a really personal post. but i need to get this out.

I think that's what i find most strange about this world, nobody ever says how they feel. they hurt, but they don't cry out. they're happy, but they don't dance or jump around. and they're angry but they hardly ever scream. because they feel ashamed . nothing's worse than that. so we all walk around with our heads looking down and never look up and see how beautiful the sky is.

kkk... ummm, well this is a really personal post. that will be spilt up into a few different sections. you don't have to continue reading this, cause it is really long. and probably won't mean much to anyone other than me. [: but i need this to be out there. sooo, here goes.

Hi, i'm meghan. and i have some issues.

these issues include:

obsessive compulsive disorder.

schizophrenia.

generalized anxiety disorder.

anorexia (on and off. see story)

bipolar disorder.

and in order to explain, i shall write a story describing each. maybe it's a way to disconnect the issue from myself, but this is how i deal. 

  

Seven. The age of ballet lessons and Barbie dolls, of learning to add and subtract simple numbers; the time when the family dog is your closest companion. Seven. The age of innocence.
I was a typical looking child. I had long, straight blonde hair that fell past my shoulders. My almond shaped hazel eyes were always full of adventure and curiosity. And I had a smile that could brighten a bleak winter night.
I was a happy child with a loving family, and many friends, who loved to perform skits on family videos. I was a leader at school, not a follower. My best trait was my personality. I had imagination. But what made me special was not seen from the outside: I had a special love for life.
At age seven, my life had a huge breakdown. It was then that I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). OCD is a disorder that is the result of a chemical imbalace in the brain. People with OCD don't think the same way as people with chemically balanced brains. People with OCD do rituals. I started washing my hands ten times an hour to avoid germs, and I constantly checked the oven to make sure it wasn't on. This way of life for me continued for four agonizing years, and by then, my OCD had led to depression. I was no longer the happy girl I had been.
In the 7th grade, I finally confessed to my mother that I was suffering from depression along with my OCD. I couldn't take the emotional pain anymore. I needed help if I wanted to continue living.
My mom took me to a doctor that same week. I started taking medicine that would hopefully cure my OCD and depression. Over the course of a few months, the medicine did help my OCD. I stopped doing rituals. I no longer took four showers a day to avoid germs. But one thing didn't change; I was still overwhelmed with my depression. I was still constantly sad and I started to beleive that my life no longer mattered.
One autumn evening four years ago, I hit rock bottom. I thought that my life no longer had meaning, because I no longer brought joy to people like I did when I was little. I decided suicide was the solution to my depression problem, so I wrote a suicide note to all my friends and family. In the note I expressed that I was sorry for deciding to leave them, but that I thought it was for the best. As I was folding the note, my eyes fell on a photograph. It was a picture of an adorable little girl with natural bleach blonde highlights in her already blonde hair from spending too much time in the sun. She was wearing a ballet tutu and held a flute in her small hands. She has a carefree smile on her face that showed she was full of life.
It took me a few minutes to realize who the girl in the photo was. The photo had been taken for a dance recital when I was seven years old. I almost couldn't believe that smiling child was me! I felt a chill go down my spine. It was like my younger self had sent me a message. Right then and there I knew I couldn't kill myself. Once I had been a strong little girl, and I had to become strong like that again.
I tore up my suicide note and vowed that I wouldnt not rely only on my medicine to help my depression. I would have to fight my depression with my mind too. I could make myself happy again.
It has been four years since I "rediscovered" myself. I am depression-free. I still struggle with my OCD at times, but it is never as bad as it was. I still take medicine to keep my disorder at bay, but the real reason I am healed is because I took action and refused to let depression ruin my life. I learned a lifelong lesson: Never give up. Life is good. Everyone has challenges but everyone can survive. I am living proof of that. Also, it is important to keep smiling, because in the end, everything will work out.
Of course my life can still be a struggle, but I pull through with a smile on my face, my head held high. I know I can't give up on life. I am here for a reason. Sometimes, I think it was stange that I had to look to who I was as a little girl in order to regain faith in myself. But I think everyone can look back on thier early years and see that it was then that they knew how to live in peace and happiness.
I have plans for myself now. Once I graduate high school, I plan on going to college to major in Genetics and Biotechnology. I want to be a Genetist someday. And I am prepared for whatever challenges life may bring. I have a role model to look for stength, and who is guiding me through life. My hero is a seven-year old girl, smiling back at me from a photo on my desk.

