Why?

Well, guys, what's up? Sky here, for my first blog.

And I figured anyone who somehow stumbled upon this and is for some reason reading it might have a few questions.

Namely, why?

Why did a perfect Christian girl turn into a cutting, suicidal, monster?

Why did said girl not just get help like an intelligent human being?

Why, if she won't ask for help, won't she just kill herself and get it over with?

And why did she create a fake name to put on a blog, a twitter account, and a YouTube channel, just so that she could whine about her life?

I'll start with what's first. That is, why am I like this? Why and how did I, Little Miss Perfect Christian, turn into such a messed up loser?

To be honest? I don't know. I don't know why I'm like this. I don't even truly remember how it happened.

Maybe that's part of why I'm doing this, anyway. Because I wish I would have kept a better diary back when I was slipping. I wish I would have written every day, not leaving for months at a time, so that now I could understand better how it happened.

What I do remember is the summer of 2015. Because that summer, I was on top of the world. It was the summer I turned thirteen, and, though now thirteen year-olds seem like children, I was elated to finally be an official teenager. I had my best friend, Saphira, by my side, my amazing dance group, Emmanuel School of the Arts at my back, and my huge, awesome family to support me, not to mention my youth group that I was in my last year of middle school ministry in, headed by our amazing youth pastor, Aaron. What could possibly go wrong?

I mean that seriously. I was always pressing into the Lord, longing to go deeper with him, even if I was only a child. I was thinking about missions fulltime when I graduated. In Emmanuel, things hadn't gotten so complicated. I had a teacher, Jen, that I absolutely adored, and my big dreams of moving up hadn't yet been crushed by favoritism and weirdness. Most of all, I was happy.

Just... happy. Idiotically happy. Nothing could touch me. Right?

After that summer, that's where things start getting weird. I just don't know what happened. I remember things that indicated a change, but nothing that should have brought it on. I write music and poetry, and did even back then, and I notice a slightly darker turn in those at times. I had some friends whose mom's alcoholism had taken them into some pretty tough times, and one was struggling self-harm and suicidal thoughts and actions, attempting to kill herself three times before their mom was removed from their life and she slowly started to heal.

I guess that was my first... wakeup call, almost. That the world wasn't so perfect.

I'm not saying I didn't know there was darkness in the world. But that's when it became a little more personal. Not just far-off stuff that never touches your own life. These were my friends of quite a few years, and look at what they were going through.

That's honestly when I really found out what self-harm was. I was an oblivious, home-schooled, idiot, and it just had never affected me before. November of 2015 was when I first notice the real change in my writing. It talked about things like suicide and self-harm, but not in a personal way. In a way that was like, you know, "It'll get better. It's not over. You can rise above this." All Christian. All, Jesus is the answer. Which I know is true.

But I had no idea.

I don't really remember Christmas that year. I guess it was good? I don't know. But then, in January, I actually got a brain and kept a diary for a little. And it's like it happened, just like that. I do remember thinking that I was stressed out, and needed a break. More songs outlined the story of a made-up girl going to her friend, who she knew had been through some tough things in the past, asking how he dealt with the stress of life. I was thinking of me, and an old friend of mine, about five years older than me, who I really didn't know anymore, but that I remembered mentioning that he'd attempted suicide before. That it was a dark time in his life. I mean no kidding. But I remember thinking about that, and wishing I could talk to him. Ask him how he dealt with stress and life in general. Say that, you know, I wasn't dealing with anything like that, but that was just feeling... depressed... and stressed out.

I didn't know what depression was. I didn't know was stress was.

But I thought I did.

I do remember a specific turn in February. Ok, not, like the turn, but I remember a day that, looking back on it, marks a turn. We went to the Thorn, an amazing rendition of the Passion Story through performing arts, with my youth group. And I remember that I was dealing with the "temptation" to cut by then.

I put that in quotes because I really had no idea what it was like to be tempted to it. But the thought was in my head, and that was enough.

The Thorn is amazing, and I think everyone should see it. I see it every year with my youth group, even though not much changes from year to year, though they will switch around which apostle narrates. Anyway, it inspired me. I walked away that day with the resolve that I would never cut. On the way down, I'd listened to Britt Nicole's "When She Cries" on repeat. On the way back, I listened to her "Set the World on Fire" on repeat.

This is obvious, but... that high didn't last.

Again, everything kind of blurs together, but one thing I know is that I continued to slip, fighting temptations towards cutting and doubts about the beauty inside of me every single day. But through it all, suicide was never an option. I've always had big dreams, and I still did. Nothing, no kind of hurt, could take that away from me.

At least, that's what I thought.

