Betterifihideit?

The only subsequent place where memory still bothers me, like an itch that can’t be scratched. Is the night I tried to take my own life. I was made out to be apart of the madness of the world, compared right with murder, suicide. and with “abnormal” people. Had my parents placed a raid on all knives, medications except those prescribed (those were monitored and counted), and of course all weapons and tools made out to be used for self harm. I was basically sentenced to a life without enjoyment of cooking, baking, being able to light my candle collection and art; with monitoring, control, and loss of my old life and habits (which I clearly held dear and close to me). That was about the right side of hell for me and I’ve never been the same since, correction life has never been the same since. I never used to jump for joy with excitement for those things listed above, however, it gave me a sort of clarity from my messed up mind. Now it barely gives me satisfaction, when I can do them while being monitored and watched. Oh and I can’t use the bathroom downstairs without being alerted by my parents. The same bathroom I threw up in 4 times from a zoloft overdose, that night. The same one where I was passed out in for a long time, before I threw up, got up, and told my parents what had happened. I don’t even know how long I was in that bathroom for, but it will be remembered for eternity. Not just for my parents and I, but my brothers eternity too.

From my earliest childhood memory of self selected mutism, I remember my dissatisfaction with life, people, and having shared experiences with others. For my perceptual experiences weren’t normal, like everyone else’s. I can tell you exactly how this all started. When I was 8 or 9 I became severely paranoid that someone was watching me. I hated being outside, locked myself in my bedroom and rarely came out of it. I never told my parents about this, but one night I woke up, looked out my window from hearing an alarm going off, got up, looked outside and when I went to go back to bed, I turned around and that’s when I saw and heard it: when it called out to me “Lizzie”, it sounded almost manly. That’s when I turned around and there it was my “imaginary friend.” The shadowy outline of a man: tall and broad. But it scared the shit out of me so I slept with lights on for the rest of my time in that bedroom, thinking it would stop. It didn’t and rather only got worse. That wasn’t the only thing that began the story for me. At that same age, about a month earlier I woke up to hearing bell alarms coming from downstairs, so as a good Samaritan I came downstairs, and that’s when it started circling me, coming from every direction. I couldn’t pinpoint the location, I ran to the doors, put my ear up to them, but then it would move to a different location. That’s when I came to the conclusion It was all in my head and from that night forward I’ve been slowly going insane. They have been a part of me since then, (the voices and hallucinations). The only thing that has been constant in my life, besides the dreaded depression symptoms and anxiety for I was afraid of being out in public and had panic attacks due to the hallucinations themselves. I like to refer to them as people for that’s mostly what I see. I waited and waited, and waited. For anything to change, but since that night. I have been hearing and seeing things. It wasn’t just shadow people, but rather real people (alive or dead), it was Sophia, my mom, my dog, cat, grandma and grandpa. They would stand over my bed, stand in my doorway, be in my closet while the doors slowly creaked open, in the mirror behind me. And they would talk to me sometimes. Mostly just screaming at me like in pain, or at me. For reasons I’ve never been able to explain.