I've always had depression. It's been something that I've always dealt with. I used to be a creepy gothic girl who only wore black and listened to screamo music while I cut band names into my arms. I was straight up insane. I thought I was cool though. I was like that for about 2 years (Sorry to the people who had to deal with me at the time, I was creepy.) After those two years I randomly changed into happiness Mardi. I came to high school and decided to change. I still had my depression but I could handle it all and still love life. I didn't get it take over like it did before. I had depression but I was happy. I loved high school, I thought it was beyond fun. I went off to college and was so excited to be out on my own. I wanted to be popular so I said goodbye to gothic Mardi. I wen throughout high school being happy and full of energy. I joined Student Council my senior year and loved every single minute of it. I felt like I was unstoppable and that I would never let depression take over. Oh, I wish I would have known how wrong I was.
I went off to college and was excited and nervous at the same time. I moved down to Ephraim and let the party begin. At first, I truly loved it. I loved to party and not go to class. I felt awesome. While down there in hellville (yes, I ended up truly hating it) I started to feel the depression creep back into my life. I tried to get away from it by partying, nope, that just made it worse. I was letting it take over again and then the unthinkable happened, Syd passed away. She took her life. That was the final straw for me. I went insane. I could NOT handle life. So on February 25th, I decided to take my life. I took so many pills, and guess what? I had friends down there that could sense it, and one of them helped me after I had taken everything I had. I was so depressed. I used my words and manipulation to not make them take me to the hospital. I got my way. So I thought I was going to be okay. I never was, but I tried to convince myself that I was. The next year and a half was beyond hell for me. I let depression take over who I was. Mardi slowly started to fade away. Where was she? Even I had NO idea. I let other things in the world take over. I used medication but none of it truly helped. The only way I could cope with life was staying up all night, crying and taking a knife to my wrist. I felt like I had the control and that no one else could stop me because this was MY life. Not theirs.
I felt numb and like I was floating around most of the time. I felt like I needed to put on a happy face for the world. So I would go off to work and be with people and act like I was the happiest person ever. People loved being with me. I felt like a professional happiness actress. It was all I could do. But when night came, the depression took over even more than it did throughout the day. I hated life. I hated every single moment of it. I tried my hardest to handle life and handle my problems. I didn't feel like I could. As this all was going on, I turned to those close people around me. They knew every single aspect of how my thoughts took over. They helped me. They made me fight to hold on to life. They helped me find that life was worth living.
October 16, 2014. I had completely checked out of this life. I had said my goodbyes and felt like there was not one more thing to live for. I took a blade to my wrist, A LOT. I mean, it was bad. I had a bottle of pills with me and I felt so happy. I felt so much peace. I felt like life was amazing in that moment and that I was ready for it to end on my terms. I was bleeding quite a lot and had those pills in my hand, I had only taken some before I walked out naked (oops, yes I was naked) to my grandmother. I was smiling and told her that I felt so good. She freaked out and ran over to me and was screaming. I was just so happy. I was letting go. So I felt at peace. Long story short on that night, she called my therapist and I was taken to the hospital.
When we got there they rushed me to the back room that had a door that had a lock on it. They took care of me and I thought that was it and that I could go home now, NOPE. I was admitted into the psych ward for a while. And let me tell you about that place. It's so scary. They strip search you. YEAH. STRIP SEARCH! Good hell. I was already going insane, but this made me go even more. Every single door had a few locks on it and a window. I felt like I was in one of the creepy movies that insane people are in. I was in a room that had 2 hospital beds, a desk, a dresser and a bathroom. Sounds nice? No. Listen. All the furniture was screwed into the wall so that we couldn't use it to kill ourselves. The bathroom had a door, but not a floor to ceiling one. It was just a little thing. So your roommate could hear you peeing. We were on the 4th floor and the window in each room had 2 layers of bullet proof glass so that we wouldn't break it and jump out. I definitely tested this by trying to throw a chair at it. Did it do anything? Nope.
