His cheating drove me to attempt suicide

I was fifteen at the time and didn't really have many friends. I was very happy and felt like nothing could weigh me down. I visited my father every week or two and lived with my mother and sister, I did draw a lot but I didn't take it very seriously as no one else would. I had a boyfriend who I thought loved me, every day I grew closer to him and he'd make me feel so safe and comfortable, at least I thought. He went to a party without me, I wasn't okay with it, but I can't control anyone's actions. Later that night, my sister sat me down on the couch and told me he cheated on me. I won't go into much detail, but I just felt my heart sink, my eyes blurred with tears, it became very hard to breathe, very quickly. I reached out to him to confirm he did in fact sleep with someone and yes, he did. At that point, I felt my entire body shatter, I felt so sick, I thought I was going to pass out. I ran to my room and locked the door behind me, panting, I squeezed my wrist with my nails but to no relief I stopped and just cried. I didn't know how loud I was crying, until my mother told me I wasn't crying, I was screaming. Everything was circling, my mind fixated on how many times I could bang my head against the wall until I fell asleep drunkly paralysed by the thought of not being loved. My heart pounded like an angry poor person on a rich man's door. My eyes full of tears I convinced myself was the blood of my past self disappearing. I managed to yank myself up out of my filth and pace around the room like a race dog. I saw the blade and I told myself "No", but the voice inside, my future diagnosis of D.I.D said "Yes". I grabbed the tiny blade and forced it on my skin, yeah, I hesitated, I looked to see a slight cut on my upper arm, not even enough damage to bleed. And my mind went to back to the times I was bullied at school, ridiculed by my abuse brother and drugged by a now stranger. I closed my sore eyes, looked away and drove that blade deep into my arm.

And everything stopped. Everything went away. Like I've just awoken from a horrible nightmare. I looked at my arm, not feeling any pain whatsoever, thinking I didn't do it hard enough. And I screamed. My arm was so split open, you could see the artery I grazed. I cut through the muscle, through the fat, through the veins, through the tendons. All I could do was scream; I threw the blood covered blade across the room and ran to my mother's room and showed her what an idiot I was for doing such a stupid thing to myself. She jumped up off her bed and called out for my sister's help. My sister came out of her room crying, and immediately closed her door again when she saw how deep my arm was cut. I felt so horrible. I thought I was going to die.

When my mother took me to the hospital, I felt so weak, I lost so much blood. The nurse was horrified by it, my arm completely split in two. Everyone was curious and I don't blame them. When the doctor saw me, I had to look away, I could bare to see him put the stitches in. He told me he needed to put two stitches on the artery. I couldn't believe my ears. I cut through the artery and I didn't die. After getting the stitches in, I turned to my mother and asked "Does it look cool?" Just to brighten the mood but all she did was cry. I felt disgusting.

I remember a Jamaican woman dressed like an elderly man talked to me about why I tried to kill myself. I didn't want to tell her, I felt so uncomfortable and sick within myself. But she was lovely and I appreciate her helping. At the time I didn't feel any pain, not a pinch or anything. I almost completely damaged my nerve endings. I lost so much fat in my left arm that my arm was about an inch thinner than my right arm, I had to build back my muscle. But I wasn't allowed to lift absolutely anything because if I did, there was a chance I'd burst my artery open again.

So, there months later, three hundred and fifty something poems later, I became severely depressed, Anorexic and suffered from Insomnia. I was so shocked from my almost passing that I couldn't eat anything, I'd sit there dry heaving for an hour a day. I became so weak, my ribs stuck out from my body, I looked like a skeleton. I could almost stab someone with my hip bones. I was unable to get dressed myself, fall asleep in my own bed and even eat. The doctor said I was half a centre metre away from death. I was so depressed. I wasn't depressed because I didn't die, I was depressed because I had to witness my family mourn over me because they thought I wouldn't make it. It was horrible watching my mother cry every day, she told me she'd never forgive herself if I actually did pass and because of that, I swear some days I wish that blade was just half a centre metre longer.

I grew other personalities because of this and it's incredibly hard to deal with, especially when no one else in the family believes me. I've given all seven of them names, stories, last names, hobbies and physical appearances. Because of these personalities, I've lost nine jobs in less than four years. I've never held a job longer than a month. I don't even have a single good reference on my resume. These personalities are a blessing and a curse. A blessing because one keeps me in check, she stops me from doing anything stupid. And a curse, because we'll, like I said, I can't get a job. Some of these personalities had Insomnia and some don't, some have depression and some don't, one actually can't smell, so it's really weird going from smelling roses to not being able to identify a candle. As much as these personalities went, I still struggle immensely, I couldn't sleep in my own bed for months, I didn't shower for weeks at a time, I would just lay there in my own tears and watch myself fade away into nothing. To make matters worse, I missed my period twice and went to my doctor. I had a severe iron deficiency because I just simply refused to eat. I no longer bled enough to get a blood test. She said she never saw someone's iron count so low before. She said if I didn't eat soon, it would eventually kill me. I saw a chance for suicide again, but I knew my mother wouldn't let me go to sleep hungry even if I did vomit it up again a minute later. So I just tried eating again and eventually my weight came back, my appetite came back and my smile came back.

A few months later, I met my now boyfriend, I never in my life would have thought I'd ever meet anyone again, but here I am. He's sweet and cares more about me than I cares about myself when I was fifteen. I don't regret what happened, because I wouldn't be so happy as I am now.

I've learned to enjoy life and not blame anyone else for anything I've done. I've learned to be safe and love more.

I've gone back to see my doctor Three years later and she said she's proud of how much weight I've gained and how happy I was to go from a staggering 36kg to 63kg. I also suffer from an incredibly ridiculously fast metabolism, so losing weight is as easy as 1, 2, 3, but gaining took years, I mean years. To this day I am still considered underweight, but for me size and age, I am perfectly fine.

I've decided to take my drawing seriously and my goal in life is to draw comic books. I've taken up writing as well, where I write my original characters back stories and throw them into homemade comics for my very small instagram following to see. @artfully.jazzed

I've now been dating my boyfriend for two years and I am to turn eighteen this year. I still think about what happened, and most importantly I've learned how to be patient, love myself, know my worth and be happy.