ABDonovan
Mouseketeer
- Joined
- Sep 7, 2011
- Messages
- 119
So, a little background on my disorder. I have BiPolar disorder and borderline personality disorder. I think that's a general thing that they diagnose you with when they find out that you're BiPolar.
I started cutting myself when I was 11. I was going through a few rough patches: My Grandfather passed away, I was bullied (violently, not just words), and teachers were talking to my parents about just pulling me out of school, because they gave up on me.
Most of the time it was discreet. I would slide needles under my skin, or I would cut my fingers with cardboard, to keep people from asking. I didn't know at the time that it was a real thing. I thought that it just made me feel better, and that everyone did it at some point.
I was pulled out of school, and homeschooled by my grandmother for a while after that. Counselors decided that I was too dangerous to be in school, and that I was a ticking time bomb. Instead of punishing the girls and boys that beat me up and stole my things, they kicked me out, basically, to keep drama away.
My grandmother wrote a letter to the state, and the letter she received basically agreed with the school. If I was bullied to that extent, it was easier to remove me from the system, than to punish 6 kids or so.
That summer, my grandmother basically flew the bird to all of them. She packed up, took some money out of her savings account, and we flew to Disney World. It was the happiest week of my life. For so long, even as a kid, I had felt like I was just...nothing. I felt as if I wasn't allowed to be happy. I felt like this "God" character made me as a punching bag, because I had done something wrong, somehow.
Either way, we stayed 9 days at Disney with family (my Aunt and Uncle), and I came home in such good spirits. I didn't cut myself, or anything, for over a year.
Then, I started High School. We moved with the consolidation (or something like that) and I was allowed to start 9th grade with everyone else. New school, new start. It was great, until I spoke up in class one day to answer a question for Biology. I was seen. I was now a target, just for knowing something the popular kids didn't.
They began to make fun of me in the halls. They made fun of my clothes, because they were from Walmart and JCPenny. They made fun of me for being fat, because I wasn't as tiny as the cheerleaders. They just...bullied me. However, I wasn't too worried. No one hit me. They just said hurtful things. The cutting started back up, slowly. It would happen by accident, and sometimes I would fall off of bikes, or scrape my knee on a concrete by sliding on my knees and pretending to fall. It was all 'accidental'.
Time wore on, I became anorexic. I couldn't eat, because food made me wanna puke. So, if I did eat, it would just come right back up. I couldn't gain weight, or no one would like me. The anorexia led to more cutting, and this time, it was real. My legs were littered in scars. My forearms were soon covered in deep rivers, and my family began to talk.
I don't remember much about the rest of my time, until I left for college. My first year of college was amazing. I had friends. I had people who didn't know anything about me, and loved me...for me. It was something I had never had before, and I still have ALL of those friends today.
However, tuition skyrocketed, my grandmother died, and I hit rock bottom. My grades plummeted and I was basically kicked out of the University. I didn't care. I tried to kill myself, and was warned by state authorities that trying again would result in me being put in a home (I guess a nursing home?) and I was forced to move colleges. I had to move back home, and go to Arkansas State University, because it was cheaper and people could watch me. The only good part, was that I tested into the college above most, and received the President's Scholarship. This was basically a full ride. We didn't pay for food, or anything, but I was miserable.
Many of the bullies from my high school were there, and were in a lot of my classes. They still met me in the elevator and commented on what I was wearing, and the fact that I was still fat (5'2" 90 lbs), and disgusting. I fell into depression...low and behold the SI started.
I met my DH in August of 2008. I had just left a really nasty rollercoaster of a relationship, and he was the guy's best friend. He saw something in me. He wanted to save me. He gave me a place to live, to take pressure off of my parents (who didn't want to help me in the first place at the time). He didn't ask anything in return, except that I didn't cut myself, and I get help.
So, I met with a therapist, and discussed my issues or whatever with her. I still have her today, though I don't talk a whole lot. I stopped cutting and was completely clean, until tonight.
So...If you're still reading this, I'm sorry for how long that was. This post was supposed to be about what happened tonight. However, I want people to understand. I want people to see life from the perspective of someone who is suffering, and may not have a good reason, because of chemicals and crappy choices.
Today, we found out that DH's grandmother was placed into the hospital for fluid in her lungs. They emptied her lungs, and she was feeling fine. They ran some tests, but haven't determined what's causing the fluid to fill up. Later on, her lungs began filling up again, and now she's in pretty bad shape. She's on oxygen and she's just...not doing good.
He's not taking it as well as he's acting, and all of this is too reminiscent of my own Nana dying in a hospital of the same exact thing. The doctors took their sweet time finding out what was wrong (no...they didn't do their best), and when she coded, they basically didn't bother trying...
So, how am I taking it? I don't know how to take it. I am feeling his emotions for him. It's not my family (even though technically it is), and I don't feel as if I'm allowed to be upset. I feel like I'm being a drama queen. However, his humor...his acting like nothing is wrong, is the most stressful scenario...
I have no idea why, but all of the overwhelm I felt in my chest (you know...the impending doom feeling of a deadline coming up, or something...the heart racing terrified feeling of not knowing what's happening?) has caused me to break. My arm is completely cut up. I don't remember doing it...I feel like a child...it's a childish thing. You know...cutting is for kids. I don't want DH to see it, because I don't want him to pay attention to me. I want him to forget I'm here, and be there for his family...
I just don't know what to feel...I just need support...but not from family...
If that makes me an attention *****, don't bother flaming...The last thing I need is another bully in my life...