So while I was in there, I saw 3 therapists daily. We talked and talked and sometimes I would scream and be so upset and shaking. I didn't want to be there one minute and I did the next. I was in the severe unit. I thought it was the worst, no, it wasn't. There was the other unit across from us, the insane unit. These people were legit insane. I thought I was until I saw these people. Some had imaginary friends they would talk to and fight with. Some were legit just creepy. And then the other unit was for people that basically were there for one day just because they needed attention. I don't mean that in a rude way, but a lot of people just want to get attention, and the professionals can see this and categorize them. That also sounds so rude, but it's true. A lot of people fake their suicide attempts for attention. That does mean that they need attention because that is not mentally okay. No one should fake something so serious. Taking your life isn't just a thing you can undo.
While there, they diagnosed me with Borderline Personality Disorder and Severe Depression. No this doesn't mean that I'm Mardi and have another person. It means that when I am in my depressed state and something happens, I freak out. And when I do, I always decided to give up and I do something spontaneous. I am super sensitive to life. So I'll be acting happy, someone looks at me the wrong way, and I flip. I start to hyperventilate. I cry. My heart starts racing. I do not think right, not one bit. I will get in my car and drive somewhere or I will go buy something way expensive. Or I will take a bade to my wrist. Or something insane like that. I completely flip out and feel like I needed to die. I would always threaten to end my life. This makes me sound 100% insane, and that's not the point. I am simply sharing my story and how it truly is. You may all know this from my posts on social media. I would be fine one minute and then complaining and sending out sketchy posts about leaving this life. And for that, I am beyond sorry. I do not do this for attention, I could say that a million times and someone will not believe me. But it's the truth.
So I was put on some strong medication and was sent to a different therapist once I got out. At the time I had a total of 5 therapists. Daily. All I did was go to therapy and work on things. Every single was a hard time. It was an emotional roller coaster. I didn't come out of the psych ward and feel instantly happy. No way in hell. Each and every single day I wanted to be dead. I didn't want to deal with life (this is where my borderline kicks in) and I would go insane when I couldn't handle the reality of life.
I was getting into a part of life that started to feel better. Not happy. But better. Then on March 5, 2015 my brother passed away. I felt like everything I had worked through just came clashing down. I felt like it was all pointless because life had just taken away my brother. It didn't give any of us a chance to say goodbye. It was just the most painful experience. I never want to experience it again. It hurt more than words could say. I was in already in an emotional part of life so this just made it all so much worse. I felt like I was going downhill. I got home from Oregon and saying goodbye to my amazingly sassy brother, and I came home to so many things going wrong. I didn't have a job anymore, I didn't have a place to live, my car was broken. I felt like life was crashing again. I tried to use what my therapists had said for me to do but in the moment, I could NOT think of anything. I could only see that life was falling apart again. I remember sitting in my room with all my pills, I had them all in my hand. I felt like this was it. But then a text from my second mom Pam stopped me. I literally was just about to take them all, but a simple text stopped me from doing what I was going to do.
I moved in with Pam and she helped me more than I could ever say. My close friends Katlyn, Kayli, Hannah and Kelsie all helped me more than words could say. They helped me start to get my life back together. I could never thank them enough. While they all helped me with this, my depression was getting bad. I had a few times that I was going to take my life because I felt so overwhelmed with life. Pam had to deal with all of those times, and I feel beyond bad for making that happen. But she was there for me 100% of the time. I was not used to that one bit. I was used to just having people tell me "Oh well. Move on." So having the love and support helped me feel so loved. I have never felt that much love in my life. Pam also got me into the doctor to change my medications to something even better. This was an amazing decision. I got on to some that are a lot better. While I may not be 100% better at all, in fact I still have my nightly moments where I feel worthless and like life isn't worth living. But I have, without a doubt, amazing people, medications and counseling in my life. While some may just decide to fight it all alone, I get that. That's how I thought I would handle it. But no. Getting help is the best thing. It may be hard and scary but in the end, it's beyond worth it.
So this is my story. This is who I am. I am not depression, anxiety and BPD. I am Mardi. It's hard to see the happiness in life, but I know it's there. In my lowest points in life, those around me help me see the good & happy.
If you are struggling and need help, don't be afraid to ask for it. Your life is worth living. Your story is not over. It's just in as different chapter. But the ending is great if you decide to make it.
Self harm and suicidal thoughts are real. If you ever have those, don't be afraid to go straight for help. It's not embarrassing. It's not making you an outcast. It's making you strong enough to realize that hitting your low point is the beginning of your recovery.
Love each moment in life that you're given.
This is my story. What is yours?