Trigger warning: Talks about depression, self-harm and sexual assault.
This is a guest post written by someone who prefers to remain anonymous.
Depression is something I have struggled with for as long as I remember. I think I might have been around 9 when it first started, and when you’re a kid you just get called a sook, a cry-baby or an attention-seeker. I got the same responses into my teen years, when I did speak up and try to get some help.
I was just a kid who had nothing to be depressed about, right?
I remember being in year 6 and so skinny that my hip bones stuck out. I had to wear jeans that were too big just so they would accommodate my protruding bones. I was wearing a ladies size 8 and the kids at school called me fat because I was no longer wearing kid’s sizing. At night, once my family had all gone to bed, I would take a saucepan into the bathroom and repeatedly hit my stomach and hip bones because I believed it would make me skinnier and, therefore, more likable. I know it sounds nuts, but this is how I felt I could deal with it.