A Must Read
The scars I have from cutting myself as a teenager have faded. If you looked at my body today, you would never know the hell that I put it through all those years ago.
But the wounds from people labelling me “attention-seeking” or “emo” or “dramatic” are still wide open, ten years later.
You could say that I have a bone to pick. And you would be correct.
When I was a teenager, all I understood about what I was going through was that I was depressed and detached from myself. Set adrift in my pain, I fell apart. I didn’t know why, let alone what resources were available to me or how to ask for help.
In a society which does not openly discuss mental health, it should come as no surprise that a fourteen-year-old kid didn’t know what to do when he was suicidal.
A decade later…
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