My story so far:

So I have had depression on and off since I was 10. At 10 I wanted to die, I hated life and I was miserable. One day a friend of mine pointed it out and I was shocked. I had no idea anyone could truly see me and what I was like. From that day forward I vowed I wouldn't be that person anymore. I would be that happy, sociable, beautiful person people want to get to know. From then on, I was definitely the happiest sad person you could ever meet.
I had some eating problems throughout those years and had major performance and social anxiety throughout highschool but I was never officially diagnosed.

Not until my third year of university (2006) did I seek therapy or see a psychiatrist. I have some trauma in my past and in the fall my friends persuaded me that it was essential for me to get over this trauma so I could live a normal life. I definitely avoided contact with the opposite sex as well as any type of relationships with them. I started seeing a counsellor, who I still see today, and that was the beginning of the end. I started cutting, a lot. In a month I had two hospital visits and six stitches and 3 staples from cutting. On my second visit I was given an ultimatum to be hospitalized on the spot or ensure my safety if I wasn't. I wasn't admitted but days later, after an incident unsuccessfully running for knives, my friends took me to the hospital and I was admitted for a 9 days. Because I was admitted I lost my job and then I spent the rest of the month trying to get it back. I did, but it really wasn't what I should have been focusing on at the time.

In February 2007, was when I began to feel suicidal and would continue to feel suicidal for two more years. I became obsessed with death and planning my demise. My suicide plan involved laying on train tracks and being run over, chopping off my head. I would walk to this spot by the train station and think and wait for trains, but none ever came.

I was hospitalized for suicidal thoughts in December 2007 and May 2008. Finally in August 2008 I was sent to an inpatient facility for three months. It definitely addressed many of my issues and I learned to not hate myself anymore. I truly believe that without that experience I would not be alive today. That year since I was in the hospital I had to take a year off of university and move home. My hometown is a hole. I basically spent 10 months by myself and working.
In February 2009, while I was living at home, I was really suicidal again and something extremely bizarre happened. I went to bed one night and the next thing I know I am downing a bottle of pills and I heard someone say "It is time to do to the emergency room now, Dr. Roy said so". The next thing I remember I am skipping across the hospital parking lot in my slippers and pajamas. These memories are just fragments until much later when I am in the hospital, very confused, and trying to go home. I was admitted to the psych unit because apparently when I got there I talked to the crisis counsellor and told them I was trying to kill myself and I would do it again if I got the chance. SO FUCKED UP. They didn't believe me it wasn't a suicide attempt. When I told them I don't remember any of it they thought I was lying. That is when my suicidal thoughts stopped.
A month later the same thing happened except I was pulled over by the police on my way to the hospital. I didn't get admitted this time because I was able to tell the crisis nurse that I didn't know what happened. After this time all my medications were taken away and my mom had to give them to me daily as well as I wasn't allowed to drive anymore.

After more months of recuperating, I finally was well enough to start working and driving again. In May I got a full time job and worked all the way until September 2009 when I came back to school.

Now I am here, back at university and as stressed as ever. I see my psychiatrist once a month, my counsellor once a month and my support worker once a week. It really is a full time job trying to keep yourself well. I think so many people take it for granted that they are well and able to be well without effort.

Although I am doing much better than I have been at any point in the last three years, I am still struggling to stay well and encounter ups and downs on a daily basis.

As it stand, my diagnoses are depression, post-traumatic stress disorder and borderline personality disorder.

I plan on using this blog as an outlet and a place where I can drain my head of its thoughts no matter how disturbing or ridiculous. Time to go to class...

Have a lovely day. Stay safe.