You can only hide for so long

***DISCLAIMER: I am about to basically bare my soul to you. If you find this annoying, please don't read***

"Hey, Aurora, why are you wearing your headband on your forehead like that?"
"Aurora, take the headband off."
"EVERYONE LOOK. AURORA'S A BOY."

I can literally look back at my life, and pinpoint the day that set the ground for my depression.

Now, I'm not saying that I've been depressed since I was 6. And I'm also not saying that someone calling me a boy is a cause for depression.

Let's remember that I was 6.

Earlier that day, my mother had been meaning to cut my bangs. And gosh dang it, I was sick of my bangs. So, I did what any rational 6 year old would do.

I decided to cut them off.

So, 6 year old me walked into our bathroom, climbed onto our little white stool, and cut my bangs at the roots, in a very jagged line. Horrified at the outcome, I hoped my mother wouldn't notice the difference when I walked out of the bathroom.

She noticed.

Later that day, after my sisters baptism, a girl in our ward came up and started making fun of me. And at the tender age of 6, I was crushed. Heart broken.

But I got over it.

However, that was just the first of many incidents with this girl. She would see me at church and whisper mean things in my ear when no one was listening. She'd hit me as she walked past me in the hall. If I saw her outside of church? Perfect, there were less people to watch as she would hit me and say horrible things about me.

This went on for two years.

The very last time I saw her, was the day before my family moved from Missouri to New Mexico. I was 8 years old, and my mother had sent my little sister and I to their house to be babysat so she could do some last minute packing. This girls mother babied my little sister, who was 4, and sent me outside with her daughter.

Let's just say that was a painful day, and then we'll move on, okay?

A lot of people are going to say, "Why didn't you tell anyone?" Well, I tried telling her mother, because I didn't think MY mother could do anything about it. Her mother said that I was making things up. I told my best friend at the time, but really, what can two 7 year old girls do against that 9 year old girl? Absolutely nothing. And I thought that if my older sister got wind of me tattling, and not being able to take a hit, that I would never hear the end of it. And I was very afraid that if I told my mother that this would be something else for her to make fun of me for, another reason to hit me. So, I kept silent.

I lived a very happy, bully-free life for the next couple of years. And I let everything that had happened in Missouri live in the past. I was young, there was no reason to hold a grudge against a girl that had obviously been in pain. I just forgot about the whole thing.

Then, shortly after my 12th birthday, it all started again.

This is where I have to be careful with my stories. This was in my somewhat recent past. I don't want to point fingers, to blame. I have forgiven all those that have hurt me in the past. That being said...I'll continue with my story.

I had been friends with a group of girls. Out of the blue, I was ejected from that group. And that group turned on me. It was rarely physical, but very, very emotional.

I spent a year of my life very depressed. I felt like I didn't have anyone that I could turn to. I wasn't friends with my sisters, my mother, anyone in my family. Literally every friend that I had had, no longer wanted anything to do with me. I was lost. However, I didn't like this uber sad feeling I always had, obviously, so I kept trying. Something my 12 year old brain didn't quite grasp was that I should probably try to make friends ELSEWHERE. But no, I kept trying with the SAME group of girls. If you guessed that NOTHING good came out of this, you would be 110% correct.

I was contemplating suicide. Very strongly. I know this seems extreme, I mean, it wasn't THAT bad. I'm not saying it was rational. It just was. And...I made a few, very feeble, attempts on my life. Please don't press me for details, that's still under lock and key. The thing was, I didn't WANT to die. I just...didn't want to live.

On a very pivotal night, I met someone that totally turned everything around for me. I stopped having suicidal thoughts, for the most part.

As I got older, the bullying and abuse got a little bit easier to handle. But, it was still there, and very prominent in my life. I would get the usual mean words, hateful notes, etc. I'd get thrown in the dumpsters after seminary on a somewhat regular basis. On one occasion it bruised my tailbone severely. I would get judged, and mocked, and made fun of, up until the beginning of the summer 2013.

March 2013 I did something really hard. And...it sorta messed me up. I lost the person I confided in the most, the person that kept my chin up when I was feeling especially insecure, a certain persons comments were really hurting, or my depression was threatening to come back. I no longer had a partner in crime. And guys, I felt so so guilty for what I did. I still do. It's one of those things that has stayed with me for a while.

I betrayed someone's trust so entirely, that I betrayed my own trust. Does that even make sense?

I've been left by a lot people in my life. Only three have impacted the way that I feel about myself. This is one of them. The other two impacted me in different ways, and they are definitely supplementary to my depression, but I'm not at the point where I can rehash those things. They're still a little too personal.

The point of this post is...well, this is my story. I'm letting the cat out of the bag. I can count on one hand how many people know ANY of this story, and I am the sole person that knows all of this.

And now you all know. yayy...

It's about time I share this. Even though this hurts, I have to come to terms with why I feel the way I feel, ya know? I kept allllll of behind VERY thick walls until October 2013. That's a really long time to keep all that pain to yourself. And the first time I told someone about part of this...man, I can't tell you how good it felt. And it gets easier every time I tell part of it. And I have to come to terms with my problems. If you're still reading this, you're probably really bored. Because this story is neither fun or fascinating.

I'm battling with depression, an eating disorder, and self harm. And basically...this is my story.

This post isn't so I can get pity from anyone, but the point of it is basically to say, literally anyone could be struggling. For the most part, I've done a pretty good job of hiding ALL of this. You never know who's struggling.