Sorry for the ramble...Had to share with someone, and I don't know anyone I would bother to burden.
I started cutting myself when I was 11. I was going through a few rough patches: My Grandfather passed away, I was bullied (violently, not just words), and teachers were talking to my parents about just pulling me out of school, because they gave up on me.
Most of the time it was discreet. I would slide needles under my skin, or I would cut my fingers with cardboard, to keep people from asking. I didn't know at the time that it was a real thing. I thought that it just made me feel better, and that everyone did it at some point.
I was pulled out of school, and homeschooled by my grandmother for a while after that. Counselors decided that I was too dangerous to be in school, and that I was a ticking time bomb. Instead of punishing the girls and boys that beat me up and stole my things, they kicked me out, basically, to keep drama away.
My grandmother wrote a letter to the state, and the letter she received basically agreed with the school. If I was bullied to that extent, it was easier to remove me from the system, than to punish 6 kids or so.
That summer, my grandmother basically flew the bird to all of them. She packed up, took some money out of her savings account, and we flew to Disney World. It was the happiest week of my life. For so long, even as a kid, I had felt like I was just...nothing. I felt as if I wasn't allowed to be happy. I felt like this "God" character made me as a punching bag, because I had done something wrong, somehow.
Either way, we stayed 9 days at Disney with family (my Aunt and Uncle), and I came home in such good spirits. I didn't cut myself, or anything, for over a year.
Then, I started High School. We moved with the consolidation (or something like that) and I was allowed to start 9th grade with everyone else. New school, new start. It was great, until I spoke up in class one day to answer a question for Biology. I was seen. I was now a target, just for knowing something the popular kids didn't.
They began to make fun of me in the halls. They made fun of my clothes, because they were from Walmart and JCPenny. They made fun of me for being fat, because I wasn't as tiny as the cheerleaders. They just...bullied me. However, I wasn't too worried. No one hit me. They just said hurtful things. The cutting started back up, slowly. It would happen by accident, and sometimes I would fall off of bikes, or scrape my knee on a concrete by sliding on my knees and pretending to fall. It was all 'accidental'.
Time wore on, I became anorexic. I couldn't eat, because food made me wanna puke. So, if I did eat, it would just come right back up. I couldn't gain weight, or no one would like me. The anorexia led to more cutting, and this time, it was real. My legs were littered in scars. My forearms were soon covered in deep rivers, and my family began to talk.
I don't remember much about the rest of my time, until I left for college. My first year of college was amazing. I had friends. I had people who didn't know anything about me, and loved me...for me. It was something I had never had before, and I still have ALL of those friends today.
However, tuition skyrocketed, my grandmother died, and I hit rock bottom. My grades plummeted and I was basically kicked out of the University. I didn't care. I tried to kill myself, and was warned by state authorities that trying again would result in me being put in a home (I guess a nursing home?) and I was forced to move colleges. I had to move back home, and go to Arkansas State University, because it was cheaper and people could watch me. The only good part, was that I tested into the college above most, and received the President's Scholarship. This was basically a full ride. We didn't pay for food, or anything, but I was miserable.
Many of the bullies from my high school were there, and were in a lot of my classes. They still met me in the elevator and commented on what I was wearing, and the fact that I was still fat (5'2" 90 lbs), and disgusting. I fell into depression...low and behold the SI started.
I met my DH in August of 2008. I had just left a really nasty rollercoaster of a relationship, and he was the guy's best friend. He saw something in me. He wanted to save me. He gave me a place to live, to take pressure off of my parents (who didn't want to help me in the first place at the time). He didn't ask anything in return, except that I didn't cut myself, and I get help.
So, I met with a therapist, and discussed my issues or whatever with her. I still have her today, though I don't talk a whole lot. I stopped cutting and was completely clean, until tonight.
So...If you're still reading this, I'm sorry for how long that was. This post was supposed to be about what happened tonight. However, I want people to understand. I want people to see life from the perspective of someone who is suffering, and may not have a good reason, because of chemicals and crappy choices.
Today, we found out that DH's grandmother was placed into the hospital for fluid in her lungs. They emptied her lungs, and she was feeling fine. They ran some tests, but haven't determined what's causing the fluid to fill up. Later on, her lungs began filling up again, and now she's in pretty bad shape. She's on oxygen and she's just...not doing good.
He's not taking it as well as he's acting, and all of this is too reminiscent of my own Nana dying in a hospital of the same exact thing. The doctors took their sweet time finding out what was wrong (no...they didn't do their best), and when she coded, they basically didn't bother trying...
So, how am I taking it? I don't know how to take it. I am feeling his emotions for him. It's not my family (even though technically it is), and I don't feel as if I'm allowed to be upset. I feel like I'm being a drama queen. However, his humor...his acting like nothing is wrong, is the most stressful scenario...
I have no idea why, but all of the overwhelm I felt in my chest (you know...the impending doom feeling of a deadline coming up, or something...the heart racing terrified feeling of not knowing what's happening?) has caused me to break. My arm is completely cut up. I don't remember doing it...I feel like a child...it's a childish thing. You know...cutting is for kids. I don't want DH to see it, because I don't want him to pay attention to me. I want him to forget I'm here, and be there for his family...
I just don't know what to feel...I just need support...but not from family...
If that makes me an attention *****, don't bother flaming...The last thing I need is another bully in my life...
Sorry for the ramble...Had to share with someone, and I don't know anyone I would bother to burden.
