“Life is a shipwreck but don’t forget to sing on the lifeboats.” -Voltaire

8 months. 229 days. 5,496 hours. 19,785,600 seconds. That was how long, and still counting, it took to prove that hands down… life is a complete shipwreck. In other words we all have our own mini Titanic to dictate our life. At one point in your life, the unsinkable ship somehow seems to do the very thing it wasn’t supposed to do…sink.

At the moment, I’m on a piece of wood like Rose, the heroine in Titanic barely staying afloat till a lifeboat appears. Singing…lets just say its not happening anytime soon.

It all started in April, where everything in my life would change. Ever since I was young, I knew there was something different about me. Certain thoughts that appeared in my head wasn’t what any normal kid would be thinking, where instead they would be thinking about dolls, going to the park, or even bubbles. I always pushed it aside and instead made it my life goal to succeed in the long run. In my mind, it was the only thing to make something right in my not so great life.

I had always thought I had never pressured myself enough, even when I got into the top school in the city. Even when the stress level reached its peak, where I was so busy I barely had time to sleep, eat, or even catch up with my own thoughts; I still thought it wasn’t enough. For it, my personal issues were completely unattended to for two years.

That was my mistake. Letting other people decide for me that I didn’t need help and made myself become even more busy. I added more extracurricular activities on my pile, joined more classes, worked harder and volunteered more. At the same time, I pushed myself further down saying I wasn’t doing well enough or I wasn’t reaching my expectations, that were in reality my families thoughts that I began to believe were mine.

…that was when I broke. I crashed to my furthest point where recovery is far from my sight even today, 8 months later. Everything came out then where I realized that I was far from alright. That I’ve gone through a lot of things earlier than others compared to my age and it wasn’t abnormal. It was just that life was being a bit more stupid towards me, a bit more earlier than it does for others.

That April though, I was blinded by my pain. Such thoughts didn’t find me at the time. Instead I thought I was abnormal, an anomaly. When I was bullied for seven years of my life, since I was a child, I always thought that it was my fault. It was because, it was who was different. Years later when I still see several of these kids who I went to with school since my childhood because they go to the same high school as me, I asked why? Why did everyone bully me? Honestly, what had I done to them to hurt me in the ways they did?

Of all the emotions I felt during that period, bitterness consumed me most of all.  When I remember of how I asked for help from the adults from school, they just gave a scolding and moved on. My family said that it would make me stronger when I got older. It was ironic because the first thing people are taught, when being bullied, is to notify an adult. They were supposed to help you but all I got in return was a new nickname, “a tattle tail” while the adults were nowhere in sight.

However, no one should be subjugated to such treatment. No matter what ridiculous reason anyone comes up with to justify it, like my family did is honestly unacceptable in my opinion.  However, I was young, obedient, and mainly alone when I was younger. With bullies at school and the nonstop fighting of my parents when I got home gave me no place to escape.

Not one day passed without them arguing, screaming, and cursing at each other.I started to become lost to them. I immersed myself into fantasies in my mind while blasting music through my headphones. I was deaf to the world around me and unseeing for I was lost within my daydreams. Whenever my mother or sister asked why I didn’t join them in conversations anymore, I told them I saw no point in it. I would just end up sitting there and listening to them talk. Whenever I would try to say something, it would just fade into the background as if I had said nothing in the first place. I began to think that no one would listen to me, that what I thought had no point or meaning. So, why even try talking to them anymore?

I began to become competitive, my sole purpose was to academically beat the bullies that moved onto middle school with me. It was also the only way to get the attentions of my parents. However, as I began to become popular and to do well in high school, I became immersed in my life. My self esteem began to increase and my hopes of doing well were for my future, not for any other reason.

I moved on but eventually realized that ignoring certain things wasn’t the same thing as moving on. That fateful night in April I was completely alone at home; my mother out of the country, my sister in college, and my father at work. That day lead to the next 8 months of me being holed up in my house with no purpose. It was the day I planned to kill myself.

It scared me. It lead me to admit many things I never admitted to anyone, not even myself ever before. It was ironic because it was also on my 16th birthday. It was about a year after I had asked my family to allow me to meet a therapist but they had this negative view of shrinks but after April I pushed one for myself.

It was then I discovered of my panic disorder, explaining why I often had panic attacks, worried a lot more than others, and cried for hours often under stress. I was also diagnosed with depression explaining my behavior where I stayed in my room,in the dark, for two months without speaking a word to my family.

At the time I didn’t want to admit when they asked why I wasn’t talking but honestly, I hated them and myself. Ever since I was a kid, I had suicidal thoughts as often as drinking water. There was not a day that passed by without one and started as early as five years old. I could remember those thoughts more clearly than the memories of my childhood. Now I’ve realized that having such thoughts are just wrong. Why would anyone want to spend their day’s thinking about dying while their living? I knew I didn’t but nothing would stop them. I can only hope one day they will.

Anyways, these are my confessions. I’ve always been horrible at telling people personal things but I’m spilling the beans here. I’m an open book now…


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