a bit of hope?

I've struggled with depression long before I knew the term for it. Looking back on it the signs were all there, but getting help was so heavily stigmatized. My parents emotionally abused me as a child and also physically punished me. They were struggling to cope with various external stressors and I was struggling to find a reason to keep living. I constantly thought about the idea of just not existing but I was too scared to actually do anything to harm myself. I was scared of pain, yet my brain craved it. I tried opening up to my closest friends and I got gaslighted due to ignorance. I think the theme of most of my trauma stems from stigma and ignorance.

Fast forward to two years ago and I finally found a reason to ground me. I discovered a sport, fencing. It instilled a sense of worthiness and gradually repaired my self-esteem. I struggled to cope with my trauma which was triggered by the amount of yelling my coach did, despite them not being angry. At this point, I was doing better than before, but I also feared regressing back into that low again, so I was satisfied with the neutral-ish state I was in.

Now it's the middle of the pandemic. The isolation was horrible and I coped by sleeping through the entire in order to avoid facing it head-on. My dog also passed suddenly and I could not cope with it in a healthy way. Up until then, I had not acted on my self-harm urges, and the day I finally caved, it scared me. If I couldn't even keep a promise to not harm myself, how would I ever trust myself? That day I knew I needed to ask for help and my parents shocked me that day as well. Something I realized is that people will hurt you. They'll hurt you so bad, you feel like it's impossible to be understood. But I'm glad I took a chance that day. I asked for therapy and I finally got professional help. Did the struggle end? No, therapy isn't magic.

Therapy has been a difficult journey. For most of the beginning, it was a constant internal struggle. One part of me wanted to revert to self-destruction simply because it was familiar and easier than change. The other part of me knew I deserved better. I took it upon myself to practice healthy coping skills, but that didn't mean I didn't stumble and fall along the way. My self-harm actually got worse after starting therapy and I felt drained all the time. But it was all worth it in the end. Now, I can proudly say I've been five months clean and my mental state has been relatively stable. I even feel motivated now.

Wow, this post is poorly organized, but this is the actually HOPEFUL part. The people who hurt me in the past are now people I trust talking to. They made mistakes in the past-- horrible mistakes that I still struggle with the aftereffects of, but people can change. It's just that change really sucks. There's not really any way around that. It's horrible in the beginning, but it gets better. I can promise you that.