But that time... that time is when I wish so desperately that I would have asked for help. From Aaron, from a dance teacher, from... I don't know... SOMEONE. Because that was the time when it could have been between him and I, and I could have gotten through it. Then, a turn happened, and it would have be that way again.

I do remember this night specifically and clearly. It was probably... April... and I was lying in bed, crying. It was nothing new. Life just... hurt. That's the only way I know how to describe what I'm going through. It just freaking hurts! And that night, I was trying to talk myself down out of my tree.

Cutting up my arm, I told myself, wasn't going to fix anything. Neither was starving myself. And neither was... As I reached the usually so-easily dismissed subject of suicide. Neither was... well neither was... but... it would. And there in lies the heart of my problem.

Because you can say what you want about it not being the right answer. About it being a permanent solution to a temporary problem. But think. It's an answer. It's a solution.

And to a hurting child of thirteen, that was a harsh reality.

Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't about to go and throw myself off of a cliff then and there. But it was the first time suicide had ever been an option for me. It was the mere idea that I could escape all of my pain by simply swallowing some pills.

And then... I'd get to be with Jesus. Heaven. Literally.

That thought worked itself into my mind until it was a daily torture, along with the wish to hurt myself as an escape from my pain. However, I never did it.

I had continued to write songs of hope for depression, suicide, and cutting, though, and I wanted to know a little bit more about the last, since I'd never actually done it, so that I could represent it accurately. So, I Googled it.

That was one of the worst mistakes of my entire life.

Because... maybe I'm wrong but who hasn't done this... but when I was really done, when I was really wanting to just take a blade to my arm and cut... I would use my nail instead. Just once. Just slide it down and feel it burn. Never obsessively.

But I was stupid and oblivious, and I honestly thought cutting was the only real kind of self-harm. Obviously, it's not. And when I Googled self-harm, I found that out. And I also found out that scratching was a kind of official. Self. Harm.

It was only every once in a while, never obsessively, but... it felt like that knowledge made it so that I already did self-harm. That all of the strength it had taken to never cut had gone to waste, because I was as good as a cutter anyway. I wasn't, but that's what it felt like. So you'd think I would have gone, "I am never doing that again!" But I didn't.

Like I said, it felt like everything had been taken out of my control. So guess what? I started scratching obsessively.

It was just a faster and faster downward slide from there. One night I finally broke and decided to cut, slipping a knife from the kitchen.

It wouldn't actually cut. It scratched too, so I used it as well as my nail for a while.

And the thing was, those scratches... they didn't scar.

I'd started wearing a lot of long sleeves because of the mere temptation to cut, so switching over to them almost entirely didn't really draw any attention. And anyway, when I had to wear short sleeves, the scratches were way less noticeable then cuts, and could be passed off with a lie really, really easily.

Then, I had these scissors. Tiny. Sharp. I started using then to scratch as well. Then. I discovered they could draw blood. And more blood.

And by the time I discovered those scars didn't go away, it was too late, and, once again, I felt like I was already trapped.

From there, my life seemed to spiral down, out of control. I went to a youth conference with my youth group. Amazing. And it's hard to explain, but I felt freed from depression, from suicidal thoughts, from everything, right there. That was actually when I was still in the scratching phase, so I didn't even have any permanent scars. They'd just asked anyone who just didn't feel good enough to raise there hand.

It was simple. Easy. Not to personal, and anyway, that conference was amazing, and I was on a Holy Spirit high. I raised my hand. Aaron prayed for me, and right there, it was like the door to my prison of depression and despair was opened, and I was flooded with light.

And then, mere hours later, while I was still sitting there, basking in the sunlight, the door was slammed right back in my face, and I was more stuck than I'd ever been before.

There's obviously more, like the people that have come into my life since, like the huge amount I've fallen since then, so that, honestly, I scoff at that pain now. But the fact is, that's where it started. That's how is happened.

And I never even saw it coming.

Now, quickly, to answer the questions I haven't yet.

Why don't I ask for help?

I just... I can't let everyone down like that. My family would be crushed and furious. I can't imagine what my best friend would do. I just don't know. And anyway, I've almost forgotten how to let people past my guard anymore.

Why don't I just get over with it and kill myself?

My little sister. Hope. I just... it's way too complicated to state here, but this is what love feels like (#tobyMac up in here). I love her way too much to cause her the pain of her older sister killing herself.

And why am I turning to a false name?

Well, I need to vent.

But also... Christian artists... people like Colton Dixon, for KING & COUNTRY, Skillet, Anthem Lights, tobyMac, and so many others... their music has kept me going through all of this. And if I ever get past this, I have this crazy, impossible dream of being one of them. I know it's never gonna happen, but still... I just want to get my music out there. Feel like I'm doing something.

So, anyway, if you were wondering, if you've actually gotten this far without getting disgusted and giving up... that's why.