I'm still alive.

So this is it. This is me taking a step into the online world (and not for the first time, might I add), baring my soul to the public for the sake of... whom? Me? You?

I have written a few blogs in my time. They were of a mediocre quality, the everyday monotony of a life painted in high-gloss. That's just not what I want. You probably won't find those blogs anymore... maybe my fictional blog will still be there though.

The fact is, I want to erase the lies. I want to expose the truth. I'm going to tell my story. Maybe someone will find it useful, someone sitting in their bedroom, tears staining their pale cheeks while they enter "I want to kill myself" into Google's search engine. I've been there. I've done it. I may still do it again in the future. The point is, I am alive today. I've won the battles for 21 years. I still have something left to give.

Let me give you the timeline.
I don't remember much that happened to me before the age of three. Not many people do. I know that that was where it all started.

AGE 3:
I came home from playgroup stuttering. Two psychiatrists, one hypnotherapist and three psychologists later, all we know is that something traumatized me, but it wasn't sexual. My parents took me out of that playgroup and I stopped stuttering.

AGE 5 - 10:
I was given the label "shy". I never participated in any school activites. I went to a Montessori school. I had freedom. I had friends. But small things triggered some kind of fear. I liked to be by myself but I was terrified of being alone.

AGE 11 - 13:
I changed schools. Montessori to "regular" private school. I experienced uniformity for the first time in my life and I hated it. I couldn't cope. I refused to participate, I struggled to make as many friends as I had lost and for some inexplicable reason, there was a social hierarchy.
Once we moved far away, I went to a school where I was a minority. I've experienced racism. But I don't hold it against them. It's their parents that taught them to hate me.
Eventually, I couldn't cope. I refused to go to school. That's when I did something that I would regret forever.

Let me pause here. At the age of 13, I finally had a name for what I felt. I finally knew why all I wanted to do was sleep. I knew why I cried every single day.

I was suffering from clinical depression.

From here, the story gets complicated. I learnt many lessons in my life and I hope to share them over the lifetime of this blog.

Until then, stay strong. Remember that you are not alone. It's a long struggle... but it's not the end.
You are loved. There is hope.

~ Alexandra