I made this blog many months ago and have changed every possible setting, telling myself when I felt it looked right I would begin typing. I feel like at this point I have no excuse to delay beginning.
The main reason I have put off posting is because it would be essential for me to tell my story leading up to starting this blog, a job that is tedious and confusing. But here it goes.
Though this sounds cliche, I am the All-American girl. Not in the way most people would consider, I am not a blue eyed, blonde haired cheerleader. Instead, I am what this word truly means, I am average. I come from a nice, yet eccentric, family. I grew up in a small city, attended a average sized high school where I participated in many extracurriculars, and attend a well-respected university. By others, I have always been thought of as an amazing student, worker, and someone destined to succeed. I have never considered myself an overachiever, I am quite the slacker, but I always fall into the group of those who are. That is what makes everything so difficult.
I had a unique upbringing because even though I had a half-brother, I was raised as an older child. My brother was born when my mother a teenager, making him thirteen years my senior, and lived with my grandparents. My extended family has always been tight-knit, but the closest person to my age was my cousin and even he was nine years older than I was. Because of all of this, I was around adults and believed I was one also. I was treated as an adult and was talked to like an adult. This does not mean my parents deprived me of a childhood, actually I look back fondly at growing up. I was just never around other children, which was okay by me. However, this made me a meek child around my peers. I was considered the sweet and quiet one and was often picked on, taking things to heart easily. This was amplified by the fact that my parents, though still married to this day, always had difficulties with each other. They would argue often and both were very flaky so things in our home were often chaotic and I became very anxious and nervous.
Around the ages of ten or eleven, things escalated. I became erratic in behavior and emotion, crying and pitching fits that were very untypical to who I was. This was also the time I began my period. Endometriosis was a problem many women in my family had and was passed along to me. I began seeing a gynecologist to get treated and my mother mentioned that she was worried that I suffered from depression. The doctor said he felt that it was hormonal and something I would grow out of.
This conversation will be had for many years and with many doctors. As I entered puberty my behavior did not improve. At the age of eleven I was cutting regularly and by thirteen I was bulimic. I continued to have a difficult time controlling my emotions, especially as high school became a center of conflict.
One night when I was fourteen, my mother saw the scars on my inner thighs, my typical cutting location. A heated argument ensued, with my father joining in. He said that he was going to take away my books, cds, and movies that he felt were contributing to my actions. They told me if I ever cut myself again I would be sent off for treatment. This scared me to death. It also made me just become more careful.
The rest of my high school experience was filled with what I feel are typical activities. I experimented with alcohol frequently, began smoking on a regular basis, and continued to excel in school.
When I moved away for college, things were great. I managed to receive a great scholarship, I was living with one of my best friends, and was still with my first serious boyfriend back home. Things slowly began to change. College was not what I expected, it was not an enlightening experience and I was not making new friends. I participated in the binge drinking rite of passage and found myself blacking out more often than not. My depression resurfaced darker than ever before. As I entered my sophomore year, I was losing control. My boyfriend could no longer handle my illness, saying that I should just be happy.
I began living the life of someone dying. I would not bathe. I would not leave my house. I was unable to get out of bed to go to school and work. I had gained 20lbs in a few months. I considered suicide multiple times a day, making plans and writing out letters.
I was angry. Almost ten years after my mother took me to a doctor about my behavior and was told I would grow out of it, I was slowly dying. My parents told me if I did not go see a psychiatrist I would be taken out of school. That winter, I began seeing a doctor on campus as well as a therapist. I started my cycle of medicine, trying every anti depressant under the sun.
Currently I am on medication and still seeing both on a semi-regular basis. To those who do know the extent of my illness, I seem better.
This blog is about how it is to live as a young women who has it all yet struggles day-to-day to keep it together. I hope to shed a bit of light on the disease I have suffered with for ten years and let others know that it is not always a stage for a teenage girl to grow out of. Because I will describe things on here that are not pleasant, I have chosen to keep everything anonymous and leave out real names, including my own.
