My Self Harm and Suicide Attempt

My Self Harm and Suicide Attempt

It all started right before I went to middle school. I was 12 years old and very depressed. I didn't like myself or my body and I still don't. I was an angry child. Back then I didn't know about self harm or eating disorders or any of that stuff. All I knew was that most of the kids in my school hated me and that I wished I didn't have to go back to school.
It was maybe 4th or 5th grade when it started. The depression. The anger. The helplessness.
I was walking home from school with Tori who I thought was my best friend when she turned and told me that she could only be friends with me outside of school because no one liked me and she didn't want them to stop being her friend. I told her that was fine and as soon as I got home I went to my room and punched my wall so many times my fists were a bloody mess.
It felt good.
After that I really started acting out. Yelling at everyone fighting anyone who looked at me weird and basically alienating myself from everyone around me.
I thought middle school would be different. That sense it wasn't just kids from my school everything would get better. They didn't. When I walked into middle school orientation a girl from my elementary school stood up and on the top of her lungs screamed "EW! IT'S MEGAN" after that I looked at my mom and asked for the car keys and spent the rest of orientation in the car. The worst part was no one cared enough to say anything. Not the teachers, the kids, or the parents. It hurt.
So the week before school started my mom wanted to take me shopping for clothes and I told her I didn't want to go and we got in a huge fight. So bad that I ran away and my mom called the police. After that we went to the hospital where I was admitted into St. Johns Psychiatric Hospital. There I learned about cutting. Nothing happened until a few weeks after I got out of the hospital. I went to school I kept my head down and didn't talk to anyone. Then in my geography class I was just sitting there playing with my mechanical pencil when the end of it came off. It was a little sharp. I started with just pushing my thumb into the top of it and looking at the mark it made. Then I started to scratch it on my arm back and forth, harder and faster until finally there was blood. I did that six or seven times. I remember looking over at the girl sitting next to me and she was looking at me in horror because she never thought I would do that. I guess she was wrong.
My mom found out the same day and I didn't care. It started getting worse. First it was just after the marks started to heal and only at home. Then I started doing it every couple days, then every other day. Finally I started doing it every day and it would just be part of my routine. Like I would take a shower, get dressed, brush my hair and teeth, sit on the bed and cut, then go to school. By this time my parents just tried to make sure I didn't end up killing myself they didn't try to stop me. I would always wear my coat when I was at home or in class and when I didn't people stared, but I didn't care. It wasn't going to stop me.
One day I was cutting in the locker room when the gym teacher came in and saw me. She wasn't surprised. She just took the scissors from me and told me to wrap it up. When we walked out of the bathroom everyone was staring. They all knew what was happening. That was when I started going to Highland. They were trying to make me quit so every time they caught me I went to Highland. It got to the point where I was in Highland almost more than I was in school, but I didn't care. I liked it there. No one judged me or made fun of me when I was there.
Then one day I used a new blade. It was too sharp. I used it to cut my hip and my arm. When I cut my hip it went deep enough that there was no blood at first just this gaping hole and then the blood started gushing and wouldn't stop so I pinched the two ends and out a little butterfly band aide on it and then covered it with gauze and put my tight jeans on to compress it. Then the same thing happened with my arm and I couldn't ignore it. I went to school and half way through class I had to go to the bathroom to get more towels because it wouldn't stop bleeding. When I was in the bathroom a teacher came in and saw me when I told her it wouldn't stop bleeding she took me to the nurses office and my mom had to come and get me and take me to the hospital. They glued it and sent me back to Highland. When I was in there I tore the glue out and now it is a big scar.
I stopped for about three months but then I started again and at the end of the year the depression just got worse. I was sitting at my computer and I was just really sad. For some reason I decided to message Tori and I told her that even though she didn't like me anymore I told her that she was always my best friend.
And then I told her good-bye.
I went into the kitchen and took out my bottle of Lithium and swallowed most of what was left in the bottle. I started to feel shaky and my stomach was hurting. Then my mom called and she knew immediately that I had done something and my neighbor came over and took me to the hospital. By the time I got there I could barely walk and I was shaking uncontrollably.
They took me to a room to wait on tests and while I was there I got really tired. So I decided to go to sleep. I don't remember much but I think I stopped breathing because the next thing I know my mom is screaming and the alarms are going off. The nurse put a mask on my face and told me to breathe and I thought I was. It was strange like I could see the nurses and I could hear them and move my hands, but I wasn't breathing even though it felt like I was. Then I took a giant breath and everything was fine. The doctors were trying to explain to us why it happened and while they were talking it happened again and again I took a giant breath and everything was fine. It was very strange because I was having conversations and I was talking when it happened. I would be talking and my speech would start to slur and then I was out. After the third time they sent me to the ICU and it didn't happen again.
The doctor came in and told me that they needed to leave an IV in my arm because they needed to be able to check my lithium levels often because they were too high. He told me that if my Lithium levels went over a 17 I would need a transplant and that if they went over 19 I would die. I didn't really think anything of it because I felt fine. I didn't feel like my Kidneys were fighting a war and losing the battle I just felt like I wanted to sleep.
It has been 7 months sense the last time I have cut and in the past 4 years I have only cut 4 times. I know I should be proud of myself and that it is a big achievement but I don't. I don't feel proud I feel helpless and stressed.
Cutting is not just an addiction. It is also a war. Every time you feel like cutting it is a battle. A battle that sometimes you when and sometimes you lose. I am in one of these battles and I have lost. But one lost battle is not everything. It is okay to lose a battle every once in a while as long as you don't lose the war. And the war is all about survival. If you live a long and somewhat happy life you have won and that is all that matters.