Sophie's Journey into the Abyss of Self-Harm and Suicide

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This article was written exclusively for PsyWeb.com by Sophie. She discusses her journey into the abyss of depression, self-harm and suicide.

Depression was something I never wanted to experience. I had heard of people getting so bad they tried to end their lives.

I was 15 when I first started to feel more different than usual. I lost interest in activities I used to enjoy, like football and swimming. I felt disgusting and gave them up. I wouldn’t go out any more, and normally I’d go out a couple of days a week after school and hang out with my best friend at the time, and we’d have a great laugh.

I suddenly thought everyone hated me. Who’d want to hang out with a freak like me? I hid away, stayed to talking on the web, and avoided outdoor situations. I was also having thoughts to kill myself.

Self-harming to cope and to concentrate

With GCSE’s (exams taken to further on into education) and coursework having to be completed, I found myself less able to concentrate; I’d get distracted easily and get punished for this. I remember unscrewing the sharpener blade, unknown that it would become an addiction...

It helped me cope, and I was able to concentrate better. The depression was still battling on, and I was feeling lower and lower each day. But I had to pretend I was fine, just so no one asked questions.

I became overly emotional at school, crying over the smallest things. I felt silly – If I didn’t get something right, if I made a mistake or even if it looked ‘messy,’ I’d flip out, cry and sit in the toilets to calm down. I started punishing myself at every opportunity I got.

Suicide attempts: The 'stupid' one and a more recent one

As months went by, I seemed to be planning my first suicide attempt, which happened in November of 2011 – I failed. I had a couple of pills; I didn’t really know how many I would need, so this was the ‘stupid’ attempt as I call it. I fasted and took all eight pills and tried sleeping, which only resulted in being taken into hospital.

One of my recent attempts was more thought through. This one happened in April of last year. Ironically, it was Friday 13th, if I remember rightly. I had 16 pills, I had the sea, I hadn’t eaten in 48 hours, and I felt like this could be the chance I’d get away.

I told a few people to keep strong and that I loved them. One of them contacted the emergency services, and before I had even a chance to jump from the pier, I was stopped by the police and then taken to a hospital by the paramedics. I failed again.

In the second part of Sophie's article, she explains how she copes with everything despite the lack of understanding and support from her family.

 
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