I’m Kendra and this is my story.
Warning: This post is very long.
This first fact is really hard to believe, even for myself. I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder at five years old. My mother took me to the doctor, because as a five old girl, all I did was cry. When the doctors asked why I was so sad, I couldn’t find an answer and I was very confused. I don’t know why I started being depressed when I was five, but I kept having dreams about my mom”s best friend’s father in law laying me down on his bed and stripping me of all my clothes. It feels so real and I’ve had the same dream since then, but I can’t seem to remember besides through my dreams.
When I was eight years old, my mother took me in to the doctor. By this time, I had been seeing a therapist twice a month for three years. They decided I was old enough to start taking medication. I was assigned a doctor and he prescribed prozac. For a while, that medication actually worked.
Being this young, I really had no intention of getting off of medication and finding a way to cope with my depression. I was very young and I really didn’t know anything about bipolar disorder except for the frequent mood swings between happy and sad.
I was currently living in Virginia, but my mom sent me to live with my dad in Nebraska for my entire fourth grade year. While I was there, I ran away, skipped school, I was frequently bullied, and my dad stopped giving me my medication. Let’s just say that Nebraska was hell for me.
When I got back to Virginia, my mom started giving me my medication again and I was just like any other normal kid throughout fifth grade.
I started puberty around the middle of summer after fifth grade and my medication stopped working, so I stopped taking it and I was no longer seeing a doctor.
I started sixth grade at a new school an hour away from where I went the past year. When I started, I was very different. I was very small for my age, so I was made fun of every single day. I didn’t make any friends, except for a few people that kept me company when I needed someone to talk to and half way through the year, something terrible had started.
My mother’s best friend’s daughter asked me if I wanted to practice kissing. I didn’t reply, but before I knew it, her face was on mine and she was forcing her tongue in between my lips. I was absolutely fucking terrified and I didn’t know what to do, so I just went along with it. She took my clothes off and asked me to do things to her and as terrified as I was, I listened. She said if I didn’t listen, she would get me in trouble. I was a good girl and I did what I was told. When she started doing things to me, I begged for her to stop, but she never listened.
By the time I started 7th grade, I was fitting in a little more. I had just started experimenting with hair and makeup, so I literally cherished my straightening iron and my eyeliner. Things were okay for a little while and I got my first real boyfriend. He was so sweet to me and he made me feel so wonderful.
Now, prepare yourself for the breakup story. I started using my mom’s phone to text him, because I didn’t have one of my own. We had been dating for three months and I was really happy. He texted me one day and said, I don’t think this is going to work out. He said it was the distance. He lived where I did in fifth grade, an hour from where I currently lived. I told him I’d be able to see him and after we worked things out, we agreed to stay together. Another month went by and I found out that he had been on and off dating other girls while he was with me. I was devastating and that’s when my depression really hit me.
I started cutting my wrists. I would sharpen a pair of scissors and cut almost everyday. I couldn’t find any way to be happy. My mom never asked about hoodies in the Summer and I spent most of my time in my bedroom.
In eighth grade, the sexual abuse stopped.
The next two years just blurred right by and at the end of ninth grade, my mom told me we were moving back. I started going to this huge school with nearly 3,000 other kids. Once again, I met a boy that really changed things for me. I was happy for once after what happened in seventh grade.
He was really sweet and he rode the bus with me everyday, even though he would rather walk home to avoid the bus ride. We got really close and in November of 2010, we started dating. I was really happy and I could tell that he was too. I thought good things were finally happening and I trusted him. I lost my virginity. I thought it was really going to work out, but then, I found out something happened. He had gotten really high with his ex girlfriend and had sex with her. He denied it all and it was a shame I had to find out through Facebook and Formspring. I decided to forgive him and make amends. I wanted to leave the past in the past and we started getting better. A month later, he had sex with another ex girlfriend. He denied it for about a month. He didn’t tell me until I broke up with him and of course, I was very upset. He told me he started things with her, because I wasn’t making him happy anymore and that he thought she could. I was still cutting.
