Through going to various doctors and therapists, I have found that I have had undiagnosed depression since the end of elementary school/beginning of middle school.
I have not been happy with myself. Ever. I've gotten really really good at pretending though. People always said that I was "so happy" and "so confident!" That was never true. I have hated myself for so many years.
So. Many. Years.
I have been harming myself since I was very little. But it was things that would be okay for a child. I would bruise my leg when I was in elementary school. Bruises were okay, they meant I was playing and having fun.
In middle school I continued the bruising and started playing tic-tac-toe on myself. I would scrape my nails against my skin and write things, play games. I would make myself bleed. But, "It's only a game."
In high school I found a socially acceptable way to harm myself. I joined the swim team.
What? How does that help you hurt yourself? Well let me tell you! For practice, you do this thing called circle swimming where there are multiple people swimming in one lane. You swim right up next to the lane line. Those lane lines are sharp. They can scrape, bruise, and make you bleed if you swim close enough. And I did. Getting out of the pool can cause bruises to your legs, arms, even stomach. You just have to put a little bit more effort into it. And I did.
In high school I stopped eating as much. I just didn't see the point of it. So I ate maybe one serving of food a day. And on the weekends, well I didn't eat at all.
In college, things got worse. I started biting myself. I would swell, have bruises on my arms and hands. I very clearly remember the first time I cut. The reason behind it. I'll tell you sometime. In college, I finally went to the doctor. Where they were surprised, because I was happy, bouncy, quirky.
In college, I really had a problem with eating. I was eating one serving of food every other day. Don't get me wrong, I love food. But I really just couldn't do it. On the weekends, I would binge. I would make myself sick. During the week, I eat almost nothing. I don't know if there's a word for what I do, I just know it is unhealthy.
It isn't hard to pretend when you've been pretending for so many years.
Surprisingly, what was hard, was finally admitting to how much I was pretending.
So now I have a therapist and am on medication. It's a work in progress. I don't feel like the medication is working. And I am barely making it to the therapist. Sometimes, life is just a little bit too hard to handle.
