Sad Stories

This Is My Story – A Real Depressed Life Story

(The only reason I’m writing this is because I can’t go to sleep and I really don’t think many people will read all that bunch of text below this so for personal benefit, I’m doing this to just get it off my chest.)

This is a true story. This is my story.

It was just after summer holidays, I was 14 years old at the time. Just the first week back into school at the start of September. I didn’t mind it, I was just like any other student going back. Just eh, something that has to be done. So the first few days back were fine. Nothing different then any other year. The first few days go by, no problem. Just getting back into the routine of school again.

One day, as I went out into the school yard at lunch time as usual, for no particular reason at all, I decided that I would take it slow today you know, might have been tired or didn’t get enough sleep or something, I can’t remember. But what I did was, instead of going around with my friends and talking, laughing and playing, I leant against the fence and just kinda watched. I just watched everyone, doing there own thing. Everyones got there own things going on, it was interesting. On the left, there’s people playing basketball and stuff, on the right you’ve got people sat on the floor chillin’ and talking. I was just observing and just started thinking:

What the hell are we all really doing here? On this planet I mean. I started questioning the theory of evolution, different religious beliefs and stuff just trying to figure out what’s true and what isn’t. Basically, I was just overthinking about everything and it lead me to a question, why are we doing this? Why are we growing up, going to school, studying, going to college and then working for our whole lives when we are just going to end up dying? And thats when it hit me.

I realized then, in that moment.
I don’t know what I’m doing. Why am I alive? Why should I go to school and get an education for a job and then die whereas I could stay at home, grow up and still get a job, maybe not a good one but still, I’m going to end up dying either way. The end result is the same.
After all that thinking, I questioned everything that happened for the next few days. Is there a god? Is there a heaven? Is this all for nothing?

It was September the 11th, 2012. And things went only downhill from there.
My life had become a dark, deep pit of hopelessness. I didn’t feel anything after that. I had no emotion. I was empty. Days went by, days that turned into weeks, things had only gotten worse and at home, I wasn’t talking to my parents much. I was just not bothered with anything. I started crying a lot at the thoughts of me having to grow up and do all this shit that has to be done today. I cried alot. Eventually, I realized that I can kill myself. I could just commit suicide and it would be over. Without paying attention to my surroundings, I went to the kitchen, grabbed a knife and because of my brothers being home, I didn’t want to kill myself there so I tried running for it out the back door when suddenly my dad had caught a glimpse of the knife in my pocket. Now for him, I assume the thoughts in his mind just questioned my need for a knife and it didn’t take long for him to realize that I haven’t been the same lately, I’ve been feeling down and I guess it hit him that I’m going to kill myself. So without hesitation, he got up and rushed towards me. I seen him coming and knowing I won’t make it out the door, I tried to stab myself, there and then.

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It was too late though, my dad grabbed my hand as it lifted. I realized its all over then. I’m going to have to keep on living, and what’s going to happen to me soon, isn’t going to be fun.
And how right I was. My parents had brought me to hospital the next day where I met this really nice staff of doctors, nurses and psychologists. I spent 12 days in hospital where I was told, that I have depression. As if there was any doubt. So as the treatment went on the 12 days were just me laying on the hospital bed seeing a doctor once a day and that was really it. I just faked recovery so I could get out. After the 12 days, I was discharged and released from hospital but referred to a child psychologist clinic. Basically, I had to start seeing a shrink. So that happened, I met her, she was nice. And eventually we discussed all the things that were wrong and as days went by, things were only getting more worse and hopeless for me. So they decided that I need more urgent help. From there, I was referred to a psychiatric unit. Or in other words, a Mental Hospital.


So on the 24th of January, 2013, I went and served my time in there with 11 other patients suffering the similar things that I was. Everyone was nice and unique. Had there own stories to share. These people were the closest to a good friend I really had. Being treated in that hospital, I actually enjoyed living in there. Things were getting better but there were still days were I would over think and just put myself into a bad mood. Time went on, soon, I was also diagnosed with anxiety, specifically, social anxiety. I hated and still hate being around people. I don’t like talking to people, and I can’t stand being around to many people. Soon I had trouble sleeping and was put on a lot of medication for that along with the pills I had been taking for depression already.

I spent 3 months and 1 day in the psychiatric unit, one of those days which was my birthday. These 3 months, were the best of my whole life so far. I met so many people, had the best laughs in there and even recovered a bit. There was a week though in hospital, were I had received a call from my friends family, letting me know that my best friend, Ed, had lost his battle to cancer.

