So I’m Sydney, and this is my story.
I was born into a nice family, in a nice neighborhood with nice things and nice ways. I never lived in a bad place, I never grew up badly.
When I was about 3-6 my mother almost died 3 times from pancreatitis. Pancreatitis is when your pancreas is inflamed which usually results from alcoholism. But my mother isn’t an alcoholic, she rarely drinks, she just randomly developed pancreatitis three times.
When I was 5 my Grandpa died. I was so close with him, he meant the world to me. I loved going to visit him and spending time there. When he died I wanted to go to his funeral, and I remember vividly every detail about it.
During 9-11 my Daddy was supposed to be in the North Tower, on the 63rd floor. That was one of the impact zones. For a while we thought he was dead, I was 6 at the time.
These three events lead to my extreme fear of being forgotten or abandoned. Also known as Athazagoraphobia. I struggle with this constantly and find it so hard to let myself get attached to anyone. I’m always scared that I’m just going to be left for dead.
When I was little I remember my parents getting into fight’s semi often. My mothers aggression was normally always aimed toward my Daddy. When I was 9 or so she started to blame me for everything. We would get into fights often, and I would get hit. I guess it was abuse, but I never thought so. I remember she has hit me with a blow dryer, brushes, spoons, a plate, the remote, a towel, and a belt.
The most traumatizing object to be hit with was a knife. When I was 10 she got so made she threw a knife at me, it cut my upper arm, not badly, just enough to make me feel it, and notice how good it felt. This is how I started cutting.
Another big fight we had we were fighting at the entrance to my room, which is right in front of the stairs, one of us was going to get thrown down the stairs. My mother was choking me when my Daddy came home and broke us up. He pinned me to the wall by my throat and shoved my mother into my room on my bed. It was horrifying.
A lot of my story I guess focuses around my mother. She never truly supported anything I ever did, she always told me I could do better. But she did it such a demeaning way that I felt worthless, and she let me know she thought I was worthless too.
My Daddy has always tried to be supportive of me, he’s tried his hardest to be a good man for my mother and a good father for me and my younger brother.
My self harm started as scratching when I was ten. I got my first razor at around 11. I cut all the time. Then at 14 I got a lighter and matches and began to burn. At age 15 I found a double edged razor that cut deeper and more painfully than any of my other razors. I’m now 16 and on my way to recovery. I haven’t cut since March 5th, 2012. And yes I’m very proud of that.
In 8th grade I tried to tell my Daddy I was cutting and needed help, he told me if I was cutting he would have to take me to a hospital and I would have to talk to a lot of doctors and such. He basically scared me out of getting help, and I responded with, “No, I’m lying. I’m sorry. I just wanted attention.”
When I was 14 I was raped by my 16-yea-old boyfriend. He raped me multiple times curing the relationship. It was very abusive. He stuck things in me, in unspeakable places. Once I had a pocket knife in my back pocket and he dragged it up my back, there is a scar along my spine now.
I’ve heard voices ever since I can remember, I think that it started when I was 13. But there are three distinct voices. One is little boy he speaks very fast and points out the little flaws with me. He generally speaks in one word phrases such as, “Thighs.” “Hair.” “Freckles.” and “Scars.” It makes me dwell on my imperfections. There is an older man he’s gruff and focus’s mainly on what I do wrong and why I should hate myself. He speaks slowly, it keeps me hanging on every word. There is a girl. She focus’s on self-harm and the beautiful of my death, she makes it all sound so beautiful.
I’ve had 12 suicide attempts. My first one I was 12, it was July. I swallowed a bottle of Tylenol and ended up with an upset stomach for two days. My second one I was still 12 and it was October. I found a rope and hung myself from a tree in my backyard, but the branch broke and I fell about ten feet or so. My third attempt I was 13 and it was June. I found the rope again and tried to hang myself thinking a stronger branch would work, but alas, no. The rope broke and I fell roughly 20 feet and somehow landed without breaking any bones. My fourth attempt was in August when I was 13. I swallowed two full bottles of Advil, and once again ended up with a painful stomach ache. My fifth attempt was when I was 14. I swallowed three bottles of Tylenol 3. The rest of my suicide attempts are obscure to me, and I don’t remember exactly when each one was. I just know I was 15 and I tried to hang myself two more times, I swallowed a bottle of random medicines I found twice, and I tried to cut very very deep twice. Nothing worked. This only made me feel even more worthless and sink into a deeper depression.
On December 8th, 2009, I got a hold of a gun. I told a friend I sort of knew to vchat with me, he saw red marks on my arm and asked me about it. FUCK UP was scratched into my arm. He told me to text me my address because he was coming over. He saved my life. He didn’t know I had a gun. He didn’t know I had a plan to kill myself that night, he had no idea. But he saved my life. And for that I will always owe him one. I have not cried since that night, not once.
On January 12th, 2012, I had a horrible panic attack in school. I went to my school psychologist and she wasn’t there, But her intern was. I freaked on the poor intern and basically told her that if I didn’t get help I was going to end up dead. My plan this time was to give up until my body gives up and I finally die. So she called my Daddy, and he picked me up from school and took me to a very good adolescent psyche ward. I was discharged after 13 days. I was diagnosed with Major Depression, Borderline Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Panic Disorder, Psychotic Tendency’s and ADD.
They put me on Adderoll for my ADD, Prozac for Depression and Zyprexa for my Psychotic Tendency’s. I hated Prozac and Zyprexa so my new doctor switched me to Zoloft for my Panic Disorder, Depression and Bipolar, and Abilify for my Psychotic Tendency’s. Currently, I’m content with these meds. I think that they are working.
I still have horrible panic attacks every day, but they are slowly becoming less severe. I still am depressed but I am becoming less self-hating. I’m still Bipolar but I get triggered less. I still have Personality Disorder, but I’m becoming whole again. I no longer hear the three voices.
Through all of this I’ve become a stronger person, I’ve gotten to know myself and my ticks very well, I’m in tune to other’s emotions. Honestly, if I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t because it made me who I am now, and I’m stronger than ever, and I’m only going to keep getting stronger, and even in my weakest moments, I am still strong because I have made it this far.
So that’s my story, I hope you read all of this and I didn’t bore you or upset you.
Stay Strong babydolls<3
Don’t forget to Smile(x
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- geojitmall said:You are so beautiful. Stay strong.
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- rest-in-peace-girl said:dear lord, you poor girl <3
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