When I started 7th grade I had battled with depression and anorexia.
The summer before I started 7th grade I was diagnosed with a skin condition - I'm not going to name it here, as it's extremely rare and you could probably find me by looking it up. I thankfully don't have it bad, and it's not known to progress to other layers of tissue. But cosmetically, I had these brown splotches on my back. I never really thought anything of them, until people started pointing them out at the pool, and it spread down my arm. So my mom took me to a dermatologist, and then to a rheumotologist. The perscribed medication for me - to make the skin discoloration go away, and make sure it didn't spread or affect me anywhere else. One of the perscriptions the put me on was Prednisone - a steriod. Prednisone makes you bloat and gain weight like crazy, which is where most of my problems began.
7th grade is when you move from elementary school to Junior High in my school district, so things were bound to be stressful enough. But when you add a gain of 20 lbs in two weeks and none of your new school clothes fit to the mix, you get a disaster. My self-esteem plummetted and I became obsessive with my eating habits. I thought that if I dieted enough I would be able to reverse the effects of the Prednisone. So I basically stopped eating, and when I did eat, it was obsessively healthy food. I wrote down everything I ate and cut all complex carbs out of my diet. Whenever I gave in and ate M&Ms or something, I would start crying hysterically. I didn't know anything about cutting yourself then (I was very sheltered and naive), but if I would have known about it I would have. I would cry myself to sleep every night and bang my head against the wall of my bedroom, hoping to knock myself out from what I was feeling.
My doctor asked me what I wanted for Christmas that December and I told him I wanted to be off the medication. So he started taking me off. You can't just stop taking a certain drug at once, so he had to take me off slowly. But even then, my body experienced withdrawl and I experienced intense migranes. But, just after Christmas, I was down to... I think 1/8 of the dosage I was on before. By the time February came around, I lost all of the excess weight I gained on the pills, and everything that I had dieted and excessivly excercised off.
And it showed. You could see all my bones through my chest and my arms had no fat on them - I could easily wrap my hand around them. People started calling me anorexic, which is really no better than being called fat. I felt completely imperfect - that nothing I ever did was good enough. I weight just under 70 lbs.
My doctor then said he was going to hospitalize me if I didn't start eating. I started slowly, but it took me about a year to recover. And even then, I'm still very skinny, and worry when I eat too many unhealthy foods.
I battled with anxiety and depression in the late winter and spring of 8th grade then. As much as I hate to admit it, it was probably mostly peer-pressure related. Being around so many angsty people wore off on me. I lost interest in everything, and stopped caring about life. I started cutting my wrists and I lost a lot of my old friends that way. I did consider suicide - but I'm not a quitter and fear failure, so I didn't let myself do that, although I planned it out for the most part.
Things got better over the summer and with this school year, though I do have my days. I have pretty much stopped hurting myself and am learning to move on. Though I still feel selfish and guilty whenever I think about how I was and how I still can be, because I've never really had a "tramatic event" in my life that could trigger these actions and feelings. But I take things one day at a time, and I'm doing well now.
I can relate to you.
But I can't completely understand, since my situation was different.
When middle school started I never cared about what I looked like, but people started pointing out this skin condition I was born with.
The doctors always told me that no medication would work and that I would grow out of it.
I still have it now.
It used to spread across my face but now its only on my left arm and my thighs so it is getting better.
I also I had to move in with my uncle and aunt while my parents were away in Europe for business.
My older cousin was abusing me.
He verbally and physically harmed me.
I tried not to listen but it just got to me. I became anti-social and I was diagnosed with an eating disorder.
That was all fixed within half a year.
Then my aunt, uncle, and parents found out my whole situation with my cousin, and to put more stress on me I had to go to court and everything.
I sadly did turn to self harm.
I still do right now, just not as much.
I found out that writing made me feel a lot better.
After the whole court thing was over my parents asked me if there was anything they could do to make me feel better.
I answered, "Get me away from here."
I wanted to be away from everyone I knew.
They sent me to a boarding school. I felt better and more free.
Most my problems went away.
The only problems are my thoughts of *horrible* things, and me turning to self harm.
My parents still haven't found out about the self harm problem.
At boarding school I met someone, we started dating but turns out I was bringing myself into another abusive problem. I didn't get abused, but my friend did.
I felt it was my fault and then later on after much drama it was all ended in the worst way.
My other friend killed himself.
He was sick and tired of all the drama and apparently, I think it's partly my fault.
The day before he left me a note telling me his feelings. He told me that he was in love with me and he's too much of a coward to protect me from anything. He said he had to end his life because he'd be only wasting space because he was nothing more than a coward.
He had sent out a few other notes to other people too.
I just recently got out of boarding school.
I'm going to a public school and I'm still unhappy.
I feel excluded in everything and no one likes me for who I am, maing me think there's something terribly wrong with me.
Right now, I hate exclusion and I hate the imperfections that drive people away.
But I'm content because I do have those few people who care about me.
There's a lot of small details I didn't include but that's pretty much a shortened version.
