I know it’s been a really long time since I’ve posted anything other than responses to people, and I’m here to offer an honest explanation and tell you some things I’ve been avoiding.
I don’t really want to go all the way back, but I think it’s needed for context, so bear with my rambling for a minute.
I’ve never been very good with people. That may seem shocking to some of you, but that’s because you haven’t met me. Online, I can think and put my thoughts into words, but in real life, I’m not good with words. I often say things wrong because I don’t know how to express it, and a lot of people get annoyed with that. I never really had friends because of that. The only friend I had through childhood was my sister, and that…It wasn’t a good relationship. I’m well aware that siblings fight. That’s normal. But, fights with my sister were far from normal, and they only got worse over time.
I was diagnosed with depression for the first time when I was 7 years old, though I didn’t really understand that at the time. I was put on antidepressants that my parents called ‘happy pills’. They didn’t want to tell me what they were actually called because I was a curious kid, and they knew I’d look it up or ask someone about it.
Over time, I learned to manage it, and they eventually took me off the medicine. For a while, everything was fine. Then, the bullying started. There’s never been a time in my life that I wasn’t bullied by someone. Some of them were outright violent while others were emotionally violent. My sister was the worst of them though. She was manipulative and mean. She talked her friends into hating me and quite frankly, made my life hell. I ate alone in the corner of the cafeteria to avoid people. I flinched every time someone walked too close to me. I would push my dresser in front of my bedroom door because it didn’t lock, and I was afraid of my sister. The saddest thing was that I thought it was normal. I thought it was normal for me to be treated that way because I had never experienced any different. My parents both worked hard to make ends meet, so they weren’t around often, so I really didn’t have a loving relationship with anyone. Even when I learned that I wasn’t supposed to be treated that way, I still didn’t fight back. Maybe it was just because she was the only real constant in my life.
Things kept getting worse though. My sister became physically and emotionally abusive. She treated me horribly, but the worst part was that she convinced me that I deserved it, that I had done something disastrous just by being born. She treated me like I was a disease that she couldn’t get rid of. So, I tried to do the job for her.
I started self harming when I was in 8th grade. I failed classes, lost my will to do anything, and slept through most of the day because nightmares kept me up at night. I wrote my first suicide note that year. I never used it, but I never got rid of it either.
Remember how I said I wasn’t good with words? Yeah, I meant that. I was so bad at them that I wrote my mom a note explaining that I needed help because I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t even say it to her face. Pathetic, huh?
Either way, I got help and was put back on antidepressants. Things didn’t get better though. The abuse escalated, the bullying got worse, and the self harm became more frequent. It was a vicious cycle that I dealt with until 11th grade. The worst year of my life.
That was the year they found my old suicide note. I was put in inpatient care at a hospital that dealt with trauma and mental disorders. That’s where I was diagnosed with Social Anxiety, Depression, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
I got out, and things were better for about two months before things went right back to the way they’d always been. 5 months after that, I tried to overdose on my sleeping pills. Obviously, that didn’t work out since I’m here writing this.
Things actually did start to get better after that. My parents finally realized just how far the damage went, and my sister finally saw just how much pain she’d caused.
Both of us started going to therapy, both, seperate and together. The bullying at school stopped after word got around about what happened. Some of them even apologized to me, and I eventually learned how to forgive them. It didn’t erase what they did, but holding onto all that anger and pain was only hurting me. It was still hard to let it go. I didn’t know what I would be after the pain was gone. I was afraid of finding out. But eventually, the pain of holding on became greater than the fear of letting go, so I’m sure you can imagine which one I chose.
I started writing when I was in 7th grade. I really got into it though shortly after I turned 17. It was my escape, a place where I could dream of anything and live a better life, even if it was only temporary. Writing and Music were my passions. They still are. I have more music than I do anything else, and I have hundreds of documents of things I’ve written on my phone.
I started this blog on a whim as a way of escape for me and anyone else that needed one. This blog grew far beyond anything I thought it would be, and I’ve met so many lovely people because of it. That’s why I’ve been pushing myself so hard to keep posting new content, but one day, I just stopped. I couldn’t think. Ideas were few and far between, and motivation, or lack thereof, became my biggest obstacle.
I felt useless when I wasn’t writing because so many people were using me as their escape. Things got shorter and more rushed because I was trying to cram every ounce of creativity I could into something before my motivation vanished again. It wasn’t good, and after a while, I started to see that my escape had become a chore, something I did just because I felt like I had to, and I hated that.
So, I just stopped posting. For a while, I stopped writing altogether. Then I got in this huge fight with my family, and my sister slapped me for the first time in almost a year. In a way, it was almost like I reverted back to my old self. I pushed the dresser in front of my bedroom door, brought out this old, bulky pair of noise canceling headphones, blared my music, and started writing. I made it through the entirety of my ‘Favorites’ playlist (which is 253 songs) before I took a break, and it felt good because I wasn’t writing for anyone else. I wasn’t writing to impress other people. I was just writing for me.
That’s what I want. I want to write without the worry and pressure. That’s why I’m putting this blog (and all my other writing blogs) on an official hiatus. I’m not saying I’ll be gone forever or that I’ll never write here again. I’ll still be around. You can still message me. I’m not disappearing. I’m just taking more time to let myself recharge so that the times I do come back here, I can come back with the full force of my imagination.
I’m not leaving you guys, so don’t go thinking you’ll never see me again. Whether you send a message, leave a meme, or just like something, I’ll always be there. I’ll always be here.
