If there was one thing I could change about the world, I would bring peace to the nations. I know it’s cheesy, and not very creative, but hear me out.
Since the first grade, I’ve been a victim of verbal abuse. Every once in a while, my peers would switch up the routine – there was a particular winter day where a group of boys pushed me down and shoved snow in my mouth – but it was, thankfully, almost always the same. When telling the household (my mother) of my victimization, my mother would give me no sympathy. She had to deal with bullying, too, so what made my “sob-story” so special?
I had no one to turn to. I was conditioned into being the outcast. With my large stature and inability to make friends, my future was certain to be filled with pain. In fact, it was...for a brief time.
I had no way to unleash my hurt, my anger. I kept it bottled up, just waiting for it to burst at the wrong time. I started to take it out on myself. It was my fault that all these terrible things had happened to me, right? It’s my fault that nobody likes me. I’m the reason my parents split up. I’m the reason we can’t afford to pay bills. It’s my fault my mother hates me…
And at that point, the only goal in my life was to end it all.
I’ve cut myself 30 times. I have seven scars to remind me. I’ve written 10 suicide notes, and I’ve made three attempts to kill myself. I did this all when I was twelve-years-old.
I look at the scars sometimes. Sometimes I spend hours just staring at them, thinking. I don’t think about how idiotic I was. Because I wasn’t. Nobody has the right to call me, or anybody who went through what I did, an idiot. Not unless they’ve gone through it, themselves. Depression can cloud your judgment. Clearly, it can make you do things that you wouldn’t normally do. I wasn’t stupid, and I sure as hell wasn’t selfish. I was sick…
I stare at the scars, because they help me think. They make me think about how lucky I am that I never succeeded at my goal. They make me think about how much I’ve learned over these past few years. Mostly, they make me think about how much I want to help others get through what I did.
It started at a young age, with the bullying. But it can start at any point in life. I don’t care how or when or why depression starts. I only care about how it ends. I will do whatever I can to stop the pain. I will speak out against those that take pride in causing hurt. I will change the world for the better.
Depression starts everywhere…but it will end with me.