I was born into a family that had a few problems of their own. My father has had a problem with alcohol and served time in jail for a DUI. My mother has suffered with depression and tried to commit suicide in her early twenties, she also had postpartum depression after my younger brother, Jake, was born. My sister, Nicole, has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and also used to be a cutter. Jake seems to be the normal one in the family, although he does have some anger issues. Ahh, that leads to me, the middle child. My mother used to say that I have “the middle child syndrome.” But that was when I was younger. I never used to voice my opinions, or speak my mind. I was constantly mediating between my brother and sister, and I didn’t get as much attention as Nicole or Jake. It’s hard for me to remember what happened in my life from ages 1 to 9. Maybe I blocked it out, or maybe nothing eventful happened. I guess I had a “normal” childhood. I had friends, played outside, and loved to dress up in my mom’s old clothes. When I was 8 or 9 my parents separated, and eventually got divorced. I was full of anger. It was a time of rage, tears, and family therapy. My mother had what you could call a breakdown. She started smoking again and spent days in the basement typing on our old school typewriter. My sister decided that she hated my father and never really dealt with her feelings. My brother was so young, and he thought it was his fault. Jake cried a lot, because he always looked to my dad as a role model. I didn’t really know what to do. On all of my favorite TV shows the mother and father lived in the same house, and didn’t go on dates. I thought there was something wrong with my family, and that is when I started distancing myself from them. I closed myself off and didn’t tell them anything about my life. My dad had a girlfriend named Cindy, and she had 4 children. Whenever we we’re supposed to go to my dad’s for the weekend, we would see her. I was afraid to tell my mom we saw Cindy, because I didn’t want to upset her. So I lied, and told my mom we spent the weekend at grandma’s or Dad’s apartment. Jake eventually told my mom what we really did, and then I felt bad for lying. I was trapped. And I didn’t know what to do. My sister developed anorexia by the time I has 12, and in 7th grade. At a height of 5’7 Nicole weight a whopping 110 pounds. Considering I wanted to be just like her, I asked her how to lose weight. She told me to eat an orange, and only an orange, all day. Thus my obsession with food and weight was born. I bought every magazine about skinny celebrities. I cut out pictures of anorexia-esque models and taped them up all over my bedroom walls. I thought that if I looked like them then I would be normal, happy, and popular. Soon that statement would become, I have to look like them. I never realized I was fat until I entered middle school. A world full of MTV, Cosmo Girl, and boys. All of the popular girls at my school were skinny and pretty. I wanted to be thin just like them. I wanted boys to like me, and I just wanted to fit in. I wanted to fit in so badly because I never felt normal. I always felt weird, different, like no one was ever going to understand me. I have always put a lot of weight on beauty. I felt ugly, and looking in the mirror made me cry. Looking at my sister made me jealous, because she has always been thin and still is now. When I entered 8th grade, everything changed. I started wearing all black, and I was very depressed. I started cutting this year, and it was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. If I could take back one thing in my life it would be the fact that I am a cutter. My greatest downfall. I started wearing all black and chopped off my long blonde hair. I got made fun of everyday. I cried in the bathroom and smeared my heavy black eyeliner. I got called fat, ugly, gay, disgusting, etc. My self-esteem was already non-existent. No one realizes how much he or she hurt me by teasing. I pretended to be strong and acted like I didn’t care. I was then, and still am now, a weak little girl. Maybe I should mention James. He entered my life when I was 13, and hasn’t quite exited yet. We have dated and broken up many times in the past 4 years. I couldn’t put on paper how many times he has hurt me, but I also couldn’t tell you how many times I have hurt him. Ours is a story of love, or lack thereof. I wish I could take back a lot of things I’ve said to him, but I can’t. Starting High School, I was like a fish out of water. I was scared of going to a new place, and meeting new people. I didn’t like the unfamiliar, and still don’t. I hated not knowing what was going to happen. I started cutting on a daily basis, and couldn’t go without it. Whenever anything happened that I didn’t know how to deal with, I cut. I thought about killing myself everyday, all of the time. I went to sleep at night hoping I wouldn’t wake up. I couldn’t concentrate on my schoolwork, and my grades were dropping. I was admitted to Harbor Oaks for the first time in October of my freshman year. I entered Harbor Oaks 4 times that year. During the summer between 9th and 10th grade I started starving myself and throwing up any food I consumed. I was obsessed with Mary Kate Olsen. I had pictures of her everywhere. Most of that summer is a blur. I went to Florida with my family, but all I remember from that trip is what I ate and where I threw up. I ended up losing 20 pounds in 1 month. Mohegan opened my sophomore year. I had developed a severe social anxiety during the summer and when I thought about going to school it scared me. I didn’t want to go to school let alone talk to new people. My sister went to Mohegan with me, and she was the only person I talked to for the first few weeks there. I went to Harbor Oaks that year around October. I was cutting more than ever, and deeper than I ever had before. My arms were so cut up you could barely see any skin, only scabs and wounds. This was the year I got into drugs. It was me I was trying to get away from when I used. I wanted to run away from myself and never have to remember my life again. I was still cutting. I had never been the type of person to do drugs, and I hated myself for it. But I kept using to try to forget everything. My stint with drugs was all about getting away, and trying to be a different person. I just didn’t want to keep feeling the way I felt so I did anything to change it. I wasn’t ready to accept that I am who I am, and no matter how hard I try nothing is going to make me a different person. The overdose in the intro happened around now. I cried, I cut, I took too many pills. During my junior year I got involved with a few boys, but those relationships fell apart quicker than they started. I had developed severe insomnia and spent my nights reading and smoking cigarettes. My schoolwork was slipping and I became more unstable than ever before. I stopped taking my medication, because I thought I didn’t need it anymore. Eventually everything that goes up must come down, and I crashed. I went to Harbor Oaks, and I was told by a social worker there that I was argumentative and hard to get along with. That made me furious. I wanted to rip off the social workers head, but how normal would that make me seem? So I pretended that I didn’t care, because I had gotten so used to doing that. That year school ended on a good note. I was happy to leave and that it was finally summer. I told myself that this was going to be the summer that I would lose 30 pounds and maybe turn into the beautiful girl I was always supposed to be. I stopped taking the new medication I was put on at Harbor Oaks. Because it made me feel different. It made me feel like I need chemicals in my body to be a normal person. I didn’t want to be crazy anymore. I wanted to be like everyone else. I wanted to be perfect. I wanted to be pretty. I wanted to look like Kate Hudson. My senior year of high school started and so did a prolonged state of mania. Mania is a phase in Bipolar Disorder where you get very happy and feel rather invincible. I didn’t eat for days, I was hyper and happy. I felt like I was on top of the world. For the first time in a long time I actually wanted to be alive. I wanted to experience everything. Those feelings didn’t last. I tripped and fell into a black hole. I didn’t want to be alive anymore. I didn’t move or shower. I stayed in my basement for days and lay on my bed until I got hungry. I went upstairs, got a Diet Coke and Cheez-its and returned to my bed. I refused to go to school for a week. I tried to go to school one day but sat in the bathroom stall crying until my mom returned to get me. Even though I know the floor is harder than my face, I just keep falling. I went to Harbor oaks and I was put on 6 medications: Cymbalta Trileptol Ritalin Synthroid Seroquel Dyseral The Ritalin made me hyper because I don’t have ADD or ADHD. I loved it.