Editor's Note: The following story could be potentially triggering for those who have experienced sexual abuse, self-harm, or have suicidal ideations. You can contact the Crisis Text Line by texting “HOME” to 741741.

 

 

I dedicate my story to those who always believed I had a story to share. To those who helped save my life and taught me how to love myself and my life again. Thank you.

 

"For majority of my life, I was suffering from severe depression and anxiety, but I never knew. It wasn’t until a year ago that those diagnoses were confirmed to me, along with an eating disorder and self-harm. 

 

On April 6th 2018, I was admitted into the emergency room for my second suicide attempt, but the doctors and my family only knew it as my first. Prior to that, I overdosed a few short months before this.

 

Fast forward six months, I self-harmed again, but this time it didn’t leave scars that needed stitches. My life before the hospital trip was a reality I never thought could be true. Every second it felt like I was battling a war to get out to bed, go to class, go to work, and then put on an act so no one would notice. But, the thing is, no one did. As much as I pleaded and begged for help, it always left me in more pain. I felt like I was asking for too much or that no one believed me.

 

Now, I look back and reflect on everything that I have survived- I was raped, and I was mentally and emotionally abused. But, as much as I was deprived from a life I wanted to live, I kept pushing.

 

My life after the hospital was the lowest I have ever reached. It felt that the people I surrounded myself with were only breaking me down more. I pushed out a love and I lost almost every person that I thought could help save me. It was then that I knew the only person who could save me was myself.

 

When I look back on the broken pieces and dark memories of what I brought myself out of, I can only think of one thing, I made it. If you told me a year ago that I would be the happiest I have ever been, eating again, and being sociable with compassionate, loving people, I would have laughed in your face. For me, I had to hit low, I had to find strength to walk away from toxic friendships, routines, and behaviors in order to be healthy. 

 

My advice for those who are reading this is, it does get better. I still remember hearing it through countless therapy appointments, social worker meetings, and rehab sessions. But, once you put the effort in to see that light, you will reach it. Every day I look down at my wrist and see the scars that motivate me to fight through the darkness, not only for myself, but for those who lost their battle, those who need strength to fight theirs, and those who saved me from drowning.

 

Right above my scars I have 'Lost Got Found' tattooed in my dad’s handwriting as a reminder to me, that I was lost before, but I was able to be found… and saved."