the beginning

As a teenage girl, I was forcefully thrown into adulthood in order to care for my mother. She was fighting battles with drug addiction, depression, and borderline personality disorder. I had no choice, so I forgot myself. I forgot that I, too, had depression. I forgot that I had panic attacks and anxiety problems. I forgot to take care of myself.

To this day, I forget myself. How is that possible? It's actually more simple that you could ever imagine. You become a shell, an empty shell without it's hermit friend. A shell that has lost it's creamy chocolate center. A shell that has yet to be filled back up again.

Empty.

It's not like I had a bad childhood that was void of beauty. I have many wonderful memories, like picking flowers, skipping through fields, playing with dogs, Barbie Dream Houses, and stuffed animals. I was raised with utmost care and never-ending protection, but my mother's life was a different story. Because her past years were so riddled with pain and abuse, she decided to forget about herself to raise me. She wanted to give me the young years that she did not have.

But chronic depression with a side of anxiety and eating disorders is a large dinner plate that has been passed down the family from woman to woman. As hard as she tried, my mother could not stop this monster.

For seven years I was free from self harm.

Seven years.

But it hit me quickly. Like a slap on the cheek from a cold hand, I found myself standing in the dark, surrounded by the harsh world of relapse.

I want to, I want to, I want to.
But I shouldn’t.
But I want to.
And my arm is covered in scratches and indents from my fingernails.
And my stomach is not empty enough.
Because I want to. And I could get away with it. And no one would notice. And it would be perfect.

Relapse. This is what it does to you. In this world it is colder than ever. There is no such thing as a quiet mind or a relaxed moment. You may tell yourself this, but your mind is so hell bent on ruining yourself that it hides behind smiles and laughs and friendly encounters. Behind that smile is a yearning to slash your wrist and behind that laugh is an urge to starve yourself. You want to hurt, you need to hurt. Because that is how you feel. That is how you survive.

This is what your life is.

Eating disorders are not for the person who wants to lose a quick ten pounds. Cutting is not for someone who feels very sad for a long time. Sure, you can pick it up whenever you want, but you can also put it down whenever you want. When it is real, it is an addiction. When it is real, it is in your blood.

They are my addiction, they are in my blood.

A Meeting With Kaitlin

Kaitlin Christine Cech is a Michigan native from a family of two sisters, one brother, and two dogs. Of Italian and Czechoslovakian decent, she likes to paint and cook. She is very self conscious of her work, and has changed her major from art to undecided. Kaitlin is in a relationship with Nick, her boyfriend of three years.
She plans to join Chi Omega, although she states that she "dislikes that ordeal". (So do I Kaitlin, so do I).
California is where she would like to live in the future, maybe this is too pursue her dreams or to bask in the sunlight of such a beautiful state.
At the end of the list of her facts about herself, she adds that she almost lost her arm when she was four, and has a hole in her heart. The worst injuries I've ever had were the usual cuts and scraped from running around old playgrounds that had lots of wood chips, pebbles, and rusty nails. I guess I won't complain about my scars, then.