Too much in common

My sister and I had 6 years difference in our ages. We were more like mother and daughter, than sisters. I confided in her, I laughed and joked with her. We shared all our secrets...well at least I shared mine. She spent most of her life in children's homes, adolescent mental homes and finally adult mental hospitals. During that time she self-harmed, a secret I also shared from age 12. Just after her 20th birthday, she gave birth to a child - he was put into care 6 months later. It was around then that my sister committed suicide.

My life fell apart, my self strangulation grew into scratches and finally into deep cuts. No one in my family knew how depressed I was. I withdrew from all my friends and I stopped caring in my appearance. I wrote suicide notes in my diary and took tablets...never enough to hurt me, just enough to make me feel better. One day things were particularly bad and I took an overdose. Instead of going to hospital, I kept myself awake all night, so that I wouldn't fall asleep and die. A friend in Australia made me a doctor's appointment. I went and got blood tests. I was told I was very lucky. A few months later I went to visit my friend in Australia and stayed. We arranged immigration and for me to see a psychiatrist. I was considered such a risk, that in a 15 week waiting system, I was seen the very next day. The medication I was already on was altered and increased. Over time the medication was increased again and when I started hearing voices I was put on another medication too.

Now still on medication my self harm has gone back down to scratches, very occasionally. I am very rarely suicidal and I live a normal life, looking for a job, living with a partner and their child and carrying out life how I used to before the depression even started to show. I am beginning to love life and am more happy than depressed. When my sister died I felt lonely, lost, frightened. I tried turning to friends for support, but none of them wanted to know. Eventually my principal realised how much trouble I was in. She spent an hour a day with me talking through things and planning out the changes I could make in my life. She was always there if I needed an extra chat too.

I started writing a diary and poetry, that way I could express all the thoughts and feelings trapped inside me. I still write now, except now I can write about good stuff too. I see a psychiatrist once a month and a social worker a few times a week to help me through whatever grief I still have. They are helping get over the hurdle of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and self-harm. I live with my best friend. She never hides away from the problems, she lets me talk about them and cry about them. We cry and laugh and hug our way through all the traumatic times and I honestly don't know what I would do without her.

The main thing I've learnt is to keep fighting forward no matter how tough things are and how many steps you take back, you will always get there in the end.