ever since i was really little, i haven't been normal. i saw scary people who wanted me dead, or to hurt my friends, or to hurt animals, or who yelled at me. and i got used to them. i thought they were normal. they had names, wednesday, kaden and danny. they were my "friends".

it wasn't until i was in 5th grade that i even knew anything was wrong. i would talk about my friends and everyone brushed them off as imaginary friends. i mean, i was only 10.

but one night, my mom walked in on me yelling at wednesday. i was thoroughly convinced they were all real, and that scared my mom. she took me to my therepist where i was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

now, i was told that my entire support system didn't exist. if they didn't exist, then what did?

that fact didn't hit me until later, when i actually understood what was going on.

since then, i have developed 3 more halucinations. they are still just as scary, and they yell at me just as much. and there was a time when i couldn't handle that. i was in Utah State Mental hospital for almost 4 months.

but i have learned something. i have 6 of the best friends anyone could ask for. God knew i was going to be lonely sometimes, so He gave me friends who wouldn't leave, as much as i wanted them to. He knew i would have trust issues, so he gave me friends who know everything about me, so i would have people to trust. and yes, it is hard. it's a hell of a lot harder than many people realize. but this is who i am. wouldn't have it any other way.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) comes along with alot of mental disorders. it causes panic attacks, which i have a lot of, and just generalized anxiety. obviously.

anorexia. i didn't have a severe case. i was in the hospital on suicide watch during the worse of this, so i was kind of forced out of it. and one of the things with my anorexia is that i dropped so much weight so fast that i don't remember much of it, because my body was shutting down so quickly. but i wrote this in my journal on one of worst days of the whole ordeal. i remember this day well.

i was in the hospital. it was christmas. my family wasn't allowed to come see me. i was going to spend it alone. i really hated myself. but i hit rock bottom. i was dying. not enough energy to function anymore. i was slipping and i knew it. and so i made a choice. i was going to feel better. it was as simple as that. so i wrote this.

Everyone does it so don't feel ashamed, you hate your body I feel the same. I walk past a mirror and I could cry because the person looking back is hard on the eyes. So I yell and I scream although it won’t work I try and I try until the mirror, I broke. I stare at the pieces ashamed at my self to see me go mad because of the way that I look. I decide it's not worth the pain to go through this each day. So I think I'll try to stop hating myself today. I try not to care as I clean up the pieces and try to imagine that it's not me when I see them. As hard as it seems I think it might work to not care what I see when I look at my book of photo's on the table compared to my friends. We are all different inside that’s what makes us unique not the size of our bodies thats just our ink.

i still struggle off and on. still trying to maintain a normal weight. and it's still hard. but i'm getting better, everyday.

bipolar. highs and lows. i can go from extreme happiness, almost frantic, to suicidal in minutes. right before i was diagnosed, i was in one of the worst lows i've ever had. ever. it was stemmed from a tramatic experience and i didn't think life was worth it. i had been cutting myself for about 7 months, all over my body, trying not to get caught. and i hated myself. i talked to krystyl, my phychiatrist, and we did tests. all the information was in front of us for so long. we just hadn't put the peices together.

now, i can't say i'm messed up because of anyone other than myself. it is my fault. many of my problems are serious medical problems because of chemical imbalances in my brain. no one's fault. somedays are better than others, and many are great, now. but it wasn't always been that way. i'm learning. everyday. and i'm grateful for those who put up with my moods, and i know they are plenty.

ready for another story? here goes. haha

For a long time, i've relied on boys to make me happy. as you'll be able to see from the following story.


