Disorders and Treatment
- Mental Illness
- Bipolar Disorder
- Mood Disorders
- Borderline Personality
- Mental Health Diagnosis
- Mental Health Treatments
- Alternative Meds
- Case Studies
I started dating a new guy, who turned out to be the worst thing for me. He used to get high on coke and then my head somehow ended up slammed into walls, car doors, windows - you name it.
One time he loaded a BB gun and showed me how it could shoot clear through a phone book. He then put it to my head and told me to suck his dick. No wonder I had problems with alcohol.
When it came to booze, I never learned the fine art of knowing when to stop, probably because I never really wanted to. The main goal was basically to get annihilated and forget it all.
I think I was around 14 or 15 the first time I cut. If I remember correctly, I did it with a pair of nail scissors, the slender ones with the sharp tip. I did it on the outside of my arm. After all, I didn't really want to kill myself; I just wanted someone to notice that I was in pain. I carved the word PUNK into my arm. My mother noticed and freaked out.
A few months later, during an argument about my lifestyle choices, I made a run for my bedroom window and tried to jump out. My mom caught me, kicking and screaming. I started banging my head on the wall incessantly. I started doing this often - banging my head on the wall - for the same reason that others cut: because the physical pain masks the emotional pain, and physical pain is so much easier to deal with.
At the end of grade 10 I finally got up the courage to leave my abusive boyfriend, but he didn't make it easy. The cops were regularly involved, boarding up my windows so he couldn't get in, and later filing a restraining order on him for throwing a beer bottle at my head and then giving me a kiss with his fist.
It was safe to say that I didn't exactly trust men after all I'd been through, but I was lucky enough to meet a great guy the next time around who showed me that not all men were bad and that some genuinely did love me.
My grades picked up that year. I started to excel in school, was busy with a part-time job and was completely in love with my new beau. We had a wonderful relationship and are still friends today, but being young and in love doesn't always allow for growth. We broke up a couple of years later before I began university. We had grown in different directions. Simple as that.
I graduated high school with honours in 2005 and hit the ground running when I began my journalism degree in September of the same year. I was still a bit of a badass, but I had redirected my attitude towards politics and religion instead. I was no longer angry at a few bitches in high school; I was angry at society, and journalism was a perfect medium to explore that. For once, I felt like I really fit in. Things were going great - until I met my next boyfriend.
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