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Well.... I found this site by searching "self harm kits", I just wanted to know what other people did, if it was common for people to carry around supplies with them or whatever.

So now I'm here, reading about other people and their struggles. Relating and not relating, though still understanding. 

I think that maybe if I have an actual place to talk, a real place that I can have feedback on, then maybe I'll be able to resist hurting myself. 

Okay so actual info part:

My name is Shane. I'm listed as agender on here but a more accurate term would be agender/transmasculine. I use He/Him pronouns but they/them is also okay.

I'm 19, I'll be turning 20 in December. I've been dealing with self harm problems and MI for almost 8 years now. I'm also trans so that doesn't exactly help me in any way...

Anyways, from the beginning now. In 6th grade I became friends with someone who is my best friend. At the time, he was self harming and I guess that's where I had gotten the idea to do it to myself but I don't blame him or anything, it's not his fault that I started to do the same thing. Though not as intense as him, he was actually cutting and giving himself eraser burns, I was doing no-bleed scratches with a bent paperclip. At the time, I didn't really understand why it helped, but it did. 

Sometime in junior high I tried to tell my mother that I was depressed and had been for a few years. I had scoured websites, taken quizzes, doubted I was mentally ill, retook quizzes, looked up symptoms. Everything was the same. I was depressed and I didn't want to feel this way. So I tried to tell my mom, she didn't think the same thing. She didn't think I had any reason to be depressed. Which of course made me feel worse because I knew there was no emotional/situational reason for me to be depressed, I just was and I couldn't stop it. 

So I continued to self harm. There were a few times when my mom had confronted me about the scratches on my arm and even a time when I had a huge bleeding scratch down my arm. (all in 8th grade). It wasn't until 11th grade that my mom actually took me in to see a doctor. I had to check off a list to see if I was actually depressed and I was prescribed medication (Fluoxetine and Xanax), it helped but not for long. Eventually it stopped working, so I stopped taking it (I know, I know). 

I again tried to tell my mom that the meds weren't working anymore. She just thought I wasn't taking them, of course I wasn't but they weren't working long before that.

This last February (2015), I didn't quite try to kill myself. I was in college by then (second semester). I was in a campus library, downstairs, in an area I knew people didn't walk around a lot. I found myself a spot and had decided to take the bottle. I didn't. I was scared it wouldn't work, so anxiety took over and stopped me. I went home that night and cried in my mom's arms. I told her that I was scared and that I needed to be admitted. She was very hesitant to take me in. So I was in a mental hospital for about 2 weeks.I am now taking duloxetine and klonopin and trazodone.

I attempted to kill myself by overdosing on trazodone a few months afterwards. My girlfriend forced me to throw them up. 

I still self harm. I don't think my meds are working anymore. So anyways. That's my story. Thanks for reading.

12 yrs - 17 yrs: sx- Depression, GAD

17 yrs - 19 yrs:  Depression, Anxiety, sx-BPD

19 yrs - now: Depression, Panic Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder

Also, on and off anorexia that hasn't be professionally diagnosed.... idk, I go through periods of not eating at all to completely binging myself out on food. 

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