I hate to read stories about people with depression, and most of them have it all skewed up to the point that NOBODY can relate,except a select few. "Everyone hates me" "mom and dad beat me" ...most of that is inflated to something that's too exaggerated to be true. Here's the real story of a really depressed teen.

I wasn't supposed to live. SURPRISE! Yep. Mum had been in an abuse relationship for about 4 years,her organs mashed beyond surgical repair...and the doctor said that she couldn't get pregnant again without loosing the child...but here I am. I was born in St. Marks hospital with a low immune system, an abusive monster as a father, a bipolar sister,and a depressed, beaten down mother who lost a month old child already and fought her way through life. After the immune boost tent(for my low immune system), I was okay. Sort of. Normal colds body slammed me into oblivion,and I was blind to the fact that my abusive father,{Bob}, beat and tortured my sibling and mother. (Then again, I was in the single digits age) The feces hit the fan one fateful day when my aunt and uncle,{Ronnie and Sue} brought B.B. guns for my brothers as gifts. One thing lead to another,and CRASH! The back window of {Bob}'s truck was smashed out...and he wanted to kill my elder brother{Geoff}. {Harold}, my second eldest brother ran off in fear,and {Bob} began to beat the eldest brother...until my mother came in,and he turned on her. {Harold} called 911 as I watched from our glass walled patio as my mother was beaten to the point her face was a concave, bloody hole. The last thing I remember personally was her face, {Bob} in the back of the cop car, and my four siblings GONE. I was all alone. What I didn't realize was, that scene would haunt me forever in dreams,flashbacks,and panic attacks.

We moved a few months later to across the state of {Washington}. I was three at the times, so I didn't really know what was happening. I began to go silent,hiding in closets with my blanket when stressed or an argument or fight accord. I was screwed up mentally...I disliked people,and even began to shake and quiver. Mom had to work to support us,even with the injuries she sustained. As I've said,she's a fighter. Things began to settle down...mom found {Ryan} and began to date. She was happier,I was socially withdrawn and quiet, doodling and reading ( yes,reading. I taught myself how to. ) whenever I could. Life seemed to get better. {Ryan} tried to repair the damage done to not only my siblings and me,but to my mom. He made life less sucks....until he was sucked back into heroin and other drugs.

Things went to hell from then on. Fighting,drinking,crying,yelling,screaming....it was hell for me...and mom. {Ryan} cheated on mom with a pregnant heroin woman who knew he was married with kids. Mom tried to work it out...but he changed. He tried to hit her,and I had a panic attack after calling 911. I was in so much physical and mental panic the responder wanted to call an ambulance for me. The police came,and I was still panicking...I couldn't breathe... I couldn't think. Vivid memories of my past came up and slapped me,HARD. He threatened her with a gun...she kicked him out,accepted him again,kicked him out and accepted him back. I began to feel like something was wrong like I shouldn't feel numb or sad. So,being the health nut I am, researched it first. Clinical depression is what I was supposed to have. Scored 19-21 on each test I took....it made sense to me...but I didn't know why. So, after almost everything calmed down, I had to go to the doctor,find out if it really was depression or an excuse for being a lazy person with no motivation. After a bit of a fight with my mom,I went...and were given "Lexapro" which didn't help. It was more of a placebo than an antidepressant. After a major disaster in my part{which,for the sake of my privacy will not be mentioned} mom finally took me to Westbrook. Once. Only once. Because they never picked us up. And I began to cut myself. It worked better than the "antidepressants" they gave me, so why not?
I'm still struggling with depression, self-harm,and suicidal thoughts,but I just hope that by peering into the real world of someone who lives to battle themselves daily,battle with a safety pin because it feels so good afterward....All I'm asking is before you call someone "emo" or say," self-harmers should get over their selves and die." Think about what they might have gone through...maybe they were raped,or struggle with a mental illness...maybe they,because you said that,will kill themselves tonight just because of what you said.
Find out the truth before saying lies.
My name is {Alli},and that's my story.