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When the depression hits, it hits hard.

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This is an extremely personal post about my life, and could possibly be triggering to some people. I just kind of feel like I need to get this out, because I’ve never really talked about it openly before. If you know me, you might not want to read this. This was very hard for me to write.

I remember every day when my dad got home from work me and my brother would both run up to our rooms and hide, hoping he would leave us alone. I lived in fear of my father, and grew up hating him.

I remember the screaming, taunting, and threatening he would use against us. How he would make me stand in a corner for hours while he screamed in my face. I would try so hard not to cry, because if I did he would say I was just trying to make him feel sorry for me and I would be punished if I cried. As I got older it would be anger I would have to suppress. I would clench my fist and dig my nails in my palm so hard my skin would be bleeding. I wasn’t allowed to talk while he screamed at me and had to stay pretty still. If I showed anger or soundness, or spoke back to defend myself he would only get angrier. He would shove me down or get his belt. Most of the time he just threatened to hurt me. As a kid he would hit me with his belt weekly, sometimes twenty times in a row. He was disciplining me for him having a bad day at work. Sometimes if he was angry enough he would use other thing to discipline me with, such as his karate whip. When I started college he gave me the whip as a gift. I hated him even more for it.

I hated school when I was young, because kids were cruel to me. They thought I was weird, and I suppose I did act quite strange. When you’re the odd one out kids love to torment you at that age. Boys would come up to me and shove me against walls, every single day. Girls would talk behind my back making fun of me and sometimes even to my face. I always pretended like I couldn’t hear them of course, and hardly ever spoke. Of course, I didn’t talk much because at home I feared speaking because of possible negative actions from my father. So the quiet stuck with me at school. I remember in third grade a teacher raised their hand near my face and I visibly flinched, fearing that he was going to hit me. Later on I found out that he had called my mother because he was worried by my reaction.

That hadn’t been the first time an adult had been worried about my parents. When my sister still lived with us, a neighbor called the police on my family because they saw my father choking my sister through the window. Of course, my entire family denied it. Then again with my brother, a teacher almost called child protective services because he had bruises all over his body and his friends had told teachers about it.

I often had dreams about my father killing me. I lived in fear constantly of him. He had his moments when he was a normal father of course, when he would joke and annoy us, but almost out of nowhere he will turn into a monster. 

When I was in the sixth grade I started self harming. I was so angry and hated my life, and somehow it helped. Eight grade was the first time that I tried to kill myself. I took an entire bottle of extra strength tylenol and ended up in the hospital. I told them it was an accident, and they let me go. In high school I had many more suicide attempts, most of them were half hearted though, obviously since I am still alive writing this memoir of my fucked up life. 

Now I have horrible scars all over my arm. I had to get 15 stitches one time because I cut too deep. I’m 20 years old now have to live with them the rest of my life. I wish I didn’t have these scars, because I get tired of peoples faces when they receive my answer to their questioning of how I got all these scars.

When I was a freshman in high school a guy raped me. I never told anyone. My depression and anxiety grew to a point to where I could barely function and my mother would always be angry with me about it. I wouldn’t go near windows at night time. I was terrified of being seen I guess. I wouldn’t leave my room at night unless every single light in the house was turned off. 

In high school my fathers anger towards me heightened, most likely because I had gotten to a point where I couldn’t mentally take it anymore, and started fighting back. One day he shoved my head into a mirror very hard, and my head busted open. I had a huge cut above my eyebrow and I just told my friends that I fell down the stairs, which was my usual excuse for random cuts on me. I still have a scar there to this day. Another time he was fighting with me and I told him I wished I’d never left the psychiatric hospital. I was constantly sent to psychiatric hospitals after suicide attempts, and this time I had just gotten out a week prior to this fight. My father grew so angry at what I said he started knocking everything over in my room. He picked up stuff and started throwing it at me. Then he shoved me down on my bed, picked up my guitar, and raised it high into the air above his head as if he were going to hit me with it. That time I thought for sure that he was going to kill me. I guess in some random sane thought that he had, he realized that beating his daughter with a guitar was a bad idea. So he hit against my bed instead just beside me, then left.

My junior year of high school one of my closest friends took advantage of me while I was asleep. I was frozen in fear and shock at what was happening to me, because I trusted him and couldn’t believe that he would do something like that to me. I woke up with his hands inside of me and I just wanted him to stop, but was to afraid to say anything. He thought I was still asleep. He eventually stopped and I fell back asleep only to wake up hours later with him doing it again. I cried and cried after he left. I had to see him in the hallways at school every day. I never told anyone. He was friends with all my friends and I retreated into myself even more. My senior year was the worst, I had pushed away pretty much every single one of my friends away. My grandmother died that year as well. I loved her very much, she was the only person I could talk to and share happiness with. I spent that last year in silence mostly. I would go days without saying a single word to anyone. I missed school every chance I could too, and ended up missing 43 days.

When I started college, it was great. It was finally something good in my life and I had hope for the first time. But then, I made a horrible mistake. I ended up in a relationship from hell.

He was extremely possessive, and wanted to spend every single day with me. Now, I’m a huge introvert. I need lots of time alone, and once a week was enough for me. The relationship quickly turned awful. I would tell him that I had tests to study for, essays to write, and work to do because I was a full time student. He wouldn’t care, and would get try to force me to hang out with him. I would tell him that I couldn’t see him, and he would come over anyway. He would stay in front of my house and say he wasn’t leaving until I saw him. If I still said no, he would say he would bang on my dads window and the front door until someone answered. Some nights he would bang at my window. He started threatening to kill himself if I didn’t see him, and when I tried breaking up with him. The first time I tried breaking up with him he said that I should be afraid of him. He wouldn’t leave me alone. He would cal me repeatedly and get angry with me. He would tell me insane stories of him killing people and would show up at my house and say he just killed a group of men. One night I woke up and he had broken into my bedroom through my window. It was hell to live through, and I couldn’t deal with both him and school. My grades ended up falling after three almost perfect semesters. One night I couldn’t deal with him anymore. He was banging on my front door trying to get me to come outside after I said no and was threatening to wake up my family.I took a bottle of pills and drank a lot of whiskey before coming outside to him. At this point I was pretty much emotionally dead, and he was so angry. Somehow I slipped to him that I took pills, and he called the police on me. I tried to go inside but he wouldn’t let me, and stole my keys. The police showed up with their hands on their guns running up to me, thinking I was dangerous from his description of me. After being taken to the ER I was sent to a psychiatric hospital again. As much as I despise being in them, this was a relief for me, because I was away from him. During my stay there, I released for the sake of my life I needed to get away from him. So my mom called this family that were close friends of mine a few years ago before they moved away, they offered for me to move in with them. So when I got out of the hospital, I made plans to move. I told very few people goodbye before just leaving one night and driving 1200 miles away. So now here I am, in a new state, and in a completely different life.