My Reasons For Recovery

20 Dec

Growing up, I was always a very happy girl, but I became best friends with pain at a very young age. I was treated like trash by over half of my family and even beaten by my grandfather, but it wasn’t until I started getting bullied in school did I start to feel something different within me. There was this boy who would always beat me up, yet my teachers did nothing to stop it. In fact, they acted as if they didn’t see anything. I had bruises that littered my body and even more that littered my mind. He came on campus one day with loaded gun and a list of those he wanted to kill and I was the first on the list. Since that day, I’ve had this overwhelming fear that every man that had a gun holstered on his hip is gonna kill me. I didn’t mind when I was the one who had the gun in my hands, but if others did, especially if they were men, I’d start panicking.

The bullying got worse as I got older though. I used to receive these horribly graphic videos telling me to kill myself. It began to play so much on my mind that when I was just twelve years old I began to self harm. First, I just had shallow scratches on my wrists and legs. I always said I’d try it and never do it again, but I was already addicted to it. See, it was pain that I had control of. If I wanted to hurt bad, I’d make myself hurt bad. For once, I felt in control of my life. As I got older, they became deeper and more defined. I can’t even remember what it was like to wake up or go to bed and not want to harm myself.

When I turned 15, things took a turn for the worse. I was so drained and done with everything that I tried to commit suicide. I tried for years to rely on music, blogging, even writing to keep me distracted, but nothing seemed to help anymore. I attempted again later that year, when I was 16, and then again when I was 17. When I cut up over half of my arm all at once and tried to overdose, I finally got my family’s attention and I started seeing a therapist. That is when I was diagnosed with PTSD, severe depression, and anxiety.

I would’ve thought that seeing  therapist would help. Finally! A light at the end of the tunnel; a way out. I could finally get on medication and get better and live the life I dreamed of. How was I to know that that light was just another train heading right towards me? My therapist didn’t believe in medicine. In fact, she considered it a crutch and insisted I did not need it. She set out a plan that I would work through my problems with something called EMDR work. Basically, EMDR is kind of like self hypnosis. It makes you go back to the trauma and relive it. You even create a safe place to return to in case things got too real or felt too traumatic to face again.

It worked for a little bit, until I started relapsing and slipping back. I was completely shattered. I tried so hard and clawed my way up this mountain that began to crumble all around me and my therapist made it all worse. I had a horrible day, everything crashed all at once. I had one of my worst panic attacks. I had a complete mental break down and nothing helped me to come out of it. It got so bad that in order to calm me down, my grandparents gave me a sedative. My therapist said it was stupid, how could I do that? The real question was, how could SHE do that? She made me feel worse in my moment of weakness when I was paying her to help me and teach me. I didn’t need anyone else to beat me up when I was already pounding myself into the ground.

My whole life, I thought that if I poured myself into someone else and breathed life into them, then it would ultimately breathe life into me. I’ve always given to others and never asked for anything in return and I thought that that would bring me happiness, but it never did. I hated myself more than anything and if I helped others to love themselves, then eventually I would do the same.

I later realized that my logic was all twisted and wrong. I can’t hate the girl in the mirror, I have to love her. I have to hug her and put band-aids on her ouchies because no one else will. I can’t expect my recovery to just fall in my lap, I have to work at it. Day by day and second by second.

I want to share my recovery and I want others to share theirs as well so I ask you to join me. Welcome me into your shattered world as I welcome you into mine and lets build something beautiful and stand at the top of this mountain, hand in hand and shout that we made it.


Posted by on December 20, 2014 in Uncategorized


4 responses to “My Reasons For Recovery

  1. prideinmadness

    December 21, 2014 at 9:08 am

    You are better than all of those people.

    You are more then welcomed into my world 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Jacob Michael White

    December 21, 2014 at 9:22 am

    Thank you for sharing your story. Recovery is always possible, and I am glad you’re taking the next step in recovery. Welcome to Recovery!



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