By Sheila, one of our readers
What a dramatic teenager I was! My world was beautiful, and at times and I had dreams and there was a picture of girl walking through camera lights; very full of life. Other times, I saw her tied up on the ground.
I was generally a lazy teenager and only did chores when I felt appreciated. Born to a very tough mother and a dad that left me at a young age, all I felt was that nothing mattered, especially because mum wasn’t good at affection but was frequently stuck on negativity and criticism.
The world seemed strange and I often got lost in my own world of imagination. I made up stories in my mind and smiled all the time because they helped me cope with the guilt I felt at being told I was a disobedient daughter.
Other times I felt like a useless person because I had no motivation to do anything other than sleep all day. I was the target of my mother’s wrath. She abused me psychologically in ways that were manipulating. I ended up being a villain in each situation and feeling that I was a bad daughter and a terrible person.
Sometimes she would say to my face how useless I was just because something didn’t go well for her that day. Being her punching bag was draining because I often lost track of who I was. I lost my confidence and needed someone to tell me otherwise; to believe I was a better person.
After I had setbacks in high school she got so mad that I felt it was very unfortunate to be me. My life turned dark because I dropped out of school and she didn’t want anything to do with me. I was depressed about leaving school; feeling so alone. My mother turned her back on me and told everyone I was mentally ill so they would stop asking questions about why I wasn’t at school.
I ended up in men’s beds to feel appreciated and to fill up something within me that I didn’t know how to explain. All through that period of time I was buying and taking medications for bipolar 2. I never gave up. I travelled to the city from my hometown to find the best doctors on my own. Even when I was at my worst, I knew I needed to be well. I was tired of the darkness and the bad feelings.
Once, I self-harmed with a razorblade to punish myself for sins I didn’t know how to explain to myself or that didn’t exist at all. Then, one afternoon, I felt I was going to kill myself and the urge grew stronger with each minute. I felt confused while asking myself why my life was so intense and why I was bisexual today and straight the next. I was sleeping on the sitting room floor, pondering why my life felt like hell. I thought about how the opposite would feel… to feel and live better. I knew I couldn’t get out of the darkness unless I stopped feeling I was a victim in this whole story.
That was the beginning of the quest to help myself. I read inspiring stories, took walks, slept enough and started ignoring my mother’s harmful comments.
Early this year, I met a new psychiatrist who diagnosed me with borderline personality disorder. I am now taking the right medication and have therapy when necessary. I am on my journey to recovery and as hard as it might get at times, I feel that over the past 8 years of struggle are worth it because I keep getting better.
Editor note: this entry has been edited for clarity.
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