Depression, really (3)

(Please see About for the purpose of this blog)


PS: For new visitors, I encourage you to read from my first post as my posts are usually continuations. First post here: https://godvsdepression.wordpress.com/2015/09/02/depression-really/

My vertigo completely crippled me the past few days. Made it to my holistic doctor yesterday where we found out I had been eating something that triggered a massive inflammation in my blood causing the deterioration. Thank God for this man, he is so confident of treating me but it’s going to take a long time. Alright, let’s continue! :)

(Do read posts https://godvsdepression.wordpress.com/2015/09/02/depression-really/ and https://godvsdepression.wordpress.com/2015/09/04/depression-really-2/ to understand this continuation)

(continued from previous post)

(14 years old) I really felt accepted and loved by this new group of classmates. Slowly, I started to morph into someone that now looking back, I wasn’t very sure of. I began to rebel violently toward my parents and authority in school. I stopped trying to do the best academic wise and eventually stopped doing my homework. I hung out at malls after school and started to notice boys. However, I had an inclination toward girls. With the ‘encouragement’ of my new found pack, I cut my long olive-black virgin hair to a spiky short haircut, dyed it brown and began to dress like a boy. Smoking followed too. I was goth, emo so they call it. Further down that year, there were a series of events that ostracised me. Almost as if I had to fight for a spot in the clique as we were quite big in numbers. Rejection happened harder than ever and friendship was blown hot and cold my way.

(15 years old) The next year, as I dragged the shell of my desolate being to school, I was greeted with a ‘wrecking ball’ to my already almost non-existent self-esteem. I dropped from the Express stream to the Normal Academic stream. (In my country we have a streaming system according to how smart you are. It has caused many to feel worthless and condemned by society if you are not in the Express stream. See also: Suicide). My entire clique of friends dropped too, except they all dropped to a different class ALTOGETHER while I dropped to the best class of the Normal Academic Stream. I. wanted. to. die. right. then. and. there. The icing on the cake was when my friends tried to persuade the teachers to pull me along with them. They failed.. and in a second, forgot about me completely. Entering a new class with total strangers really slammed me right down. I really wanted to die. It was obliterating. No words could express it. Slowly I made a new best friend (the one who visited me in the mental institute).

I was still attending catechism classes on Sunday in church without a choice from my parents. I don’t remember anything from it except having a boyfriend and boys. Haha. This was my last year of utter ‘God’ rubbish. All I have to do is persevere, throw on a white dress and get confirmed (for those who don’t know, it’s a second baptism other than the one you receive at birth. Kinda like sealing the deal with God) Toward the second half of the year, I had to attend Confirmation Camp where the church prepares us for our second baptism. I made friends there and a boyfriend too. We grew closer and hung out together, even attended daily evening mass together after school. (Weird huh?) Looking back in hindsight, I see how God was trying to show me his love and light.

One day, I decided to run away from home. I was always angry with my mother. I was never good enough for her. I remember one incident where a tall glass bowl crashed in front of me though I didn’t even touch it and the sound scared the wits out of my younger sister who was very young then and she started bawling. My mom actually screamed and blamed me! I was completely baffled but she didn’t hear me saying that I didn’t touch it. Oh well. All the small stuff was pent up and accumulated to something very virulent inside me. I stayed at a church friend’s house. My dad was going for a heart operation then. One of my mother’s good friend persuaded me to answer my dad’s call and so I did. He was about to go into surgery and told me to come home if not he would have to call the police. I shouted at him to go ahead and hung up. They didn’t of course. I don’t have any regrets in my life. Only this.

I shaved half of my head, constantly wore thick black eyeliner and red lipstick. Not to mention, I was always dressed in black, listened to screamo music etc.. After my confirmation, word went around my church and eventually reached my unsuspecting ears. Everyone was calling me the ‘Satan Kid‘. That was it. “God? hah. What is that? Hypocrites. All of these people. Praising ‘God’ and telling me you love and embrace me and you say this behind my back?” These people were my facilitators. It hurt viciously. That was the end of the small spark and curiosity I had for this, God. What a joke, I thought.

I engaged in alcohol, drugs, underage clubbing, emotionally abusive relationships etc.. My self mutilation got worse. There was an incident where I cut both my thighs in school and went back to class with my skirt covering it. We stood up to greet the teacher and some of my friends noticed the blood stains and blood trickling down my legs. Being in a girl’s school, they alerted me and thought I had ‘stained’ my skirt thinking it was the time of the month for me. I shrugged them off and told them it was nothing but they panicked. So, I lifted my skirt and showed them was really was going on. Stumped for words was their reaction. My teacher immediately dragged me to the toilet where she knelt down and washed my wounds. This teacher, that I had a love hate relationship with, who put up with my nonsense and who also laughs at my jokes started CRYING. I was speechless. I felt weird. Why did she care? Why would anyone care that I was being eaten alive inside out by my uncontrollable emotions?

Another time, my sister came into our shared room and saw me stabbing myself in the legs. This was one of the few times she caught me mutilating myself. The process works like this:

Stab, drag, repeat. Stab, drag, repeat. I would first stab the razor into my skin and push the blade right in, enough for the penknife to stand up on its own. Then, I drag it slowly making sure I could hear the blade slicing my skin. Repeat as needed.

All these incidents led up to today.. This was why I was in the Mental Institution. This is why I’m here. Everyone leaves me. They stay temporarily, but they leave in the end. Empty promises, imitation love.

Finally, I’m discharged. I have to go back to school now.. with everyone thinking I did this for attention.. I shall continue in my next post.

Hang on, hang on, you out there. God is working, his plan is perfect. Don’t give up. Don’t take that jump, don’t take those pills.

He is before all things, in Him all things hold together.” – Col 1:17

Be kind to one another,

xo, Faith

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One thought on “Depression, really (3)

  1. Pingback: My Sister Saved Me | godvsdepression

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