This is a warning that in this post I will be discussing potentially triggering topics. These topics will include self harm, addiction, eating disorders, abuse and suicide.

When you look at this girl, what do you see? Most people when I ask say beauty, confidence, a free spirit and of course happiness. They say a girl that has her whole life ahead of, the life of the party.

What if I told you that this girl, the one you see happiness beaming from, is actually depressed. She has self inflicted cuts and burns on her thighs, her stomach and her wrists with scars that had been present since she was in the 5th grade. She has struggled with eating disorders, both anorexia and bulimia. Two months after this photo is taken, 3 days after her 16th birthday, this young girl will be hospitalized for her 7th suicide attempt.

How do I know all of this? This girl was me.

There was a point in my life where I’d never have been able to talk about this openly. There was a point in my life where I was embarrassed. I was bullied a lot as a child, being called chubby when I was in the 1st grade and being told my hair looked like a birds nest. A classmate, someone I believed to be a friend, passed a note around multiple different grade, getting people to sign it saying I was ugly. I was in the 5th grade.

My grandfather was an alcoholic and when I was in the 7th grade I was forced to watch my dad start slipping into the same pattern. I had to beg my dad to come to my 8th grade graduation. I was woken up at 2am to him vacuuming the entire house when I was in the 9th grade. When I was in the 10th grade the verbal and physical abuse began. When I was in the 10th grade, my dad was arrested. That wasn’t the worst of it though.

When I was hospitalized, I felt like things could finally turn around. I felt like I was finally getting the help I needed and that my downwards spiral was being halted to a stop. The eight days I spent in the hospital were eye opening and educational.

In the hospital I was diagnosed with moderate to severe depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder and post traumatic stress disorder. While it was traumatizing and scary, these disorders opened doors to treatment opportunities. I began intensive therapy sessions and multiple different medications. I began learning about my disorders and understanding what I could do to be in control. It was life changing.

When I got home though, things came to a halting stop. You see, I got to decide who could come and visit me in the hospital and every day I stopped my dad from coming to see me. My mom was also given resources to look into for when I get home, and my dad saw them. He was in denial and refused to admit that he was an alcoholic. Not even getting arrested had changed his mind.

The day I got home from the hospital my dad was pissed. Less than five minutes after getting home he confronted me, the conversation was intense. He looked me in the eye and told me that the day he kills himself I should know that its my fault. That I would be the one to blame. I cried, I broke down and all the control that I thought I had gained in the hospital was gone. My mom ended up taking me to a family friends house, genuinely thinking that she was going to be taking me back to the hospital again.

Those couple of hours allowed me to gain control though, it allowed me to realize that I had the tools and resources to deal with this situation. We went back to my house. I confronted my dad, I told him exactly like it was. That he was an alcoholic, that he caused a lot of the problems that led me to being hospitalized and that he wasn’t someone I could call dad anymore. I didn’t hold back. 6 and a half years later, that was the last time that I spoke to him.

My dad was my best friend, I was your typical daddy’s little girl. Alcohol changed him though, he became someone I didn’t know. Now, at 22, the last memories of my dad if him telling me that he was going to kill himself and I was going to be to blame.

There was definitely a part of my life where I hated him. Where I despised the fact that because of him I now struggle to trust men, and find myself flinching when they come near me. He’s the reason that I will be dealing with the demons inside my head, he’s the reason that post traumatic stress disorder will forever need to be something I deal with.

During the 11th and 12th grade I found my stride, continuing therapy and ensuring to use the tools and resources to help me through all the difficult points. I found myself relapsing a couple times, but always managed to get myself back on track.

First year changed some things though. I found myself reflecting back on my past and spending a lot of time alone. I realized that I had put myself in a lot of unsafe situations and has dealt with a lot of unhealthy relationships. A lot of the guys I had dated had treated me poorly, the majority of them actually cheating on me.

I was a girl with unresolved daddy issues and it was causing me to seek out attention from men, even if it meant getting treated poorly.

My school offered a lot of mental health services and after fighting myself while in denial of how bad things really were, I was able to seek help. I began speaking to the in school counsellors and was able to get back on a medication.

At the end of my first year of university, after 5 years of unexplained medication situations, I finally had a diagnosis. I officially had epilepsy. While I was relived for an answer, I was also scared. I was being told at 19 that things were going to change. I was going to be put on medication that I’d have to take for the rest of my life. Drinking alcohol would be something I’d need to control. My brain processing was going to slow and I would need extra time to complete assignments and write tests. Having kids would be something I’d need to plan out and may even be something that could put my life in danger. I was told I cannot drive, and may never be able to.

About 8 months after I wad diagnosed with epilepsy my world would be thrown through a loop. I was put on anti-depressants at the beginning of the school year and I felt like things just kept getting worse. That’s because they were though.

You see, when an individual is put on an anti-depressant and their symptoms become worse including suicidal ideations, that’s not a good sign. It can actually be a sign that the individual isn’t just dealing with depression. Not long into the second semester of my second year, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

This was terrifying. No, not the diagnosis. Through therapy and medication I would be able to get my diagnosis under control. What scared me was what this meant.

Studies have shown that bipolar is a genetic condition. My dad was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. After talking to a professional, I quickly discovered that my condition was most likely a genetic that was passed on to me by my dad. Another thing to add to the list of demons that were brought into my life because of my dad.

Now why am I sharing all of this? What am I trying to achieve?

Well, in just a few months I will be turning 23. I have graduated university. I am taking online classes, working towards a certificate of achievement in Crisis Intervention Theoretical Training. I am pursing a career that I am insanely passionate about. I’m a cat mom. I not only can drive, but I own a car. While there are scars all over my body, they’re starting to fade. I’m still taking medication, but I feel like I really do have control over my mental health. I have a blog and I get to write and share what I love with some really amazing people.

The point I’m trying to make is despite my mental health issues, the abuse, the amount of medication I have taken and continue to take, the bullying, my dad, my epilepsy, the self-harm, and multiple different suicide attempts, I’m still here. I’m living proof that you CAN get through it. That your life CAN be more. Your life can be AMAZING. Whether you’re dealing with one mental illness, five, or you’re just struggling with your mental wellness, you can still have a quality of life. You can still succeed.

I want everyone to know that there is hope. Our mental illnesses to do need to define who we are. I promise that seeking help does help, and that there are tools and resources to help you.

If you’re looking to seek help, or want to support someone in seeking help, but don’t know what to do or how to go about it, my inbox is always open. Whether you need a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on or someone to help you find the resources you need, I am more than willing to be and do all of those things.

When we replace I wish we, illness becomes wellness 💕