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Messages - katiesthoughts

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46
The Troubled Teen Industry / Re: Evil Step Monster Lashes Out
« on: April 17, 2009, 12:31:06 PM »
LOOK EVERYONE JUST STOP! I AM TIRED OF THE BULLSHIT AT HOME AND I DONT WANT IT HERE> DIANE LEAVE FORNITS ALONE! IS THERE NOT ONE PLACE I CAN GO TO BE RID OF THE PATRONIZING!!!!

Jesus christ! I cant even write without trolls and others taking  either side. DONT TAKE SIDES> ITS NOT ABOUT THAT! i am merely defending myself.
SHOW SOME RESPECT FOR MANKIND! This is not about blmae its about relaity. Please, if you cant say anything nice dont open your mouth. i cant stand it anymore!

47
News Items / Re: Katies Story
« on: April 16, 2009, 05:02:35 PM »
HEY EVRY1 NEW INSTALLEMT ON THE CAN BLOG!!!

48
CAN ~ Collective Action Network / Re: Katie's Story
« on: April 16, 2009, 05:00:12 PM »
Ok. I am dearly sorry to all of those who were reading my story. It had been a few days since the last instalment and I have been extremely busy. So to make up for some of the days I missed I will try to write more than usual.

So we left off when I was admitted to Dettmer. While I was there I learned a lot about holding back my emotions and my actual thoughts I became an expert craftsman of bullshit and I actually prolonged my stay there, due to lack of communication. The facility was locked down of course, but there was still the thought of scaling the walls and running away forever. My reasoning was that if never went home I would never be depressed, if I was never depressed I wouldn’t end up trying to kill myself and my parents would be happy and things would go greatly. Like a clip out of “Leave it To Beaver”. Everyone has there own dreams and fantasies. Mine was irrevocably wrong.
I was discharged and I went home again. This time I tried to make things different. I became more and more distant, only speaking when I couldn’t handle the silence anymore. At one point I didn’t talk to anyone. I would hide and when provoked I would yell.  That was life for me. I was barely home and when I was I wasn’t a happy camper.
 It seemed to me that when I wasn’t home my family was somehow better, and when I was home I got a reality check of how screwed up my family really was. It was scary for a while. You know how you eat too much ice-cream and it starts to taste real bad? Then a few months later you have some and miraculously it tastes good again? Well, that’s how I felt. When I wasn’t around them I missed them. When I was around I saw how crappy life was.
   Dettmer stayed with me. I learned to keep my emotions in check…. most of the time anyway (but when put under a lot of pressure eventually a carbonated soda pops right? Yeah. Me = carbonated soda; pressure = KABOOM!) I had to stop cutting, because my parent would check my arms. I had to check in with them every hour to make sure I wasn’t with Christy. NOT by phone of course. I would have to physically check in at the house.
But, even with a stricter structure for me things at school were declining even more rapidly than before. Diane and I would have hour long screaming matches, and I was a wreck. I was pushed down the stairs one day at school. I strained my wrist, and I had to have a cast out on it. I was so hurt and frustrated. I felt like the biggest loser in the world.
 A few days later, my Dad had to pick me up from school for some reason. I fell down the stairs again and this time I was knocked unconscious for 4 minutes. I guess my dad was freaking out trying to wake me up, and screaming for someone to call 911. I was put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital. I woke up while in the ambulance very confused. My dad was following in his car so I was alone. The paramedics had oxygen on my face and I was crying. They calmed me down saying I was going to be alright. I knew I wouldn’t be. I kept thinking to myself, after all of this why can’t I die? Is there some twisted god up there letting me suffer?
   After that my classes were unbearable. Due to lack of sleep I would doze off in math class and my teacher would let other students drop books on my desk to scare me awake. I would hang out with my English teacher everyday during lunch. He was the best teacher I ever had. I was a poet then… he would read everything I wrote. We would talk about the trivialities of everything and whenever I was in his classroom I felt right with the world. Like there was something that was worth living for. I think back now, and he was one person who really made me think twice about wanting to give up on life. During all of my different hospitalizations my biological mother and I had been talking over the phone. That December I went to visit for Christmas. It was a reprieve form the hell I was in. Yeah there were problems but god, it was better than home. Seeing her was such a relief for me. In her arms was the most adorable and angelic thing I had ever seen. Nicholas. (After my parents divorced my mom had 3 more children. 3 little boys. I knew Bryan and Benjamin.) My mom had part time custody of Bryan and Benji so they werent there. Seeing Nicki was like seeing a part of heaven in a body of the cutest little boy. Nicholas was born 3 months premature. He was so small at birth he could have fit in the palm on my hand. He was born 76% deaf. He was truly a miracle. He also had an auto-immune disease called lupus. This disease causes his body to produce antibodies that attack his own cells. His internal organs are affected and they harden at an abnormal rate.
   Learning this I became devoted to him. He was the cutest little ladies man. Leaving my mom and Nicholas at the end of those two weeks was hell for me. I didn’t know when I would ever see them again.

