My depression started when I was 8. My Grandfather had passed away and it was my first experience with death. I wasn't very close with him, but his death shed new light on everything. That's it. He was gone forever. I wrote about death in my journal in 4th grade which was obviously not smart because my teacher found it and immediately called my mom for a conference. I was then taken to a therapist to discuss my feelings and work on my "anger problem". It didn't help anything. At 11, my mom attempted suicide and spent a lot of time in the hospital. We visited daily during the visiting time of 7-7:30. I hated that place because I blamed myself for her stress and unhappiness. I still do. I began cutting when I was 16 and began my first relationship with a boy I had known since childhood. Things were great at first. After a year, the violence started. I thought it was normal and blamed myself for his anger. We moved in together after graduation and I became pregnant soon after. The abuse never stopped. I tried to leave, but I would always come back. He had embedded in me that I would never find anyone else better than him. I believed him. We stayed together for 5 years. One night, after an argument, I took a handful of blood pressure pills (20) and anti-depressants (20) and downed a wine cooler. I knew it wouldn't kill me, but I hoped it would. I went to a psychiatrist a month later and was diagnosed with BP1, OCD, ADHD and anxiety. I have since stopped taking my meds since I believe nothing will ever help me. I developed a problem with pills and alcohol which I am still battling. I find it hard to deal with life without the help of something. I have left that relationship and I am now living alone with my son. My parents hate me because I am so emotionally unstable, and I'm spending my birthday alone today. I wonder sometimes if I would be missed.