It was late March, 2011. We had broken up and I realized that without him, I had nothing. I started getting therapy again and I got put back on prozac. It made me feel worse and because I didn’t feel safe around myself, I had my parents send me to an acute center.
I acted up a whole lot while I was there and I was put on celexa and seroquil. When I left, I was feeling better.
When I got home, I was rebounding to the max. I couldn’t get over my ex boyfriend and I went through five guys in two months. I just couldn’t find a guy I could be happy with like my ex. I knew I wasn’t putting a good name to myself, but I didn’t have very many friends anyways. The story was “He broke up with her and she went nuts and tried to kill herself.” which was not the case.
I stayed single for about a month and I started talking to a girl. Things didn’t work out, but I tried to stick with optimism.
I met another girl and we clicked right away. We started dating and we had intentions of seeing eachother. I started sneaking out and getting high with a guy from Spanish class. He knew about my girlfriend and I went with my brother most of the time. One night, my brother didn’t want to go with me. I went with this guy to his friend’s house and we started smoking. It was dark and I couldn’t see shit but before I knew it, he was kissing me. I cheated on her. I cheated. I fucking cheated. That was all that was going through my mind. I didn’t want to upset him and say no, so I went along with it. He started trying to have sex with me and I told him to take me home.
The next night, I told my girlfriend, because the guilt was eating me alive. I took a bunch of pills and got high. I started saying all these terrible things to her. Things like, it was your fault I did it. Then, those things turned to, I’m going to kill myself and it’s all your fault. Before I knew what I was doing, I was upstairs, pouring out bottles of pills and taking every single one I could find. My brother found me and called my mom. I refused to go. I told them I wanted to die. My brother looked me in the eyes and I had never seen him like that in my life. My dad picked me up and sat me in the back of the car. When we got there, they pumped my stomach and made me drink charcoal. After that, I was admitted to another hospital.
When I got out, I quit cutting and I learned that being happy was up to me. I started thinking of things I could do for myself to help me get better and before I knew it, I was doing okay.
I started at a new school for Junior year and I made some friends. I met a guy and we got really close. Shortly after, he moved in with me and we were like brother and sister.
I started taking some very strong medication called Lithium and I was on 1200mg. It made me feel weird but I liked it.
It was now November 2011. My ex boyfriend messaged me and told me that it would have been our one year. It was unexpected for him to talk to me, but I started texting him.
About a week later, my roommate invited a friend over and there was a lot of people staying the night. Me, my roommate, my roommate’s friend, my roommate’s girlfriend, me, and my brother. My brother fell asleep on the couch and my roommate and his girlfriend were in the kitchen, having sex. His friend started coming on to me and like I said earlier, I was a good girl and I did what I was told. He started feeling me up and I started to say no and he wouldn’t stop. He started doing things that I didn’t want him to and I ran upstairs with my friend and I told her what happened, crying in between breaths.
I told my ex boyfriend and he seemed pretty angry, but he didn’t do much. Me and him started getting closer and he asked me to come over. I was there everyday during Winter break and being there for Christmas reminded me of the previous Christmas with him. It was like a dream come true, but that dream turned into a nightmare.
It was New Year’s Day. I thought I was pregnant and when I told him, he stopped talking to me. He got on Facebook and said all these terrible things. He accused me of lying. I stopped talking to him and I tried to move on.
I met a guy and I told him I was pregnant. I was now 8 weeks along and he was going to be there for me and my baby. I was starting to get excited, thinking of names and thinking of the baby that was growing inside of me. My pregnancy turned into a miscarriage at 13 weeks. I was devastated.
I messaged my ex boyfriend and told him I was never pregnant, that it was just a scare and he was thankful, although I felt guilty for lying.
It was now the middle of May in 2012 and I broke up with my boyfriend. I just couldn’t handle it anymore. In the end of May, I was talking to my ex boyfriend again and I had just gotten off medication. I was doing so well for myself. I told my ex boyfriend about the miscarriage and he apologized for all the things he said and we got back on good terms.
Right now, me and my ex are still talking and he hasn’t done anything terrible to me like before. He has grown up a lot and things finally turned around for me in the two years I was trying to get better. Things are happening everyday, but that’s my story so far.