempt to arrange, the lost years… years I can barely remember… 2011… 2012… 2013… 2014.
2011… 2012… 2013… 2014… A smashed up phone. Something insignificant, after all a phone can be replaced, a screen shattered into million little pieces could always be replaced, a memory card can always be placed in another phone. It woke me up. Of course my parents were furious, they were most of the time anyway with me and who could blame them. My teenage nightmare stage wasn’t typical and I still feel guilt for it. Though I have no memories of it. In three years I only have a handful of memories, even then they weren’t the best. Packets of pills, scabs of blood, bruises, burns and hospital visits… there isn’t a lot of good to remember. Or wasn’t – after all I can barely remember.
A smashed up phone, that is what woke me up and memories become better, vivid and no longer a blurry screen which I could never get working. In exchange of a smashed up phone there was a reward to come with it, a little Walkman slide up phone to use to text but no internet.
I’d already been in therapy for four months. I had a break through of sorts, I didn’t want to be kicked out, I was tired of seeing my mother in tears day in and day out because of what I’d done…. I wish I remembered. My father would just look at me in disappointment, I wasn’t his little girl but rather the volatile messed up child who wasn’t working through her problems and instead took it out on those close to her. I am too blame, yes I was ill, I was in a dark space, but I still was the culprit and at fault… I’ll never stop apologising for what I’d done and try to be forgiven.
Mum and Dad forgave me, but even now I’m still figuring how to forgive myself. I may never… Twice I tried to end it all and a third I couldn’t follow through. 24th April. Pills, cuts, starving, sick… I abused myself the worst… my mind was once relentless and unforgiving in my actions. My tongue was sharp and cut everyone around me, but there wasn’t any blood unless it was my own.
I think it was the first night, the night after the phone ricocheted against the wall, the steps of the stairs and the floor. A night with no tears, no shouts, no blood… but the darkness was still there. If you’ve been through depression then you know the darkness, it’s inexpiable but it’s there. That’s when it’s beloved slips in, anxiety, following you too, forcing you to question everything about yourself.
Me and Mum, we made Spaghetti Bolognese, we all ate in silence but it was a sign that things were getting better. It was also the night I began to read again. My Mum tells me that during ‘that time’ a book was something it took months to finish…. not these ones though.
2014… February… March… Three Books.
Looking for Alaska By John Green, maybe the only John Green book which I adored because of what it represented. Representing a time where the darkness was fading more than it was ever able too before. 13 Reasons Why By Jay Asher, where I began to understand more and more that there were people out there who felt the same as me… I was as much as Hannah Baker except I managed to break out. By The Time You Read This I Will Be Dead By Julie Anne Peters, a book which made me understand what it was like for my own to be watching me go down that same destructive path.
Though for me, 13 Reasons Why was the one which I connected with most… it made me realise so much and centred me. I read it in a single night and it helped me realise what the effect might have been… if i succeed. Though I left no tapes, I hadn’t even really prepared any notes… But still it could have happened, the effect the same… it made me realise. Not only about myself, what I almost did, but also that I should be mindful of myself. For me it was such a valuable read.
Looking back on those books, it makes realise something. That by reading those books… I was beginning to feel again which was good. Because sometimes it helps to feel where you once were…