The Start of an Emotional Journey

I was just a regular girl, debating on what I was going to do with my life. I sat there in class, at First Choice Academy, where I was currently taking my CNA (certified nurses aid) classes. My instructor was very nice and was a nurse, on top of being a teacher! He was really understanding, a great listener and tried to give the best advice without sounding rude but also being 100% honest. I immediately felt like I could trust him. As we are going over our textbook, we were on the topic of depression, anxiety- mental health in general. I remember our discussion of it not being a “normal behavior.” After reading that and hearing it, it just made me feel not normal. I feel these feelings all the time, thinking it’s a normal thing to experience. It is a common diagnosis but it’s not “normal.” One day I showed up to class.. late, which isn’t like me. I’m always on time, if not early! I had gotten into an argument with my boyfriend beforehand and it made an impact on my mood that day. My bad day was written all over my face, according to the teacher and asked me what was wrong. It was hard to talk about. It was a very sensitive subject. I was being abused by my boyfriend, who almost didn’t let me take these classes in the first place. I told my instructor I was fine. I was just having a bummy day. He knew I was lying. He knew something else was wrong. I got home that same night, my classes were from 430 to 930. My boyfriend and I got into another argument. I ended up texting Marc, my instructor and asking him a question that we learned in class earlier that week. I already knew the answer. I just wanted to hint that I was in desperate need of help without actually saying the words “I need help.” “Is depression normal?” was my question. Then he really knew something was up. I was depressed, anxious, scared, ashamed. I was feeling so many emotions I didn’t know how to handle them all at once. I was in such a toxic and abusive relationship. I was always being choked, hit and called horrible names. I was a punching bag for this man that I really loved and who claimed to love me back. But how do you hurt the one you supposedly love? I was raped multiple times but was told it was “okay because we were in a serious relationship.” I was 19, young and dumb and always blame myself for what happened. Anyways, during this time of CNA classes and finally opening up about being in an abusive relationship. I developed an old habit that got out of hand again. I was self harming. My depression was to the point where I hit rock bottom. I didn’t want to live anymore. I wanted out of that relationship. I was just too scared to leave. What would happen if I tried? I had no one else to turn to. I remember telling my boyfriend one day in front of a group of people that I was done and didn’t want to be with him anymore. I did this on purpose so I had witnesses and didn’t feel as scared because I didn’t think he would hurt me in front of them. It took me a while to find a place to stay so I slept in my car and found places to park overnight. My best friend talked to her family about letting me stay there for a while after explaining some of the stuff I had been through recently. That night was a bad night. I was an emotional wreck. I didn’t understand what was going on. I honestly thought I was dreaming because I was finally able to get out. It didn’t seem real. Unfortunately, that’s when the self harm got worse. I went into my friend's bathroom and opened my new knife I had bought because my older ones weren’t as sharp and weren't leaving me satisfied enough. I sliced my arm three times, and on the last time I saw my skin literally cut.. like butter. There was blood everywhere. My arm was exposed through so many layers of skin. I could even see the fatty tissue, which is what the doctor told me the yellow, tendon looking string looked like. I was too afraid to go to the hospital because I didn’t want to be sectioned and knew that I needed stitches. I didn’t tell anyone until one day I felt brave enough to message Marc and tell him I had a problem. I opened up to him about my self harm and cutting, my emotions and being raped and beaten on a daily basis. He knew something serious was going on after I started talking to him, especially being on a day we didn’t have class. He asked me what was wrong and I told him I knew I cut too deep but I didn’t know what to do and that I was scared to go to the hospital. I took a picture and sent it to him. He told me I needed to go to the hospital because it was too deep, black and definitely had an infection going on. I bravely went to the hospital after texting Marc but he reassured me everything was going to be okay. I got to the hospital. I was sobbing for hours and so vulnerable at the time. I didn’t tell anyone I was at the hospital. The only person who knew was Marc. The doctor came in, looked at my arm and had asked me how long it had been before making the decision to go to the E.R. I waited two days, which was two days too late to get stitches, without them having to re-cut my arm back open and stitch it shut. I declined and just got it scrubbed clean and bandaged. I was asked all the basic questions, like if I felt suicidal or if I was going to go back home and keep hurting myself. I couldn’t answer these questions because as they were being asked the only response I had was tears. I couldn’t face reality at this point. I willingly took some medications to help calm me down and sedate me and then stayed at the hospital overnight. But this was just the beginning.