So, today is India’s Independence Day. The day we gained freedom.
Zoom down on a city in the South; Chennai. Further zoom; a girl who blogs at Sun, Sand, Stars and Dreams.
Am I free? No. Will I ever be free? Never.
I might be free from those annoying, irritating people (a.k.a. Other relatives) and well-meaning, but annoying people (Some relatives) in three years (or four, at most.)
But, free from in the inner scars, the demons that lurk inside of me, I don’t think I ever will.
I found this on a Facebook page, and it pretty much sums up
“All my life I’ve had people tell me;
“You’re 16. What do you know?
You don’t pay taxes.
You don’t pay bills or a mortgage.
You don’t worry about having a job.
You don’t have mouths to feed.”
I’m only 16.
But at the age of 13 I was already contemplating suicide.
At the age of 13 I was relentlessly told how ugly, fat, and untalented I was.
How I would never amount to anything.
At 15 I held a bottle of pills in my hands several times a week.
At 15 my parents fought so loudly the whole house would shake.
At 15 I started telling myself how fat and worthless I was.
At 15 I stopped eating for two months.
By the age of 16 my thighs were covered in battle scars.
At 16 I learned what it was like to pray every night that I wouldn’t wake up to see the sun.
At 16 I swallowed a bottle of pills and had my stomach pumped in the middle 3rd period.
At 16 I woke up in a hospital and crying and screaming because I wasn’t dead.
At 16 I was told my depression and anxiety were just cries for attention.
At 16 I learned what it was like to feel the rejection from the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally.
I learned what it was like to feel the love my parents used to have for me drain out of their eyes.
So I maybe 16 but I feel like I am a thousand years old. I have fought battles you cannot even begin to imagine.
I have endured years of relentless torment and taunts, and when I asked for help I was told I deserved it.
I may be 16 but I have endured more than you ever have in your 36 years of life.
So I may not have to pay taxes.
But at 16 I have anxiety attacks over the piles of homework I have to turn in the next day.
I may not have to worry about feeding my kids.
but even after 2 years of rehabilitation I still get depressed if I eat too much.
So you tell me;
“You’re 16. What do you know?”
And my answer will always be;
“Far too much””
Reblogged from: these-fading-scars.tumblr
Re-reblogged from: Potterflies – Potterheads in support of the Butterfly project.
Okay. I haven’t self-harmed or anything. Or I am not suicidal. But, I did have such thoughts. But, I chickened out in the end.
But, I had fallen into depression.
I still don’t know whether I am fully un-depressed now.
I am scared. Although I act all tough.
I am sad. Although I pretend to be all smiles.
I am lonely. Although I act friendly.
I am jealous. Although I act like I don’t care.
I am angry. Although I pretend to be cool.
I don’t know. When this game of shadows will end. I don’t know when I will be free.