I believe that words can hurt. Some people may not believe this, but that’s probably because they are the ones speaking the words. I know from first-hand experiences that I’ve had throughout my life to back up my belief.
I can get pretty “down” sometimes when people say something bad about me, everyone does. But having it happen constantly over the years has really affected me. I now suffer from severe teen depression, I’m just too afraid to tell anyone. I really do want help; I just don’t know how to ask.
I used to help myself by drinking and popping pills. I thought it was helping, but I think it just made it worse. It was really hard to hide it, plus I had gotten caught by my mom that November, so I decided to quit last January. But quitting just made it that much worse. Now every time I think about it, I get really bad mood changes because of the withdrawals.
Just these last couple of months since starting school, I changed from having my own little group of friends, to being almost virtually alone. They all started to give up on me because I wouldn’t stop with the pills, and they hated seeing me hurt myself. I have casual acquaintances here and there, but no one to turn to when I’m down. So I hide my emotions, locking them up in my own prison in my mind. But it’s been getting too crowded, which has recently triggered the outbursts.
Luckily however, I do have my girlfriend, and I can always rely on her to get me cheerful again. But lately I’ve noticed that I’ve been putting her in the shadows a bit, I don’t even know why. I definitely don’t try to do it intently.
It doesn’t really help that I carry depression in my family’s genes either. The majority of people to have depression in my family are women; I am one of only a few men.
Throughout my short fifteen years of life, I’ve had people very close to me that have thought of, tried to, and even committed suicide. These people all being very close friends, and various family members.
A lot of my friends have tried cutting themselves to ease their pain; they say it helps them a lot. I think it is just hurting them more and more.
When my sister attended this school back in ’94, she hung herself in the girl’s bathroom during a track meet. Luckily though, a teacher had known this and rushed in to cut her down, before it was too late. If it weren’t for him, I surely would have lost the only sibling of mine that I truly love and respect.
I found out that that teacher still works at this high school to this day. He’s actually one of my teachers. I still need to thank him, but I truly don’t know how. Do I just walk up to him and be all like, “Thanks for rescuing my sister?”
My sister was really popular, she was smart too, at the top of her class actually, and she was a sports star. So why do it? Why on earth would she want to, having all of the potential she did? It was because of one word, one simple little measly word. That person almost murdered my sister with that one word. I don’t know why they said it, but I bet they’re pretty sorry that they did.
At least my sister learned to get passed what happened. Now she’s doing her internship at some military base here in Washington. So that she can fulfill her dream of becoming a doctor. I don’t know what I would do without her; she’s one of the few good influences I have in my life. I really wouldn’t want to be almost thirty, and be addicted to meth or pot like my other brother and sister.
A few weeks ago, my mom reminded me that it was the sixth year that has passed since my aunt’s death. She too had tried to commit suicide. Sadly though, she had no one there to save her.
She had had her teeth pulled two days before, in order to get her dentures. Having this procedure done allowed her to obtain a prescription bottle of hydrocodone (pain killer). She had been pretty depressed the last couple of days, so my other aunt allowed her to stay over at her house. The aunt of mine that owned the house discovered her lifeless body on the hide-a-bed the following morning. On the table next to her sat the orange bottle, and white lid, which had only a few of the pills left sitting in it.
I’m not trying to ask for your sympathy, but only to share my most personal stories which no one else has heard, in order to inform you that words CAN hurt. Not many people understand what strong weapons they truly can be, but they need to.