Admitting It To Yourself

Deny, Deny, Deny

Admitting things to yourself can be a very scary thing. For a lot of us, saying things out loud, makes them real. Makes them final. So we avoid it at all costs. We bury our truths deep down inside of ourselves so as to keep thinking that it is ok, or it doesn’t matter. That these things we hide from ourselves are irrelevant, when in reality, they can mean a lot and be very important. Growing up, I always denied myself the reassurance of admitting that bad things happened and I would grow up to be ok. I thought—as most of us do—that if I buried it deep enough, if I ignored it for long enough, that it would go away and stop being something that took up space in my mind. And of course, I was wrong.

---

I was 12 years old when I started experiencing intrusive and suicidal thoughts. Almost 13 when I realized that it (the negative thoughts) had been bubbling up in me since I was even younger. When these thoughts first started occurring, I told myself it was for attention. That I wasn’t really suicidal because how could I be? Sure I was troubled, and there was a lot on my mind; but how could I really want to go through with something like that? Everything really started to kick off when I was 12 and 13. Those were my years when all I did was question myself, then tell myself whatever I had just thought wasn’t real. It was just a ploy for attention or pity. When I was 12, my mental health depleted and I started to question everything around me. I no longer felt safe in my own head. Being able to admit to myself that these thoughts were in fact real, took a long time and a lot of therapy. So let me walk you through the major milestones in admitting to myself that all of this was real.

The Beginning Of Acceptance

The first step was admitting to myself that I needed help. I was contemplating suicide most days, scared to be at school or at home every day, and all the while, scared of loosing everyone around me for secrets I was harboring. At the age of 13, I started seeing my school counselor regularly. I met with her most days and it felt nice being able to talk about real issues going on in my life. The problem was—I soon found out— that I had to dilute my stories significantly. I needed to remove details about what was going on in my household because it was her job to request legal action if I was being hurt or planned to hurt myself/anyone around me. And since I was planning to hurt myself, I could never say it. That would only result in things getting worse. But one day, I slipped up and spoke about the way my dad would spank us when we were in trouble. In my head, that was a perfectly normal thing to do in your household to your children. But I explained it too vividly and made the situation out to be worse that it was. This resulted in counselors from CPS getting involved and having legally required visits with me for a few weeks after the report was made. I was furious. I was not informed that a report even was made by the school. But I admitted to myself about a week into the visits that the counseling was a goof thing. It was something that I really needed. So I accepted it and used it as an experience to benefit from. Admitting that I needed help was the first step. And it managed to get me pretty far.

When I turned 13, I realized I wasn’t straight. I was still suicidal at the time, so I pushed the thought of me liking girls to the back of my head. I thought, “hey I also like guys so it isn’t a big deal. I don't need to make this a thing.” I was no longer receiving visits from CPS by then. I guess the deemed me safe from harm by their standards. I successfully ignored my sexuality for about a month. Until I knew that I’d had a crush on a girl and decided I finally needed to think about it and figure myself out better. I came out to my close friends and they all supported me. They told me that I was valid and accepted. Hey told me I deserved the world and was very brave for telling them. The problem started when I told my family. My dad was fine with it, but I never really cared what he would think to begin with. When my mother expressed disapproval, I was heart broken. I was suicidal, had very few friends, and was a queer child. I really didn't know what to do. That was ultimately when I decided that I need a real therapist for myself who would be devoted to me and me alone.

---

In The End

Since the day when I was 13 and admitted that I needed help, I have come so so far. I am openly queer, an activist for equality in all departments I can, and I try to use my story to help others with theirs. I want to give a special thanks to my friends over the years for helping me to get where I am now. A thanks to my school for pushing me to get help. And to my family and girlfriend for continuing to help me every day. If you are struggling to find yourself, cope with problems, or see that problems are arising, the first step is admitting it to yourself. You can do this. I love you, and I am proud of you.