I started falling into a depression at 14. I was clinically diagnosed. Though I never really understood what this was or meant. To me it just seemed normal. It was life and sometimes life gave you reasons to be sad. As I grew up I found moments of happiness though I was never truly happy. When I was 19 after the last rape and the last time I chose to make myself throw up, ( I started bulimia in when I was in the 4th grade, it was initially because I was scared I was going to get fat from eating my feelings, though the release felt good and 7 years later it was how I dealt with my problems) As a young teenager I thought being skinny would solve all my problems, that it would allow people to like me, to see me as pretty and fun to be around... The older I got the more I realized what I was doing to my body and how it started affecting my everyday life. How it affected my relationships and how angry I was because I was starving myself and lacking my brain the nutrients it needed to function normally... This last time that I made myself throw up was significant to me because I promised myself that I was not going to do it any more... I was going to be nice to myself and feed myself because I need it, for a life that I wanted. I started exercising four hours a day because I had the time but also because the sense of control helped me stopped. I didn't beat myself up for over eating because I knew how many calories I would burn off after running. I still had set backs and relapses since then but I remember it had been the first time in since I was 14 that it was not a everyday thing. I remember going two days and feeling so proud... three days and I would start spiraling but I never let this stop me from trying to beat my longest time between days that I had thrown up. It would go three day, four, a week and before I knew it I went a month without a relapse. In the middle of 2010 though I had started to fall into a deep depression. I started to isolate myself and even remember thinking how its been months since I've done something fun... or saw my friends or did not have my face barred in books. I went deeper and deeper into depression to the point that I became obsessive and compulsive either about killing myself or the guy that raped me. I could not understand why he could not love me (though as I look back now I would not call that love, I do not call it anything even though I do still conflicting feelings I know what it was and what I didn't mean to him and what it all did mean to him and that will not change... nor how he treated me even if I had been vulnerable enough to let this guy abuse me) Its not like I was not aware.... I just isolated myself so deep I didn't talk to anyone about it who could say hello "you need out", "what are you doing"... and I just did not want to admit to myself that here I was and it was happening again... no I was going to date him because If I tried to date him he could not have raped me... I remember going to a counselor at school that spring and telling her that I felt like I was headed for a mental break down. That I felt my brain going, I felt myself losing my sanity... She told me that I should probably go to the police but that it was kind of a joke because they probably would not believe me because I tried dating the guy and the rest of what has happened to me.. apparently they do not like victims such as myself... Anyways as time passed and the more I saw him the more depressed I got... I knew I needed out but I did not know where or how to get out. I was scared he was going to release the porn (which I was not even sure about but you do not blackmail someone if your just joking but if he loved me he could have never done that to me right? at least at the time this was my rationalized thinking at the time) When I finally did go to the police my brain had started flooding everything was happening so fast though at the same time I could not even make sense of what was happening to me what had been happening the last two years all I knew what that he said he had "raped me and was using me"...and trying to figure out the missing gasps was not easy and its even harder when your drugged because you do not have memories to know what had happened... you can only peace together before and after and have missing information that your brain tries so hard to scramble to make sense of the missing pieces.. Even the doctors I saw as I was on suicide watch could not properly help because they themselves did not have the understanding of a break down as a result of sexual abuse, such in my case when finally you consciously realize that not only have you been raped more than once somehow along the way it was effecting you, no matter how much you swear to yourself that you were not going to let it, that you were not going to grow up to be one of those women, your rational thinking and you subconscious starts allowing you to see what you have been trying to block out of your mind. Nor the effects of Traumatic Rape Syndrome which I do not think they ever heard of...I felt like I had more knowledge about what was going on than they did but why would the believe the crazy girl...I was just another paranoid schizo... or some kind of psychosis because I was screaming rape and hearing voices... and apparently obsessed with some guy that raped her which I still ended up with the charges for phonetic harassment because he went to the police first or for whatever reason they believed him over me... It has been over a year since then. I do have my sanity back and can see things clearly but it does not change what happened or how I was treated or how I feel about the whole thing.... anyways....I had been seeing a counselor on and off, some wanted to medicate me though I thought about it I never wanted medication. I wanted to pull myself out of the depression. I was going to make myself smile I was going to tell myself all things I needed to hear to make myself believe I was a good person. I was going to make myself do things like weed the garden to feel a sense of accomplishment. I was going to make myself run a mile to release the endorphins I needed to help myself feel happy. I was going to count the blessings and find gratitude. I was going to find my reason for living. For not giving up, and each time I done something to help myself I did feel happier.. Even little things like shower or get out of bed and drink a cup of coffee.... I went from showering one a week to showering almost every day... I finished school no matter how bad I felt about myself, I still did it... I am still here and I am still alive and no one will take that from me.... Even if I get fired 100 times because I have to strong of morals and integrity... or because I won't kiss someone’s ass because they think they are entitled because they are older... Yes I know respect goes two ways... and I know I still have rough edges but I will consciously pick myself up because it does get easier... If I would have killed myself a little over a year and half ago I would not be where I am... I would not how found whatever happiness I do have... I would have given up on life and not seen the beauty I want to believe is there. I would not see the sun rise... I would not feel the touch of innocent and genuine love I feel when my boyfriend hugs or kisses me... I would not be here writing to you all and sharing my story... Thank you for reading... I love you and I hope you find yourself and reason to keep breathing!