Ed was all I had. I spoke to him all the time. He was like an older brother to me. This hit me hard, and in the fragile state that I was in already, I ended up attempting suicide again. This time, all I wanted was the pain to end. So I jumped out of a window, from 3 story’s up, and tried landing on my head. Apparently, its not as easy as it seems and I ended up landing on my feet. After that, you can probably guess, I was in a wheelchair for a while, eventually crutches and back on my feet. I was lucky that the impact on my feet was softened by something which I can’t remember. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be walking today. This was all still during the time I was in that mental hospital. Things stayed the same for a few days after that. I was in a bad mood a lot of the time and eventually, I began seeing things that weren’t real. At first I thought its just me being tired or something, but as these visions became more frequent, they eventually turned into voices which shouted at me and taunted me a lot. I told the doctors this and after multiple MRI brain scans, they never told me but I did overhear them multiple times, I have psychosis. (Which is kinda like a schizophrenia) I did some research on it and learnt a bit about it just to be more informed on it after that.

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I did get better though, the next few weeks I felt alright, better anyway. I got more happier mostly because of the people there who helped keep me in a good mood. I really liked it in there. But soon, when I realized that I’m going to leave soon, I faked recovery again and got discharged.

Its now summer of 2013, 2-3 months after discharge. 2nd week straight on the internet, gaming and watching movies. I wasn’t really happy at the time. Once again, I lost my will to live but secretly kept on going. One day though, I watched a well known movie, “Cyberbully” in which a girl, attempts suicide by overdosing on pills. It was a heart-stopping movie. Shortly after that, it hit me. My medication is downstairs hidden in a very bad hiding spot. The lower kitchen cabinet. I went down and grabbed all the packets of my medication. Went back upstairs, and ate whole shitload of it. The antidepressants, sleeping tablets, antipsychotics, the whole lot. And shortly after that, I felt a horrible ache in my stomach. It eventually got so bad I started groaning and when my family found me and realized what I had done, it was the waiting game for the ambulance to arrive to our house. Lying in agony, dosing in and out of consciousness, I don’t remember much after what happened expect for small short periods where I’m talking to the police a bit, then I’m in an ambulance, suddenly I’m in a hospital bed with an extremely bad pain in my stomach and my brain feels like its going to explode.


“Beep, beep, beep, beep..”
The next morning I wake up hooked up to a bunch of medical machinery and shit. I’m back at the same hospital for like the 5th time with a all the nurses, doctors and psychologists. Another 12 days later after recovering from all the pain, I’m discharged.

September 2013.
Summers over and I’m back to school. Now this was a crazy fucking year. The principal had notified my whole class of my suicide attempts and told everyone just to be conscious of me. Of course I wasn’t there at that time and heard it from a friend. I was a freak to this class. They thought I was some fucking psycho. I didn’t give a shit what happened to me anymore. I cursed, I had fights, I shouted at students, teachers, the whole lot. I didn’t care anymore. I got into so much trouble that I eventually hit that point were I’m one more incident away from being expelled. So I decided that fuck it, I’ll behave then if its that much trouble to you people.

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I completed that whole year in which I was also aware that I had developed an eating disorder without really knowing it, and I was also being tested for DCD, a brain coordination disorder. That year in school was just the same shit again. Nothing really interesting.

The next year though, 2014, in school. I gave up on being hopeless and shit. I wanted to recover. I wanted to be happy again. So I tried. I really did. I said hello to everyone, I did good things for myself and really had a chance. But then the voices came back, I started seeing things again and I was back down to shit. I stopped taking medication months ago because I didn’t believe it helped anymore aswell. I was recommended life time on that shit but that wasn’t going to happen.

I told my shrink everything. All that was happening, as new years went by. I was referred into a day hospital. This is very recent from me writing this. Its 2015 now, and I go to visit this day hospital and it was horrible. I went once, and I’m not going back. It was in no way going to help me so I didn’t want to go. I’ve been in this mental health recovery shit long enough that I can tell if something is going to help me or not. And this wasn’t something I was going to do.


I’m all caught up now. I’m living to this day still, trying to recover. Hoping to recover. Because I want to get better but another side of me just wants to give up. I just want to die. I hate everything at this point. I don’t care anymore but if there’s something out there that’s going to help me, I’m going to try it. I really don’t know anymore though. I’m tired. I’m tired of everything. I see everyone around me and they all seem, happy.
That’s what I’ve always wanted to be, normal.

But how can I ever be normal? I’m a freak. I’m weird. I’m a loser. I can’t be normal. I’m almost 17 now, and the thoughts that I have to keep on living, just hurts my head.

I don’t want this anymore.

This is just a story to just get out what’s in my head. May it be good or not, I don’t care. I’m glad I got all that out. Excuse any misspellings and my bad writing style.


I can sleep now, I can sleep in peace.


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