   Getting back to school…………I began to skip classes and hang out in the office. Faking sick was getting really old. Finally the counsellors had enough. The called my parents saying that I had two choices really. I could stick out the rest of the year IN class and not skipping or I could stay home for the rest of the year. At this point there was like 6 days left of 8th grade.
   I got home from school and Diane was yelling at me saying I would never amount to anything, I was a fucking drop out I would end up pregnant on the streets etc. etc. I was angry and all I wanted was to get away from her, from my dad, from my brothers. I needed an escape. I called my mom and told her what was going on. She immediately told my dad that I was going to spend the summer with her. I flew out to New Mexico that Saturday.

Those first few weeks were like paradise. I was wanted in the house. i was needed. I was a part of the fmaily again. But as it has hapened before it was too good to last. I didnt have many friends there and at first it was fine with me. But being 14 years old i got lonely. i began to search the aprtment complex for friends and i found them. A few were my age but mostly they were older. Tracy was my favorite. She was  24, and lived right next to us. i would be home during the day since my mom was at work, and my brothers were at day care so after i did my chores i went over to tracy's. I had quit smoking due to the restrictions for nicholas's health, but being with tracy had me starting up again. my mom didnt know i was hanging out with people older than me and when she found out she was uncomfortable. she didnt want me to go on the same path i was on at my dad's. Things startd to go bad after she found out about  me hanging out with tracy she grew really rptective. I found myslef doing more and more chores around the house. In some ways having a 5 and 6 year old around the house gets rid of loose energy in other ways it puts on a whole lot of mess! I was cleaning up after them all the time.
I grew more and more short with them not understanding why i was the one to clean up after them. when they were with their dad things were great the house was clean and me and my mom did fun things together. Even nicholas was happy. Dont get me wrong. I love my borthers and i miss them terribly but being 14 and having to clean the crap off of the tub and tiolet seat before I could stand to use them got really old! Me and my mom began to argue. I missed my dad and believe it or not i missed diane. I talked to them about once a week. And my mom was very difficult when i wanted to call them. She didnt understand why i wanted to talk to them after diane's comments all the time. July turned to august. I began to grow distant, and i was nervous all the time. i felt that i couldnt make any mistakes this time. I had to be perfect so that my mom and i could have a relationship. I didnt want to screw up this one too.


OK folks thats all i can handle right my mother and i havent talked or heard from each other in about 4 years and as you will read later things got worse. I am angry at her still due to impressions forced on me by CCM. I cant seem to erase those thoughts from my mind. Writing about her makes me miss her terribly and right now, i cant write any more it hurts too much.

P.S. If my mom is reading this... Stephanie Lynn Bilkey, if you are reading this i love you and i am sorry. please if you can call me or write to me. i miss you and i love you. :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:  :rose:


Please email me with questions or comments : [email protected]

49
News Items / Re: Katies Story
« on: April 13, 2009, 12:09:54 PM »
Quote
Another solution could have been for Katie to lose some weight and quit cutting herself (maybe mix in some others colors other than black every other day) and that would have helped with the bullying and then show a little respect at home like her brothers did and all of this would have been avoided.
I dont think her brothers had a problem with the school system or home arrangements and put a lid on the drama. If they did they were smart enough not to get their asses sent away.Guest
 

 i think those are the only two people who wuld have the dexterity to go and say that. If you want to insult me do it somewhere in your own mind please i dont want to hear the bullshit on here thankyou very much. :blabla:  :lala:  :feedtrolls:  :fuckoff:

50
CAN ~ Collective Action Network / Re: Katie's Story
« on: April 12, 2009, 05:29:46 PM »
Ok. It seems like with every single instalment my story becomes more and more difficult to write…   
   
