quit or quit·ted (kwtd), quit·ting, quits
v.intr. 1. To cease performing an action
On December 11th, 2003, my mother got a frantic call from my Gram that Pop wasn’t breathing and was being taken to the hospital.
With not much else news given to us, my family then headed off to the hospital.
Upon our arrival, we were ushered into a room. Little did I know, a year and a month later, I’d be escorted into this same room. Against the back wall was a couch, a couple chairs to my left, and a fishtank that needed some bad TLC on the wall near the couch.
“Why were we in here?” I wondered.
Time passed, and my family started gathering in this room, I was unsure what was going on still until my mother mentioned wanting to see my Pop. I wanted to go too, but I was told no.
Eventually the news broke. My Pop had passed away. He passed away from a massive heart attack.
This was the first time I experienced a death in my immediate family.
Usually when I’m told someone died, I say “Oh, that’s sad…” and move on with my life.
When it hit close to home, I didn’t know what to feel.
I stayed out of school for three days.
When I returned to school, I was still in a fog. My friends tried to offer support, but I just couldn’t let them in.
Remember that year later and a month?
I lost my Gram on January 4th, 2005. She too, passed from a massive heart attack.
I became severely depressed.
I found comfort in self-harming.
I Googled how to properly sterilize blades, care for cuts, and after a self-peptalk. I started regularly cutting into my right hip. I chose my hip because it was easy to hide. No one questioned, because it was covered, always.
I cut every time I needed a release.
A release from depression, stress, anger.
Eventually cutting became all I could think about.
At around this time, I also started battling anorexia. Double. Whammy.
In 2005, my friends gave me the worst news that they did not want associate with me anymore because I was “heading down the same path” as another (now ex) friend of ours was.
Great, so now I had no support group because my so-called “friends” didn’t want to be influenced by my “toxic behavior”.
I often thought to myself that I wasn’t going to care for my cuts anymore, add more than I’ve been doing, and just let myself bleed out.
I wasn’t needed, so why bother hanging around?
Eventually, I found solace in a friend, over 3,500 miles away. If no one here wanted me around, at least I could be around for her.
With support, I began writing a list, a list of all the things that I should be alive to see or thankful for.
Slowly, the depression started to lift, I started cutting less.
Whenever I got the urge to cut, I would turn that negative into a positive by writing another thing on that list.
Today, I have fading, ugly scars on my hip. They will fade, but most likely will be permanent.
A battle that I desperately fought to the point of clinging by my fingertips.
If you, or a friend suffers from depression and/or self-harms, I urge you to call:
Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696
Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433
Combined with the Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438
When your parents think there’s “Nothing wrong with you, just get out more.” or medical professionals are too much money…
I had hope, I had support.
You have support.
There’s always going to be someone there at those numbers to talk to you, when no one else will, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
You are not alone.
When you think you have no one, as I thought I did..
Those hotlines saved my life.