A Full Bladder: A Mistake Stopped
Success With Depression Self Help

I was 14 when I started becoming severely depressed. I was the most selfish, spoiled human being on the planet. My parents split when I was 13 and offered no explanation as to why, however my mom made sure we all knew it was a big deal and definitely not her fault. There is more to this story, I am still uncovering bits and pieces every day, but that's too messy for a random website.
I started cutting my wrists, my legs, and my feet. To this day, 6 years later, I understand why I did it. There is very little as relieving as watching blood trickle down your arm, and the pain you feel when you touch them the next day. One time I cut my leg so deep it wouldn't stop bleeding. Frustrated, I bandaged it and went to bed. The next day it was still gushing but I had to go to school. I went to a catholic school and we had to wear knee socks, I will tell you now there is nothing as awful as having to pull knit knee socks off an open wound after the blood had dried through the sock and basically had made a scar with the sock, thank god they were maroon.
When I was 15 I was having a horrible day. I don't even remember why it was so awful, but I was so hurt and selfish I locked myself in the bathroom with my razor, tape, and a plastic bag. I bent over the sink and crying, proceeded to cut my wrists over and over. With no comfort coming from that, I sat across the mirror and put the bag over my head and taped it tightly around my neck. This is probably the dumbest way someone could try and rid themselves of life. I admit it. But I was 15 and a mental disaster.
I started breathing deeper and deeper, breathing through the tears as best I could.
All of the sudden I heard a knock on the door, my little brother, 9 at the time, yelled through it "Can I come in? I'm sorry but I really have to pee"
Reality kicked in and I reluctantly took off the bag. I thought to myself, I absolutely don't want my little brother to be the one who finds my body. I took it off and shoved the whole kit down my sweatshirt and walked out.
A few weeks later my parents found out about the cutting and took me to a counselor, after that I went on anti-depressants. I was on them for 2 years. They took the edge off for me, made life livable. I stopped being so selfish and angry and started forgiving and loving again. Life is easy without the awful edge depression puts on it.
One day I might tell my little brother he saved my life, maybe. I have never told anyone about my self-abusive behavior, it's not that I haven't had the opportunity, but it seems selfish even to talk about it. I am fine now, life is good and wonderful. I love my family and my friends and the world is a better place.