At this point in 8th grade I began to skip classes and hang out in the counsellor’s office. I was depressed and lonely. Christy had quit coming to school  for a long while, and I jest felt as I if were the only one in school that had the same issues I did. I began to slack off in my favorite class: orchestra. I had been plying the cello for 4 years and was the 1st chair of my section (basically the captain). I was put to 2nd chair because I wasn’t concentrating enough and my playing was suffering. I felt horrible. Music was one thing I did well, that not even yelling could affect…. I felt like it was taken away from me.  I began to fake sick more and more so I could go home, and get away from the craziness of the world around me.
   My parents arranged for me to have a therapist when I graduated form khys, and I went once a week. She helped me to unload all of the shit I built up over the time I was away from the safe environment. Just the drive to the office was a hassle for me and Diane. Almost 90% of the time in the car` was spent in silence and the other 10% consisted of us yelling at each other. To put it bluntly things were like having my own personal hell at home, when most kids have their own personal sanctuary, in the thought that most kids can drop the act of images and happiness, as well as who they have to be at school. I didn’t I have that luxury. The mask of my image went on, and never came off. I became the clothes; the music. I was no longer me. There was no place that I could be myself. I remember writing in my journal:

“I am alone in a crowded room, as the only person in a mask. For people are masquerading as something else but when the night comes, the masks fall off and become dust. Mine stays as if cemented to my being. I am unable to remove it even if I wanted to.”
 
Nowhere was safe. I always had to protect myself with my only defence, my attitude and my friends.

I wasn’t interested in the same things anymore. All I wanted to do was be around Christy somehow, every time I was with her I felt alive again. Whole. It wouldn’t last. As I said before, I had a completely skewed perception of reality. I was 14 years old. I felt as if there wasn’t anything to live for. Yet again. I attempted suicide. This time I made it known. Goodbye, I screamed to my parents. I wanted them to know that I loved them. I took my med card out of the kitchen and up into the bathroom in a flash. My dad saw and followed me. He was shouting for my brother to help him. I locked the bathroom door. I looked at myself in the mirror and hated what I saw.
   I began to empty the med card, and take the pills that would end my life. My dad got into the bathroom. He wrestled one out of my hand. I was stunned. I didn’t understand why. Why was he trying to stop me? Isn’t this what he wanted? Wouldn’t he be happier? I didn’t get it at the time. Why did he care?“LEAVE ME ALONE! LET ME DO THIS!!!” I kept screaming at him. I wanted it to be over. I would not be hurting so much… I didn’t understand why he suddenly cared about me now…
   I was taken to the hospital. I had to drink charcoal. And I hated it. Sometimes I wish I would have died. Maybe it would have relieved me of the pain I had to go through later on, but that is another story. The nurse gave me a look of utter disapproval. I was embarrassed. I was crazy. Every doctor that looked at my chart knew why I was there. Every single one of them mad me feel…….worthless. Their faces are burnt into my memory, like the spots in your vision if you stare at the sun too long. The expressions weren’t of compassion like doctors have in the movies. The looks were of disgust. I was disgusting. I surely felt it. I had charcoal on my face, and my hands. I was vomiting charcoal, pooping charcoal. I felt like I was being drowned in it. I had to drink a gallon to neutralize the toxins from the medications I took. It was demoralizing. I felt violated.
I was evaluated by the on site psychologist. I was to be admitted into a treatment center once again. Khys was full. I was horrified. At least Mollie would have been there to help me understand to explain why my life was worth living.  I was transported in the ambulance. I was strapped to the gurney for a 2 hour ride, with the medics staring at me like I was a monster. My parent went home. I was admitted to Dettmer mental hospital. I got there at around 2 am in the morning. At this point I was so tired I just went to sleep on whatever mattress they told me. I was in Dettmer for 3 1/2 weeks with a daily check-up, by yet another therapist. I was again diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and night terrors. I grew frustrated because I already knew that.
   The visits were less frequent due to the drive. My parents always ended the visits with: we love you and what to help you get better. They wanted to help me. Why would they allow the arguing and insults? It takes two people to tango, so it was not all my fault. But I was told I was the problem. It was ME who was causing the issues. I had to get better. It was like a goddamn pointing fingers game. I had to be the one who took responsibility for my actions…. (Take the blame) what about everyone else? I got yelled at for insults… did anyone else? I think not.
   
 :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout: QUICK NOTE HERE:  I am the child. I am supposed to make mistakes. To get angry, and yell once in a while, but what about the adults? Do they get punished? No. they get a slap on the hand and a get out of jail free card. The children have to be the responsible ones. When did that role switch? Can anyone tell me, because I missed the memo.

