Before I delve into the past, here's a reminder about my ongoing contest. My blog needs a name! Click HERE for more details. Just a couple weeks left to have your say!
I mentioned, at the end of my last post, how writing saved my life. At the risk of sounding dramatic, this is too true. Things at home hit their lowest point while I was in high school. I was the kid who thought all the other kids my age who worried about regular things--dates, prom, grades--were stupid and trivial because I was fighting for my life every day.
I tried to escape. Truly. All I wanted was $100 from the social security check that came in my name to my mother so I could give it to my friend's mom for rent. Without that, though, I was stuck.
And I didn't get it.
At my lowest point, I wrote a suicide note. I still have it. (Note**Some authors are crazy and keep EVERYTHING) But, because I had spent a solid year sharing everything I wrote with my friends, when my friend walked into the room I handed her my note. I didn't even mean to. It was automatic. And we talked. And cried. And I lived another day.
And another. And another. A few months later I admitted I could not fix me without help, and we sought outside counseling. With therapy, and medication, I was able to live a much more normal life.
Until...well, we'll talk about that next week.