Beaten Down

Editor's note: Trigger warnings for mentions of self-harm and suicide. Thank you, Anon for sharing your journey with mental illness.


At an early age, I witnessed my parents sink to pits of depression, dragging our family down. Their response to this pain was to take it out on me. My home became my nightmare. School was no longer a safe haven, as kids began to notice my presence and decided they didn't like me. I began to get beaten up and bullied to the point where hiding behind doors was the only place I was safe. By the age of 10, I was diagnosed with depression and things spilled down from there.

The beatings at school got worse, and having traditional parents with mental illness wasn't something my parents quite believed, so the emotional abuse levelled up every month. I was being forced to meet with multiple counsellors, but no one would help. When I hit grade 5, I started to self harm; one cut became three, three became five, five became ten, and by the end of the year, my legs were littered with scars. I was only 11 years old. My depression wasn't getting the help it needed, I wasn't receiving the help I needed, and I was battling other illnesses I didn't have diagnoses for. By 2015, I held a knife to my throat and attempted suicide for the first time. I was 12 years old.

Still not having receiving any help, I moved into high school, which is a tricky time for many because of other adolescents. I was battling demons that the majority of the kids in my year had never experienced or heard of. Being lost at 13 hit me hard, and I sunk further down into a depressive hole. Because of not knowing how to cope with depression or self harm, more illnesses arose. My father began to develop a drinking problem, with no work and no one to hire him, and my parents began to fight everyday. I'd go home to the sweet sound of my parents arguing, but when they were done, they'd find me and take it out on me.

My existence, my worth, meant so little. The worthlessness I felt was overwhelming. I didn't have friends except for my brother who did care, but nothing stopped me from attempting suicide for the second time using a noose. I was 13 years old and failed. The bullying at school picked up even faster; a few insults a day to every class, every hour of every school day. From only verbal bullying, it soon became physical: being bashed with basketballs, slapped, hit, punched, head smashed on desks, pinned up against walls, shoved, pushed. Eventually I was forced to see a psychologist. My parents were completely against the idea, calling me a “psycho bitch” and other hurtful names The psychologist diagnosed me with panic disorder, social anxiety, and insomnia. I was 13 at the time.

2017 came around, the fights with my parents became worse, and I attempted to drown myself twice at the beginning of January 2017. I did not believe I was worth anything. My self love was non-existent, my confidence was null. I did not believe I was worth anything in the world for I viewed myself as what I was called: a psycho bitch who is so disgusting that I should rid myself off the earth.

I started year 8. My parents are put on meds. It made them nicer, but they still didn't believe me and my mental illness. The bullying hadn't changed a bit. My self harm had gone from just cuts to burns, to only cutting on my legs to cutting on wrists. Everyone was oblivious. As long as you smile and say you are okay, no one will notice or care. I can remember thinking to myself “no one cares”. By mid 2017, the insomnia had become worse, and I was soon diagnosed with suicidal ideation. On a school excursion, after a brutal torment by my bullies, I threw myself off a cliff, hoping that if I landed on my neck, I'd die. I failed and broke my ankle and other things. The three months following that were hell.

At the end of that year, I had attempted suicide again with an overdose but failed once again. I was drowning, but no one was doing anything.


I hit year 9. I wasn't thinking things were going to change because they never did. I started getting picked on for my weight by everyone including the demons in my head, who had at that point developed into a paranoia that followed me: and the two voices, Mark and Mel, that developed in my head. I soon became anorexic and bulimic. I was going downhill, and I ended up attempting suicide again. I won’t go into specifics, but this time was different. It changed me as a person.

I realized I can keep attempting and failing or get better. Don’t get me wrong, but the continuous attempt and fail, attempt and fail brought me down a lot but I soon became a bit better, and step by step I work to better myself. If I can so can you.

Why is it important for you to share your story and experiences with mental health and illness?

I think it’s right to let people know that kids can have these problems from an early age and that you shouldn't belittle them for it, you shouldn't not believe them or attack them.

- Anon

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