Anyway back to my story…while at Dettmer I grew very distant. I didn’t speak much. All I wanted was an escape from hell. A get out of jail card, not a free one, but a get out of jail card. Sadly life isn’t like monopoly and no matter how many times I rolled to get out of prison I never got out.

Questions or comments you know where to go: [email protected]

51
CAN ~ Collective Action Network / Re: Katie's Story
« on: April 11, 2009, 01:22:53 AM »
Alright everyone. Lets get this started again. Part four.

   I was hospitalized in Khys again as I said, for slightly longer this time. I still continued to receive visits from family, but the tension was apparent even in a structured and moderated facility. The second time I was in treatment I had a room by myself. I felt so scared and alone I would beg Mollie to come and sit in my room until I fell asleep. I needed someone there. I turned off my emotions, thinking that no body could help me, due to beliefs ingrained in me not only by my biological mother but from my step-mother. I dearly wished that I would have died in that second attempt. Again my medication changed. I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder ( a very mild form of bipolar) and night terrors at 14 years old. I was the family screw up. Has anyone read the trumpeter swan or saw the movie? To be swift about explaining my point a swan is born with no voice and everyone thinks there is something wrong with him. He leaves his family to try and find a way to communicate. While he is gone his father steals a trumpet that simulates the sounds a swan makes. This is basically how I felt. I was the swan with no voice. I was the one with the problem I was the one who was different than anyone else. Yet again I was discharged, but this time to “ensure my safety” I was put into an outpatient program where I could go to school at the facility and have daily check-ups then go home at night. This continued for 4 weeks. I became comfortable. I felt as if I was safe while I was there. No yelling, fun activities and fieldtrips. I had Mollie. I began to feel better again. I felt that I was finally starting to become normal, but as if so happens in my life, my perception is no where close to reality. When I “graduated” I got to go back to middle school. YAY! Not.
   My brothers had let it slip that I had been admitted to Khys. You see in my school, everyone knew about the facility. It was “the suicidal hangout” or the “crazy people place”. The moment I walked back into the school the whispers began. The pointing. It was even worse than before. You see I had been able to slip under the radar as just another person people get interested in for a few days and move on, now I was a psycho kid. I was ‘the freak”. In sociology there are three main causes of deviant behaviour, Labelling is one of them. When labelled often a person will live up to the label so as to fit in with those like them. This was my case. I dressed in all black. I hung out with the “Goth or Emo” kids. I tried to stand out in the crowd. All in all, after the second hospitalization I didn’t care whatsoever for anyone or anything. I began to slack off in my school work and blow it all off to hang out with… yep you guessed it. Christy.
   Her family got evicted due to late rent so she moved into the motel a few blocks from my house. It was even more convenient fro me, because my parents didn’t know what room she was in, so I could go and they couldn’t find me. I could hide from everything they wanted to blame me for.

52
News Items / Re: Katies Story
« on: April 09, 2009, 10:11:42 PM »
look just a quick note. my parents did what they thought was best but by insulting them only makes things worse for me. please. to my readers i thank you. but please stay respectful. they are my parents. there are some things i disagree with and disrespect is one of them. please. for my sake be respectful . It would help me to grow and be willing to share my thoughts. please realize that i love them even if there are issues. as before i'll write part 5 tomorrow. :nods:  :nods:  :nods:  :nods:  :nods:  :nods:  :nods:  :nods:  :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout:  :timeout:

