My Story...
They say that curiosity killed the cat. In the beginning, that expression couldn't have been more true when it came to my life and the decisions I made to tear it apart. My name is Courtney Strickland, and this is my story.
It all began when I was about thirteen years old. I sat in the bathtub, thinking about my friend and how she used to cut. That's when I walked outside in a towel and grabbed a rock. I got back in the bathtub and looked at the rock for a short amount of time, put it to my wrist, and cut myself until the blood came out. I realized what I was doing and lay the rock down. I didn't realize that out of my curiosity I would become addicted to cutting. Not only did I cut, I became an avid pill taker and alcohol abuser. From then on, I would sit in my room and cry myself to sleep often because the thoughts of suicide were overbearing. I would think about my brother and how he sexually abused me at a young age and how I had never told anyone; I would think about how my step-brother would call me horrible names and make me feel more disgusting than I already thought I was; I would think about how my mother lied about having cancer and shaved her head to make it seem real; I would think about my sexuality and how I could never tell anyone. I would constantly replay the things that would make me feel bad about myself. By the age of fifteen, I had completely fallen downhill. I started a diet that would hopefully let me lose weight, because I was sick and tired of people calling me fat or nasty. I stopped eating altogether and soon I developed bulimia. It didn't last long; a little less than a month; but I ended up losing twenty pounds until I realized what I was doing to myself.
In November of 2010 my great-grandmother died, tearing me to pieces. I had also finally spoken out about my brother sexually abusing me and my mother didn't believe me. I began to drink a lot and one night found myself with an empty bottle of wine, a corkscrew bottle opener, and quite a few cuts on my wrist the next morning. This started a new beginning for me, and not a good one. I went out every night and got high, snorted something I wasn't sure of, and drank myself silly until I passed out at random people's houses. On October 12, 2011 I had hit rock bottom. It was late at night and I had been texting my friend on and off to get her to help me, because if she didn't, I was ready to really commit suicide. I texted her early that morning and asked if she would take me to the hospital. She did bring me to the hospital, and she stayed with me until the doctors made her leave. I cut myself too deep and had to get ten stitches in my upper left thigh. They put me in the suicide watch section of the ER and wouldn't let me leave until I talked to somebody about my situation. The doctor talked to me as if I were some psycho girl with no brain. The girl that brought me to the hospital wanted me to come to her youth group that night, but I wasn't able to because of being in the hospital all day. But the next week, I went. I broke down at the altar and cried with her and a girl that I had just met. We all hugged and cried until everyone left, and the youth pastor was so caring and loving, which was something that I had been in need of for a while. I have been dating the girl that brought me to the hospital that day and it is the happiest I have ever been; not only that, but she has brought me closer to God. I was saved November 9th, 2011 and now I have something to look forward to each day.
I realized that even when I was laying in bed at night torturing myself, I wasn't alone. God was there, and has been since day one. Now I look back at the multiple suicide attempts and exactly one-hundred cuts on my legs and arms and see them as something that just makes me that much more beautiful. I still have my bad days, but who doesn't? I love myself now and I can thank my girlfriend, and God, for helping me. There is more to me than what people see on the outside, and I hope that after reading my story, you will be encouraged to share yours. You aren't alone, and you don't have to hide anymore.
It all began when I was about thirteen years old. I sat in the bathtub, thinking about my friend and how she used to cut. That's when I walked outside in a towel and grabbed a rock. I got back in the bathtub and looked at the rock for a short amount of time, put it to my wrist, and cut myself until the blood came out. I realized what I was doing and lay the rock down. I didn't realize that out of my curiosity I would become addicted to cutting. Not only did I cut, I became an avid pill taker and alcohol abuser. From then on, I would sit in my room and cry myself to sleep often because the thoughts of suicide were overbearing. I would think about my brother and how he sexually abused me at a young age and how I had never told anyone; I would think about how my step-brother would call me horrible names and make me feel more disgusting than I already thought I was; I would think about how my mother lied about having cancer and shaved her head to make it seem real; I would think about my sexuality and how I could never tell anyone. I would constantly replay the things that would make me feel bad about myself. By the age of fifteen, I had completely fallen downhill. I started a diet that would hopefully let me lose weight, because I was sick and tired of people calling me fat or nasty. I stopped eating altogether and soon I developed bulimia. It didn't last long; a little less than a month; but I ended up losing twenty pounds until I realized what I was doing to myself.
In November of 2010 my great-grandmother died, tearing me to pieces. I had also finally spoken out about my brother sexually abusing me and my mother didn't believe me. I began to drink a lot and one night found myself with an empty bottle of wine, a corkscrew bottle opener, and quite a few cuts on my wrist the next morning. This started a new beginning for me, and not a good one. I went out every night and got high, snorted something I wasn't sure of, and drank myself silly until I passed out at random people's houses. On October 12, 2011 I had hit rock bottom. It was late at night and I had been texting my friend on and off to get her to help me, because if she didn't, I was ready to really commit suicide. I texted her early that morning and asked if she would take me to the hospital. She did bring me to the hospital, and she stayed with me until the doctors made her leave. I cut myself too deep and had to get ten stitches in my upper left thigh. They put me in the suicide watch section of the ER and wouldn't let me leave until I talked to somebody about my situation. The doctor talked to me as if I were some psycho girl with no brain. The girl that brought me to the hospital wanted me to come to her youth group that night, but I wasn't able to because of being in the hospital all day. But the next week, I went. I broke down at the altar and cried with her and a girl that I had just met. We all hugged and cried until everyone left, and the youth pastor was so caring and loving, which was something that I had been in need of for a while. I have been dating the girl that brought me to the hospital that day and it is the happiest I have ever been; not only that, but she has brought me closer to God. I was saved November 9th, 2011 and now I have something to look forward to each day.
I realized that even when I was laying in bed at night torturing myself, I wasn't alone. God was there, and has been since day one. Now I look back at the multiple suicide attempts and exactly one-hundred cuts on my legs and arms and see them as something that just makes me that much more beautiful. I still have my bad days, but who doesn't? I love myself now and I can thank my girlfriend, and God, for helping me. There is more to me than what people see on the outside, and I hope that after reading my story, you will be encouraged to share yours. You aren't alone, and you don't have to hide anymore.