As a child, my parents would ignore my depression warning signs. They always told me to “go outside Makayla” or “it’s all in your head.” I am quite sure I am not the only one who has been told this or experienced these things happen. TRIGGER WARNING.
For days upon end, they never noticed how little I was eating. At the dinner table, I would push my food around on the plate in hopes of it somehow disappearing. They never noticed my weight loss or how tired I was from the lack of food. I felt invisible to the world, especially my own family.
I never spent time with my family or even friends. All I wanted to do was be locked up in a dark room and never see the outside again. You think my parents noticed that I was in my room for hours and hours at a time? No, they didn’t even seem to care. My mom would make comments like, “you never hang out with us anymore.” Well, mom, I wonder why.
You could not get me out of bed to save your life. I would fake being sick so I could stay home and sleep. When in reality I really was “sick”, just not the kind of sickness many people actually care about. It is not like I could say, “Mom I need to have a mental health day.” She would laugh in my face and tell my ass to get dressed.
Mom, did you ever notice all the cuts on my arms and thighs? Did you notice the broken apart razor heads in the bathroom trash can? Did you notice I only wore long sleeves out in public and never went swimming? No, it is not because I hate you, it’s because I hate myself.
Junior year of high school, man was I sucking at life then. The days I went to school I was too messed up to even say “here” when the teacher asked if I was present. I did my best to make it to school. But I guess that doesn’t mean I should’ve gone. I failed all the quizzes and tests that were given to me, copied my way through math, and you received countless calls from teachers. You still didn’t notice…
Blew all my money on Xanax, oxy, weed, and hell, even alcohol. Smoked a ton of cigarettes with people I don’t remember. My parents even got a call from the school guidance counselor saying she heard a rumor that I was “poppin’ pills”. They did nothing about it. It was like I wasn’t existing right then. Mom, I would even go inside your purse and sell the Xanax that was in there.
My whole wardrobe was black. I hated anything with colors in it, never put much effort into my clothes. A black shirt and some black leggings were the majority of my clothes.
This is gross, believe me, I know. I went days without taking a shower, never washing my hair, and didn’t shave for who knows how long. Most days I would forget to brush my teeth (disgusting). I felt worthless and never had enough energy to get up out of bed.
We were sitting at the doctor’s office getting a regular check up for school. That is when I turned to my mom and asked her if I could get on anti-depressants. She looked shocked like I was making it all up. I showed her my scars and cuts…she started to cry. She said she had no clue I was feeling this way. Lies. All lies.
It was Easter of 2015, we had just left church. I went home and got in the bath tub. Underneath a shampoo bottle were some of my razors. I quickly grabbed one, and to spare the details, you know what came next. The water quickly turned a bright red. I later told her what I had tried to do, she burst out into tears and hugged me. The next day I went to therapy and told the therapist what I had done and before I knew it, I was sent off to a rehabilitation hospital. Of course, this is the shortened version of what happened.
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