53
News Items / Re: Katies Story
« on: April 09, 2009, 04:32:25 PM »
Part three: I cannot even begin. The second round of my depression had begun.
   As I said before I was doing whatever it took to be with her. I snuck out of my house only to return at 5 am before anyone was awake. I was living a secret life to be honest. Whatever she wanted I did whatever I could to give it to her. The situation at home just got worse. Diane was screaming at me every moment, and in response I screamed back. When I was at home, I would be up outside on the roof, trying to avoid everything. For my thirteenth birthday, my parents took us to New York. That was the best and worse day of my life. We went to a fancy restaurant with my extended family, and then we saw Lion King on Broadway. I felt as if they wanted to make everything with our family good again, and I felt so happy the problems were finally over….or so I thought.
   We were driving to my aunts house back from the city, when I began talking about my friends, and how I wished they could have been there to experience it as well; (taking care not to mention Christy). Somehow it turned into an argument about how my friends were lazy scumbags etc. etc. I rose to their defense like a cobra and I was ready for a fight. “Those scumbags,” I screamed from my seat, “Are the only actual family that wants me around, unlike you, who doesn’t give a damn!” Diane demanded the car be stopped. She got out, and told my dad to drive back to my aunt’s, saying she needed some air. I was so angry I saw red. My blood was boiling. “WHY DO YOU PUT UP WITH IT??” I screamed at my dad after we drove away. It was his turn. Calmly he said, “You will not talk about my wife like that…I will not allow you do disrespect her.” Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. Why wouldn’t he say that about me? When she insulted me, he was a silent man. When I defended myself, I was the bad one, the stupid one. I Was always wrong.    
           That night, I went into the guestroom. I did the only thing I could think of. I cut again. I hadn’t cut ever since the hospitalization. At once I felt better. Numb. I went deep this time, feeling nothing but an emotional bliss. After I felt I was finished I went into the bathroom and cleaned myself up, making sure to bandage myself ankle and keep it hidden. I didn’t want anyone to see. I felt so relieved I couldn’t bear it if I ended up being wrong again.
   A few hours later sitting at the table in the kitchen reading Diane got home. She saw me and went off. She kept her voiced low, so as to not have anyone else hear her:
             :flame:   “You stupid little bitch. You are the main issue in this family and if you ever fucking talk like that to me again I swear I will hit you so hard you can’t remember your own name. I don’t know why you can’t be a decent human being. Your brothers are afraid of you. Nobody wants you around them! Why can’t you be more like your brothers, like normal people? You have to be such a pain in the ass!   :flame:  :heartbreak:  :waaaa:      
       I was in shock, and in that one moment all affection that I had for her died in me. I hated her. I thought to myself how she was a stupid horrible person. I watched her walk upstairs acting like she had just taken out the garbage or cleaned the dishes. Then the anger faded leaving the thought: I was the problem. I was her garbage that she tried to hide from everyone. I was an embarrassment.
   I remember nothing else from the trip, only that I was almost a ghost, isolating myself from the family, since I was the black sheep in our white flock. I was the failure. Getting back to the comfort of my friends I threw myself into my behaviors, thinking my family would be happier were I not there.  I grew distant. I started stealing money for cigarettes and alcohol, and taking my meds more than directed. I felt like I was never going to be good enough, so I avoided them to stay way from criticism.
    I started 8th grade. 6 months went by. Bullies make me easy pickings. I was the loner, bigger girl who had the scars. I was an easy target. Especially for boys. I was overweight and I ate to cope with it. One day I got home and directly went to Christy’s. We walked around, and not knowing it, my dad had left to pick up my brother from his practice. He saw me and her walking as he was driving home. He stopped the car and told me to get in. he was so angry. I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t hear anything of what he said. To this day I still don’t know what he told me in the car, I’m sure it was not too pretty. I was grounded. I read books. I cut. I cried.
   Again I was forbidden to see her. I didn’t care. She was the only one I could ever relate to… I went against his will anyway.
   To get away from school and bullies I began to fake sick, forcing myself to puke so I could go home. ::puke::  I wouldn’t stay in bed like I was told. I would leave the house, with no opinion of who saw me. I was an empty shell.
   It was a Tuesday. I got home from school. I had been pushed to the limit by bullies. I wanted the pain to stop! KHYS said that everything had to worse before it got better, or there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Where was my goddamn sunshine? I was angry and began to cry.  Again I resulted to the only thing I could. I cut myself.. I was light headed and angry, I cut deeper than I meant to. I didn’t notice at that point however I just wanted the pain to end, so I continued hacking at my arms. All the while my dad had gotten home from work, and I didn’t notice. He walked into the room. He screamed “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”  Running over he grabbed the razor from my hand, while I tried to fight him off. Baby why are you doing this? He was crying. He pulled me to him and held me, my blood staining his shirt. He was talking gently a, stroking my head as I cried. Then he cleaned me up and out bandages on my arms. He held me close to him and called my brother upstairs telling him to get the phone and a blanket.
   He held me and called the only place he could think of. KHYS. I was admitted again. The looks of the staff were that of scorn and disappointment that I had returned to treatment. The one nurse who was not condescending, and held me for a long time was Mollie. She was so kind the first time around; keeping me company and giving me the affection I needed. She was so warm as she held me. I never wanted her to let go. :'(

That is about all i can handle for today. But i want to thank you all again for reading. Part four will be posted tomorrow.

