Diagnosed!

Everyone has a story and everyone's story is different. Everyone goes through hard times in their life, but not everyone deals with it in the same way. Some people bottle it up, other people talk about it. Some people get sad, other people get angry. Some people overthink, other people go out to take their mind off everything. Everyone deals with it differently.

Me, you might wonder—I didn't deal with problems so well. I was one to bottle things up.

Primary school was an okay time for a bit; good student, nice friends, healthy, and altogether just a good kid. Then, the bullying started. At first, I was too young to know and I never realised what was happening. As I got older, I started to realise it more. I was in primary school and I was starting to realise that I shouldn't be being called names, I shouldn't be picked on at my age. I couldn't understand what was happening. I was actually friends with my bully for a few years and now all of a sudden they were calling me horrible names? What did I ever do? Why do they suddenly hate me? I didn't let the names get to me, but after a while they started finding ways to embarrass me as well as starting to physically hurt me. Me being the kid I was, I just let them do it. Near the end of primary, they moved schools, so I suppose you could say I had a short break.

High school came around and the names started all over again. My way of coping was to harm myself. That got me by on a day to day basis, and I was coping. Well, that's what I thought until I lost my Nan. She had lost her battle with cancer. I broke. I remember the day that I got told. I knew what was coming and I refused to listen. My Nan was the best person in my life. She was my second mom, my rock, and my best friend. My heart shattered the day she died. I struggled a lot with her death. My way of coping with that? I stopped eating. I had also tried to end myself twice. As well as being a manic depressive, I had an eating disorder. I kept all of this quiet for five years, so I suppose I struggled a bit more. Everything got too much for me. I had to tell someone.

The best person I knew was my mom. My dad never understood. When I told my mom, she didn't believe me at first, but then when we spoke about it, she looked heartbroken. She thought that she'd failed as a mother and I still, to this day, have to tell her it was never anything she did. It was everything—my nan passing, bullying, worrying about making new friends, school work, a lot of factors contributed. I had a lot of panic attacks, too. I went to see a psychiatrist to then be told I had manic depression, bulimia, and anxiety. I was given sleeping tablets and antidepressants.

It will forever be the hardest thing I had to go through. I used to have my family hide my razors and my blades. They would stand outside the bathroom door to hear if I was purging as well, watching me eat to make sure I was actually eating. It wasn't nice at all. I was slowly deteriorating.

College was a good time in my life. I was never bullied and I had a best friend who was there through everything with me, and I will forever love and cherish them. However, I came to a point in college when my depression got too much, as well as a few other things so I stopped going to college, but I had people around me that loved me and pushed me to do it. I struggled a lot, but I knew I had to do it, otherwise I would never get to do what I want to do. Despite everything, I ended up with a Level three Animal Management diploma.

Things started to get better. I met someone the summer of 2016. They were the best thing to ever happen to me. I was worried they wouldn't understand and leave me because of all the baggage I came with. Who's going to love someone with scars, no self respect, and an eating disorder? They proved me wrong, I can't thank them enough for what they did and still do for me. They understood how I felt, they understood what I was going through, and they were there for me, and still are. I still had trouble with my bulimia while with them, but something saved me. We had a little boy. If it wasn't for him, my parents would have buried me a long time ago. When he is old enough to understand, I will make sure he knows that he saved my life. I still suffer with depression and anxiety, but I have control of them.

Moral of the story: Keep going. Everything gets better. Never give up.