I am 19 years old. I first got drunk when I was 16 and that night is when I realized I have issues. I was at a friends house and his parents were out of town. He had a huge backyard, so we got some alcohol, got drunk, and went swimming. It was fun until I was alone with my boyfriend and started say “Let me die… let me drown…please just let me go”. My boyfriend was so concerned he told this other boy that he was worried I was trying to harm myself, but I denied every bit of it and didn’t drink again for a while.
Then my junior year of high school rolled around and I would party every single weekend. I would hook up with random guys and became known as “the s***” and was so ashamed of myself. One night I got my first misdemeanor. I was so ashamed that I had disappointed my parents the way I did that I tried overdosing on pain killers and tried to end my life. I woke up the next morning (I was disappointed) and threw up all day from the pills AT CHURCH. I didn’t learn my lesson and kept partying each weekend. I ended up getting another misdemeanor THE NIGHT BEFORE MOTHER’S DAY. I couldn’t believe it. I tried ending my life again that night. After that, I broke off all my relations with the people I would party with and kept to myself the rest of the school year. I became extremely depressed. I cut myself. I had such bad anxiety that I thought I would pass out from the dizziness each time I switched classes. I tried overdosing on sleep medicine, but still woke up feeling worse than when I had tried killing myself with pills. It was a never ending nightmare. I just wanted to die, and if you saw who was writing this and how my life LOOKS on the outside you would never expect it to be someone like me. I was the pretty, blonde cheerleader, I had friends, yet I was still bulimic, a cutter, suicidal, depressed.
I still struggle with a lot of my past, but do well if I don’t think about it. No one knows I am still suicidal from time to time, not even my boyfriend of 6 years. Suicide is on the back burner of the stove for me. If I start having a hard time again I instantly think of it. Oh and then I have this anxiety disorder called trichotillomania, where I constantly pull my eye lashes out.
So, uh, who wants to be my friend?!