Any comments or questions email me:
[email protected]

54
News Items / Re: Katies Story
« on: April 08, 2009, 10:22:22 PM »
Let’s see.

 :waaaa: I left off, the summer I met Christy. Looking wherever I could for friends, I found some. I began hanging out with people who were different. People like me. At the beginning we were innocent teenagers, watching movies, laughing making stupid jokes, and then we began to grow up. After a while Christy and I both were having issues with our lives, so like everyone in this world we held onto something that was not changing. Each other.
   I found Christy cutting herself with a razor blade one day after letting myself into her house. I began to cry to see her hurting like that. She explained it was the only way to get rid of her pain. Looking for any escape I could, I tried it. The first cut was the hardest. I couldn’t believe the relief as I saw the droplets of my own blood forming on my arm. I felt so relieved. Over and over again, I cut until I didn’t feel the jabbing pain inside of my chest from my broken heart.
   After that first day, I went home I sat at the dining room table trying to hide my arms. I didn’t want anyone to know. I was reading a book tucking my arms under my sleeves. Unfortunately it was a white shirt and they still bled. Walking up behind me Diane saw the blood. She didn’t say anything to me but she went and whispered to my dad. I didn’t suspect that they knew. As I got up my dad did also. He grabbed my arms, not only pulling up the sleeves of my shirt but opening the temporary scabs. He looked at me as if I were Satan. “If you EVER do this again we are going to have you committed to an insane asylum” he said. I began to cry. Diane looked at me, and said “Do you understand how serious this is? Are you trying to make this family more stressed because of you?” every word dripped with disdain. I rant to my room. I wanted to hide forever.
   I cried myself to sleep for the few moments I was cutting I was not hurting, and they didn’t understand. The next day, I went over to Christy’s and told her about what had happened. She was the only one who understood my pain. Our routine began. We hung out, and then if we needed it cut. We did everything together. This continued for a few months. After a while the cuts became more frequent and deeper, and I no longer was with Christy when I cut myself. I did it on my legs, thighs upper arms stomach.
   After a while Christy began getting into drugs. Weed, coke, shrooms. I was so scared to even touch the stuff. However I found myself content with cigarettes, and alcohol. I was with Christy almost every spare minute I had. Sneaking out to go to parties, walking around neighbourhoods all night. We were the rebellious teenagers, more so her than me. I got contact high quite a few times, but as I said before I was scared shitless to really use.
   The excitement of it all was wearing off. Cutting wasn’t working anymore, and people began to notice all I wore was baggy sweaters to hide the cuts and scars. I was bored and I wanted to join in with my friends. I began huffing Lysol and paint. The first few times it was nice. Then one day Christy passed out. I couldn’t wake her up, so I did what anyone would do. I called 911. the hospital was a nightmare. Not only was I scared but my parents were called. At that point my dad came and got me. He made me tell him everything about what I had been doing. I was terrified. I was forbidden to see Christy.
   The situation worsened I lied more and more to se her. I stole money for her. I wanted her friendship so bad I let her take advantage of me, and soon it turned ugly. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and after being made fun of at school I didn’t want to take it anymore. I went up to my room and wrote notes to all of my friends. I wanted to die. I went down to the living room and sat on the couch. I began to cut myself, daring myself to do it. I wanted it so bad, and the cuts were only the shallow ones. It wasn’t working. My dad walked into the house just as I got up to try another way. I grabbed my med box and almost had the pills down when my dad forcibly got them out of my mouth. He called the ambulance.
Since I hadn’t ingested any of the pills, I was taking to a psychiatric ward called KHYS. An outpatient program for kids who had tried to commit suicide. I was there for 2 ½ weeks. It was scary. White walls, limited visits. I was given different heavier medication to help with the depression. My family visited me every night bringing McDonalds and games, trying to make everything better. I thought it was a genuine attempt at fixing our family. But unfortunately it didn’t last. My dad was there the entire time. I felt a new respect for him, and I began to heal superficially. The meds made me a zombie once I took them and knocked me out at night. I was more calm and less expressive. I was discharged. I went home. I did well for a few weeks, until the things went back to the way before. The second time around things got much much worse. :waaaa:  ::OMG::


Again i thank you to everyone who will read this and i will write more tomorrow. this was hard for me to write so need support if you can give it.
Please any comments or questions you know how to reach me

[email protected]

i'll be back tomorrow

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