Mmmkay. In school yesterday, we talked about love. and what it was. and what is wasn't. 3 things: a.) how can you know what love is, when it's different for everyone? i don't understand. b.) do you even know what love is? cause i'm pretty sure it's NOT about complaining about your husband every day. yeah... and c.) i do believe in love. i believe it's out there. i believe when 2 people can look at each other and crinkle their noses and say "i love you" to each other before they fall asleep, i believe they mean it. i just have a hard time believing it's going to happen for me.

 

i know what you  say. i'm only 16. i know. at this point, with my relationship history, i don't think it'll happen. let me tell you are few stories to prove my point.

first relationship: 7th grade. it was sufficiently awkward, as many junior high relationships are. we held hands in the hallways and giggled at each other in class, and i was pretty sure he and i were going to get married and have 4 children and live happily ever after, the end. but, needless to say, that didn't happen. he came up to me one day and said "meghan, i like haylie. i hate you." and walked away. i was a little crushed. but that didn't stop me from having fun[:

skip ahead like... 4 boyfriends? yes. you'll notice in this long winded story that i am pathetic. and a hopeless romantic. and not desperate. at all. *hint: sarcasm. but, annyyywaaayyyss, freshman year. abbey's halloween party. anyone who was anyone was there, obviously. costume contest, i won by the way, as i was a beautiful princess, and basically the only person in a legit, non-slutty costume. (side note: contrary to popular belief, and whatever crap you heard from popular teenage movies, lingerie with assorted animal ears is not a halloween costume. you're gonna get raped wearing that crap.) but anyways, back to the story. i was sitting on the floor, a little scared out of my mind, as we were watching It (still can't stand clowns...). and i was just, like, pretending to be cool, and princess-y and royal, and stuff, and this really cute guy came over and sat down next to me. next thing i know, we're totally flirting. and not even the cute kind. the obnoxious, what-the-hell-was-i-thining kind of flirting. you know the kind. and it was, quite honestly, great. i felt really alive, and it was great. i left the party that night with a boyfriend.

one who would be a major part of my life for almost 2 years.

i know.

whether it was my best friend, or my boyfriend, (it switched alot) he was always there.

then, i learned the truth about that backstabbing, lying, scum of the earth, i can't believe i ever liked you, ever, better stay away from my guy friends now cause you will be castrated, or die, dousche bag.

yes, i have strong feelings.

but i basically found out he was cheating on me. with another girl. aka. my best friend. i was a little mad. to say the least. i guess i still am....

next relationship: 3 boyfriends later. summer. warm days, and nights, basically no curfew, tank tops and short shorts baby[: the guy: my neighbor. finally i liked someone who lived close enough that i could see them regularly. only problem: he was... well... he's a little special. found out he only wanted one thing. after we were together for 3 months. stupid summer romances. when i wouldn't give him some, he dumped me. in the middle of the street. in the pouring rain. typical? i think yes.

sigh. another relationship: somewhere after previously mentioned boyfriend. i was hopelessly lost in life. sounds dramatic. but it's true. i was wandering around aimlessly. i went to a friends house, to do homework, and get away from my parents, and... yeah. haha. i didn't want to hurt myself, and i knew that if i stayed home by myself, i was gonna hurt myself. so i went to my friends house. and there, i met someone who would soon be the next best friend. my friends, except for him, left, and i stayed behind to study, and no one really knows why he stayed behind. but he did. and he came and sat by me, and we made dirty jokes out of my biology book for almost an hour[: the rest of the night was filled with cuddling and it was great. i felt like a little kid again. that girl i used to be, before the innocence was stolen from me. and that was great. this boy gave me hope that all boys weren't hopeless. i mean, he didn't talk to me for a while, then broke up with me over text, 6 texts to be exact... i'm pathetic, remember?, BUT the good news is we're great friends now.

