Hello everyone, My names Krissy and I live in the United States and I am 19 years old. I'm a friend of the admin of this website and I told him I'd give some help to users here who feel things are so bad, they can't move on. I was previously diagnosed with manic depression, or commonly known as bi-polar disorder. I'm two years out of rehab, so I figured I would share my story to help people through the things they are going through. I had a lot of underlying issues when I was finally checked into a rehab center for 2 failed suicide attempts. When I was seven years old, my fifteen year old cousin sexually abused me in the back bedroom of our grandmother's house. I didn't understand what that was, so I didn't protest, I didn't know any better, but I thought I had done something wrong. Which, that isn't the case. A seven year old, or anyone else for that matter, should not have to deal with those kinds of things, but, I held it in. I went on living life, pushing it to the back of my mind, being somewhat afraid of men in general. It wasn't bad enough to shy me away from boyfriends in the future, it just messed me up mentally. All throughout the years of my life, my father has been on the sidelines, occasionally calling me or emailing me for birthdays and holidays. My parents were divorced when I was 5, so I've always felt bad for not having a father figure. I felt dejected at school during social events where parents were invited because my father wasn't around and my mother worked all day. The closest thing I had to actual parents with me everyday, all day were my grandparents. I lived with them until i was age 12. My mother got re-married to a very nice man who treats her well and I had to move from all of my familiar stuff to a town where I didn't know anyone or had no friends. I went through 6th and 7th grade with 2-3 friends and little hope for having much more than those friends that I had. Junior High School came around and I kept to myself, occasionally engaging in social activities. I still didn't have many friends and I always got bullied. I kept pushing through, thinking 'this has got to get better, this can't be life.' Finally, freshman year of high school came around, and thats when things took a turn for the worse. I had got into hanging out with the wrong crowd. I drank until i couldn't see straight, puked and passed out day after day. I'd also goto parties with the "in crowd" and do drugs. I was living off of alcohol and drugs for a year before my friend got sent away for commiting suicide. I had lost my best friend. I cried for a few days and realized, she needed help. My mother told me everyday I was worthless, that I wasn't going to make myself into anything. I was told I was ugly everyday and so that's what I thought. I was brain washed into thinking I was these things I wasn't. Soon after my friend was sent away, my aunt passed away from kidney failure, which ironically my mother had also. I was scared to death of losing my mother, even though she gave lousy support half the time. I didn't want to think of what would happen to me if I had to go live with my dead beat father. I mourned her loss and began to heal myself by locking away my heart and every emotion I felt. I just didn't want to be hurt anymore. I became an icy girl and stayed up late at night, carving up my arms with razors; hell I used what was sharp. Pretty soon, I was drinking, doing drugs, staying up late and bleeding. That's what life was for me for 2 years. I faked happiness for everyone else and hid the true emotions. The sleepless nights, the blood loss, the mind loss. Everything. I was a happy girl to everyone else, but behind closed doors, i was aching and begging for help. I was very close to my grandparents, seeing they practically raised me. I love them to death. My grandfather was diabetic and had respiratory problems. I knew he wasn't going to last long when he started having mini strokes. I was scared everyday, to get that phone call from a family member, saying he was gone. I visited him everyday in the ICU and spoke to him all the time, even when he was unconscious. I still feel so guilty about his death. He passed on four years ago from Asbestos poisoning, which led to lung cancer. On the day of his funeral, I just wanted to crawl into the casket myself and go with him. Go to sleep forever with my poppy. I held his corpse around the neck tight, sobbing into his cold chest. I wanted nothing more than to say goodbye, which I never got to do. I feel guilty because he was on so many drugs, he would hallucinate that I was standing at the bottom of his hospital bed. He would beckon for me to come, but I just stood there, ignoring him. I'm so afraid, even now, that he hated me when he died because my hallucination didn't listen to him. This is what pushed me over the edge. I lost it and slit my wrists. It wasn't that deep, thank god, but my mom had unknowingly walked into my room and saw me. She yelled at me and hugged me, crying, asking 'why me?!' to an invisible force. I didn't understand...I wanted to be better, I wanted to feel good, but I just couldn't. We had a talk and I agreed to get better, without medical attention. Promises are broken everyday. 2 weeks later I swallowed half a bottle of anti-depressants. My heart rate slowed down, I couldn't see straight and I was delayed with responses of all kinds. I couldn't talk and I was immediately rushed to rehab where I was analyzed and submitted to a ward. I spent 6 months in the ward, with people who had it worse than I did. They found out I did drugs and my mom and stepdad came to visit everyday. I did therapy sessions everyday also. I didn't like group therapy, I was always a loner, I still kind of am. I had a social worker assigned to my case and she had spoken to me about my real father, and thats when I let go of my emotional barrier. I realized, if I truly wanted everything I had back, I would need to sacrifice the small world I had built inside myself for it. I told her about the sexual abuse. I was asked if I wanted to press charges, but I said no. It was 10 years too late by then and it would just drive my family further apart than they already are. I spoke about the negligence of my father also. They even phoned him and had him come in. He cried at my feet, begging for forgiveness. I got letters and cards from everyone I knew. I knew it; I had to change. I didn't want to die forever. It's now April 17th, 2007 and I'm two years out of rehab. I've done so well I've been taken off anti-depressants and I no longer have the urge to kill myself. I know this is different for everyone, but things get better. I've reunited with my father and we are working towards achieving father-daughter status. I'm in college and doing well and I've got a handful of true friends. Sure, I have my depressing moments, but I grab my diary and write a poem, or vent at the poor diary. It's seen a lot of abuse, to be honest. I know there are people out there reaching for help. Don't EVER be afraid to ask! You are granted mental health rights no matter what. No one can live your life for you or make your decisions. Life sucks sometimes, but it also has so many things to offer. I know some of you may not have friends, but there is AT LEAST one other person out there who will sacrifice anything for you. My friend is currently going through major depression and I've pulled her off that ledge so many times, i can't count them on my fingers now. I don't mind if you guys email me or message me, just wanting to talk, or a friend. I'd be happy to listen to you and offer advice. aixelsydevahii [at] hotmail.com <---email. you can always ask for msn/aim screen names later. but please, don't be afraid to voice yourself. this is something serious, if you have a problem, get help. you can't fix everything yourself, i sure couldn't. i owe my success to medication, therapists, an understanding family and a best friend who hasn't left my side since she was born. remember, it always gets better, even if the light on the other end of the tunnel gets dimmer each day, its still there.