Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for violence and mature content.
Beginning Note: So, I've been having some problems over the past few weeks, and I just wanted to write about it. Literally about to pour my heart out.
WARNING: SENSITIVE CONTENT, PLEASE BE AWARE (A RANT FOR ME)
Hey guys, it's Em & M. You're probably wondering why I'm writing on here. Almost all of you know me to be the crazy, smol, funny, sarcastic person that I am, but I try to use those personality traits to cope with things that I can't cope well with. Therefore, below I will be talking/ranting about these things. If you get triggered on anything involving depression, self-harm, suicide, or something like that, I suggest that you don't read on. Now, onto the story.
I have been hospitalized 2 times, and almost 3 more times in my life. And no, not in the type of hospital you're thinking of. As in, a mental hospital. Yes, surprise, I struggle with basically having normal thought and actions on a day-to-day basis that normal people do or think. Over the past few years, I've been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety, Depression, Gender Dysphoria, Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder(ADHD), and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Yeah, that's the whole list. I take about 11 or 12 medications a day for them all, and they're all supposed to help me become "normal". I mean, what even is normal? Everyday in the United States, I turn on my TV to hear about another murder, kidnapping, and everything in between. It seems that all of those things are the norm. Everyone seems to have their own opinion as to what normal is, especially my mom.
Now, not to offend anyone here reading this(I would be surprised if anyone even is), but does everyone know at least one 'Christian' who seems to be pretty stuck-up and think they're perfect? Well, that's my mother. She sticks by the book, literally. My family is Baptist, and my church tends to have some vivid ideas/opinions to certain topics that are constantly being discussed all over the globe right now. The biggest one of them all in my opinion: The LGBTQ community. My church does not like anyone who even supports them AT ALL. Enter me, a young 22 year old demi-pansexual person who's non-binary. Let me tell you, if people say that I can't act, come over to my church since you now know my secret. Of course, back to my mother. A few years ago when I told her that I was demi-pan and was going to identify as non-binary, I tell you, you could not only see, but actually feel the burning flames of Tartarus in her eyes. Therefore, I didn't mention it ever again. Although from time to time when she's hating on the communited, she'll always backtrack her words and say, "Oh, that's not exactly what I meant. Like with you, for instance. I love you, but I don't love your decision," before going back to hate on them again.
So, onto some heavier stuff. If you get triggered easy about self-harm or attempted suicide, don't read on. About what was said earlier, you might be wondering why I've been hospitalized. Well ladies and gentlemen, here we are:
#1 - My sixth grade year. It feels like it's been forever ago. I just started to figure out how I felt about people and who I was. Of course, a few of my 'friends' disagreed with me. They bullied me and threatened me, calling me a hore and a rapist. The one thing that got to me was when the girl I first fell in love with said that she hated me and would never speak to me again. One day at school, I went to the bathroom, over 30 different kinds of pills in my hand, ready to swallow. I had obtained them from our medicine cabinet when my parents weren't home. I went to go swallow them when my friend came in there and found me, took them, and flushed them down the toilet before taking me to the counselors, and off I went.
#2- It had been a year. I went for a week to be hospitalized the last time, got out, and obtained a horrible therapist. She never really helped me with anything at all, and I didn't like her. Well, I had a ton of stress going on the next year, and there it is! Enters a sharp piece of plastic. The setting was once again a school restroom. 31 cuts on my left arm, 46 on my right. It burned like hell, but I went the whole day without anyone knowing. At last, when I got home and started to do homework, I broke down in tears and told my mom. My parents quickly took me somewhere to get checked out, and I stayed for about a week in inpatient, and four weeks in out-patient.
The summary of this isn't so you can write some pity comments for me. I want to express myself fully where people can read about my problems without really knowing who I am. Sometimes I need to talk about how I'm not normal. I know I'm definitely abnormal and strange, even if my parents say I'm not. However, I'm pretty sure you don't get sent to a therapist at least twice a week if you're normal. I leave everyone of you guys with this,
"People lie and say they don't want perfect. But they really do. Perfect bodies and minds and furniture and cars and significant others and pets and children. Why do we lie and say we don't? Because we're afraid people will think that we're rude or selfish or wrong. Sometimes we really aren't supposed to be the way we are. It's not good for us, and people just don't like it. You've gotta change somehow. You could try harder and practice deep breathing and maybe one day take pills and learn tricks so you can pretend to be more like other people. The normal people."