I’ve not had a hard life, and I haven’t had the easiest either. I’m 20 years old and all my life I have known I am not like everybody else, or at least not like most people. I am pretty sure not many 20 year old’s are blogging about their sob stories when so many people have it harder, but here I am. I guess I just need somewhere to express, somewhere where nobody knows me and nobody can use this information against me. I don’t want pity, and I don’t want to be judged, I just want to get things off my chest before I explode.
So, what is my story? Where to begin? I’ll keep it short. Most of my school life I was bullied. Started with primary school, I was a child who was, lets say “different”.
Maybe I was strange, maybe I was just a child, but either way I was an outcast before I even began to see what life was supposed to be all about. Perhaps that is when my lack of confidence started, maybe it was later, who knows. I moved to secondary school as you do, and there I was verbally and physically bullied almost every day. Most days it was silly things like how my hair was ginger or how I wore my clothes, other days it was being beaten down for standing up for myself or being chased home by people younger than myself just because they could. I’ll go into further detail one day, maybe write a post, but for now let’s just leave it at that. After less than two years, I was pretty much done with school, and life. I walked around like a wounded animal, waiting to be unfriended by another so called mate, or to be hit, or verbally abused. When I had completely had enough, I moved schools again- with the blessing and support of my parents.
The next school is where I remained for 5 years, and graduated 6th form there. That school was no-where near as bad. At least the teachers could teach, and my predicted grades of E’s went up to C’s and B’s, and I came out with mostly B’s also, with a couple of A’s thrown in! But it was far from a pleasant experience. I seemed to make enemies wherever I went, just by being my strange, but kind self. No physical bullying this time, just rumors and lies, and a best friend who turned out to be psycho who set out to destroy my life and almost got be thrown out of school for ‘bullying’ (I know, how ironic). Anyway, a few years of once again being an outcast, and then two years building friendships (with many ups and downs) with friends who I am now mostly in contact with still, and I finally made it.
I guess though, the damage was done. By year 12 I found myself self-harming, almost for the sake of it. I felt some relief in it, I don’t know why or how, but the pain kind of took my mind of my emotional trauma. I frequently suffered from nightmares during the night, when I did finally sleep, and flashbacks during some days. They kind of halted my healing, I constantly found myself back in the place I would probably call hell. I couldn’t escape, and my friends were secretly talking behind my back. Sometimes I wanted to scream at them what was going on inside my head. Tell them how much pain I was in, but I felt trapped and they weren’t the kind of friends you could discuss your problems with- bar one or two. My best friend would be there, he was kind of on-and-off at times, I could come in one day and he’d be mad at me and I’d have to guess the reason. I don’t/didn’t really blame him, cause I was a handful, I was on and off myself, going from randomly happy to completely secluded and down.
Anyway, I found a girl who had been through and was going through depression, and had self-harmed herself. I’d never told anybody about it, until I realised she understood. We both related, and though never really directly discussed it unless it was online, it was still a kind of weight off my shoulders to tell somebody. Then my best friend kind of confronted me about it, and I told him also. Although I played it off like a one time thing ages ago. I did that with my parents when they found out, after my sleeve pulled up one day. It was probably the single worst day of my life, seeing the pain and upset in my mothers eyes. That was over two years ago, and I have been mostly clean ever since, never fully relapsed into the cycle, because I could not bare my mother thinking it was her fault. It wasn’t. I couldn’t explain why, I didn’t know myself, I just comforted her that it was a one time thing. In reality, I had been struggling with it for almost two years by the time she and my best friend found out, but I couldn’t say it, I couldn’t admit how long I’d been feeling like I was just worthless.
I have NO idea why I am telling this, on the internet, but I know that it is getting it out of my system, even if nobody sees it. If you do happen to come across my anonymous blog, maybe it will help you relate. I’ve never been able to ever tell anybody, and it’s amazing getting it out. That’s pretty much my story so far. I am now at University, resitting my second year because my anxiety has dragged me down, stopped me from attending lectures, which meant I failed at what I am supposed to love. The friends I made are now best of friends- of course I am not included in that anymore, but the friends from my old school are still in touch with me and I feel closer to them than anyone.
So, yeah, my (kind of long, sorry) story up until now. My blog will include experiences and some tips/helpful stuff maybe, if you struggle/have struggled with the issues I have.
Thanks for reading, stay strong.