lastly... and most recently, boyfriend number 9. (pathetic, yes.) basketball player. senior. way out of my league. yes, yes and yes. we were happy. met him at a basketball game, and he taught me what the heck was going on. which was great. we went to a few movies, went to a dance, and voila, i didn't have that strong of feelings for him anymore... this is the first time this had ever happened. it was always me getting broken up with, and me having to deal with getting over him. but i was on the other end this time, and i can honestly say, this hurt me worse. me breaking up with him was one of the hardest things i've ever done, and the look on his face made me feel like the most horrible person in the entire world. but it had to be done, and we're kind of good friends now, so that's good.

soooo, as you can see, my relationships have been, well, i have a lot of experience with the wrong guys. some of them have turned out to be great friends. some, not so much. actually, most not so much.

maybe i was just meant to be single my whole life. and, quite honestly, if that's what it takes to not hurt, and not get my heart broken, again, then i might actually be okay with that. but here's the problem. i still hurt even when i don't have a boyfriend. i hurt that that guy i am "madly in love with" only likes me as a friend. i am hurt cause he flirts with other girls. i hurt because i know we'll never be more than friends.... at least we are friends...

maybe i'm just too hopeless to ever be saved. which is possible.

maybe someday i'll meet my perfect guy. less possible.

maybe i already know them.

maybe they go to my school..

maybe they're in one of my classes.... i sure as hell hope not.

maybe they are one of those guys in my classes who just hasn't reached my maturity level yet, that sounds better[:

sorry, weird boy rant.

real story time?

my boyfriend and i loved each other. i know somewhere in both of us, we knew we were going to get married sometime in the future and live our lives together. well, that all changed.
halloween. i was happy. he seemed to be happy. i had actually had a great day. i got flowers, and chocolate, and i got to dress up for school, and it was just an all around happy day. we went to the dance, and everything was very good. my best friend had come to the dance with us, and she was bonding nicely with my other friends, and about half-way through the dance, i snuck away to get a drink, and my boyfriend followed me. he asked me to go take a walk with him, and i knew i should have said no. i should have stayed with my friend, and danced the night away. but no. i didn't.
we walked to the nursery behind the school, and i stared into a pond relfecting the moon for a long time. it was beautiful. i still remember it. but we walked up and down the aisles of the nursery, holding hands, talking, when things got really serious. he dropped my hand and grabbed my arms. it hurt a lot and i told him that. he told me to shut up. i screamed and he yanked his hand up to my mouth, knocking me on the ground. he sat down on me, smacked my face and told me to shut up or he'd hit me again.
the next 3 hours after that are really a blur. i remember thinking i needed to get away, and from the cuts i had i assume i did try. but when i couldn't get away, i zoned out. i focused on the pain to detatch from what was really happening. i'm sure i tried to scream, but nothing came out. i remember that. i remember wanting so bad for it all the be over, and i waited. i let it come because i knew i couldn't get away.
the worst part was the after-effects. i wouldn't cry. i wouldn't let him know he hurt me. he helped me stand up, smiled, looked at me, kissed me, said that if i told anyone, he'd hit me some more, or do it again, and that they wouldn't believe me even if i told anyone because he was my boyfriend, and grabbed my hand and we walked away from the nursery. i'm sure that by the time we got back to the school, the bruises were forming on my face. i didn't care. i wanted to get away from him. he was holding onto my hand and wouldn't let go, so i put on the whole smiley, googly-eyed look i always had around him, and promised myself i wouldn't tell anyone. and i didn't. for a long time. a little less than a year actually. when i told kate, and then chandler. we watched "speak", one of the best movies i've ever seen, by the way, and i was inspired. i needed to tell someone, so i told kate. and then, the night i met chandler, i told him. i don't know why. i don't think that really matters. i told someone. and that was way more than i could have done even a month before. 
but now, you know many of my deepest, darkest stories i've never told anyone. thank you for listening. 

p.s. i don't want sympathy.
this was for me, not for you.
i needed to tell someone, and why not tell everyone?
well, only the people who read this blog. 
who are few.
thank you.
the end.