MY LIFE.... Yeah, that's exactly what I said....

I have to write an autobiography for one of my classes: Career Research. So, of course, I turn to writing my ideas down to sort out my pathetic life.... Or in this case blog about it.

I don't even know if I'm going to put this on my blog. I mean, who wants to read my rants about my pathetic life??? I'll probably just put my autobiography on there and leave this to the voices in my head...

Ok, what to put on there. I was born on September 30, 1992 in a pathetic Winter Park hospital. I don't even remember my first house; we have driven by and all I wish to say is that it is small pathetic excsue for a shack and that my mother screamed that they painted it an ugly peach color.

When I was two, we moved to my current house. A remote area in Lake Mary somehow drove my parents crazy over the house. It's blue with white trim, and it's the only home I have. I love that house. All its beat up floors, all the falling apart fixtures and rusty doors, all the dust and wear from use. To see how much a person values their possessions, look at its war scars; The new floor boards, the freshly painted siding, the fixed bathroom tiles....I fear I may soon not be able to call it home any more...

I am now 17 and a junior at Orangewood Christian School. How in hell I survived is a mystery...

My parents are not really the "traditional, moral" parents. My mom was divorced with two children. She was adopted into a wonderful family, who's parents soon got divorced. Her mom remarried, and he became my grandpa. My dad was the oldest of his many siblings; I keep losing track on how many there are. His dad died in Vietnam, and his mother remarried. Her new husband died soon after I was born.

I have three siblings and one niece. One older brother who lives in Chicago, one older sister with a daughter who is five, and a younger brother who is 13.

My family is foundationally Christian. I don't know if we are specifically one denomination or another. I just know we're NOT Catholic. I had grown up in the church and Christian schools: sunday school first, then the boring lessons, then the dragging sermons, and then the drudgingly long Bible classes. At first I enjoyed them. What was this new fascination I observed that everyone else had with God and Jesus and heaven? Soon my attention began to wane and my fascination along with it. All I heard was "Repent Repent Repent." Which translated into "You Suck You Suck You Suck." Sure, God loves me anyway. Ok I can deal with that. But why would God want some sucky person like that??

If you made it this far I commend you. I refuse to go on about religion any longer and bore the heck out of you. Not that you weren't bored already.

In second grade I moved to a public school for one year. It was tough, but not as tough as life would be later. We were just kids back then and didn't understand ANYTHING. I soon moved back to my old school. Third grade, 9-11 happened. Fourth grade, I made some friends. Fifth grade, they all turned on me. After threats on my life, we decided to move me, and later my younger brother, to Orangewood. I stayed there through eighth grade. Then came the life-changer. Boom. (Yeah, pretty dramatic, right? Ok, it sounded more like this:)

"Guess what?!?! You're going to public school!!!!"

Now, don't get me wrong. Public school can be great for those who know how it works. I was this stupid, innocent, retarded freshmen who knew NOTHING about the real world or high school. So, I was doomed from the start. This huge transition, although only for one year, tested my morals, my "religion," my beliefs, my standards, my self-esteem, and my emotions.

I was diagnosed with depression the end of sophomore year....

Depression has basically ruled my life for at least the past three years. Pain. Sorrow. Hurt. I cannot remember when it started. Possibly in middle school, definitely in high school. I have been sad, tired, hopeless, and suicidal. I finally told my youth pastor and a great friend after writing a suicide letter one night; they saved me more than I can imagine. However, along with other major problems I don't really wish to discuss, the depression got worse and worse and worse until I finally couldn't take it any more.

So I ran away.

My friend picked me up and we left a note at my house saying I was safe and not to worry. I told them I was depressed and suicidal. I drove to a friend's house and spent the night. My phone, however, died after getting so many calls and text messages.... I guess somebody cared....

That wasn't the last time I ran away. I have constantly been running, both physically and figuratively. I am scared of change, scared of being truly happy, scared of hate and sorrow. I am terrified of myself. But no one can run from themselves....

We went to a recommended therapist, who I still go to to this day. In fact, my appointment is tomorrow. I love him. He is amazing, wonderful, kind, and caring. I can't wait to see him.

My mom also took me to the doctor, who prescribed prozac for my depression. I started at 5mg a day, and am now at triple that.

Soon after I started cutting.... It is a way of escape for me. A release. Sometimes a way to actually feel something instead of just being numb. Feeling the sharp sting of pain revives my focus to here and now. I can only see the blood, not the sorrow....

Today I have been free from cutting for who knows how long. A week. A month. Who knows. I lost track.

I met a lot of friends on facebook from a non-profit group called To Write Love on Her Arms. We constantly message each other and encourage each other. I love them to death <3

So here I am. Lost for lonely love to find....
~Daniel