The Supernatural fandom is like a family.
Like any other family, we have our issues. Sometimes we disagree. Sometimes we fight. Sometimes we even hurt one another.
However, when push comes to shove, we will go to the mat for each other time and time again.
This family has proven that when we stand united there isn't anything that we can't accomplish. Whether it's raising thousands of dollars for charity or breaking a world record.
Carry On is a place for the Supernatural family to stand united against the evils of this world, as well as our own personal demons. It is a safe place, where you can come and know that you are not alone.
If you have ever felt like you were going through your own personal apocalypse, this is the place for you.
If you want to stand alongside your Supernatural brothers & sisters and help them fight their war, this is the place for you.
Together we can stay strong and carry on.
Because family don't end with blood.
In honor of Jared and Jensen's "Always Keep Fighting" campaign, Carry On has changed the Share Your Story section of our website to better reflect this amazing message.
We encourage fans to share their stories with others so that they may inspire their Supernatural Family to "always keep fighting" and to never give up. It can be extraordinarily helpful to hear someone else's story and to know that it really does get better.
You can submit your story below or if you'd like to include a photo of you in your "Always Keep Fighting" shirt or holding an "Always Keep Fighting" sign you can e-mail both your story and picture to us here.
*Warning: Some stories may contain subjects that are triggering to some fans. Proceed with caution.
High School was a really tough time for me. About halfway through my Freshman year, a girl I thought was my best friend ditched me and all of the 'friends' in our group went with her. I was all alone. I was picked on. I was bullied. I went into a deep depression. I dreaded going to school. It would make me sick. I missed so much school because of it.
This went on for two years. I tried to get help, but I found myself dreading going to the therapist as much as I dreaded going to school. So I stopped.
It wasn't a 'crying all day' kind of depression. It was more like I was just living my life on autopilot. I was just going through the motions. I thought about suicide sometimes. I never really considered doing it, but it crossed my mind.
Finally, after two years of living like this, I had a 'light bulb' moment. I realized that, looking back over the past two years of my life, I couldn't think of a single happy moment. That scared the shit out of me. I was determined not to live like that anymore.
I stopped caring so much about what others thought about me and started living my life the way that I wanted to live it. My Senior year I even tried out for the school musical. If you had known me before you would have never believed it! I still have anxiety issues and I still dislike change, but I am a lot better than I was. I love my life now.
A big part of why life is so good for me now is Supernatural. I have met so many wonderful people! I have done things that I never would have done before! I broke a world record. I met the actors. I danced with Kim Rhodes. I got called "kinky" by Misha Collins. None of this would have happened if I had not gotten out of my depression.
This is why I created this group. I want to make sure that others hang on, because it really does get better.
Always keep fighting!
I have dealt with depression for many many years. I have found happiness in my life now and I'm thankful to my husband who has saved me. My son has dealt with bullying for some years now,and a few years ago it hit an all time low...and tried to kill himself. Today he is much happier,though he deals with bully's here and there but he's much stronger and I'm much stronger because of our trials together. ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING has become our new moto. Because if we stick together as a strong family and ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING we can accomplish anything in life. I am thankful for Jared and Jensen for their fight in this compaine and though I have never met them...I feel close to them because of this wonderful thing they started. Love u guys. Hugs to u both. Take care. (I hope they can see this)
(written on April 9, 2015)
I've had a pretty good couple weeks on social media. Thanks to some truly great folks on Twitter, I've made a lot of new buddies in the Supernatural community. People nearby, across the ocean, in different time zones; from different walks of life, younger, older, with kids, with grand-kids. And a lot of us share the same sorts of problems; bills, car problems, job gripes, medical issues, bad days.
I took part in the Always Keep Fighting campaign, started up by Supernatural's own Jared Padelecki, which helps raise awareness of depression. Over the past several weeks there have been posts from thousands of people all over the world sharing pictures of themselves & loved ones wearing their new shirts and sharing who and what and why they were fighting for. I don't know the exact figures, but it made a ton of money and a gazillion shirts sold for the cause. And boy did it raise awareness. (Side note: I also recently watched To Write Love On Her Arms, which was also very thought-provoking.)
And it made me really think.
My AKF shirt arrived yesterday, which cheered me up cuz I'd come home sick from work. I put it on, spent 10 minutes trying to take a decent selfie, and posted on Twitter for all to see. Then I jumped into a SPN Marathon that had participants from all over the globe. We watched several episodes, live tweeting along, Quoting funny lines, sharing gifs, asking some good questions. I think I made it through 5 episodes or so, and they ran the gamut from serious to silly to sexy to soul-searching. (Season 4, when Dean's brought back from Hell by Castiel and Sam is really good friends with Ruby the demon.)
Let me get to my point. Dean's been through hell. Literally Hell. And he's having a hard time dealing, when he's dealing at all. He's got Sam to talk to but instead he broods and drinks. That's his way of coping.
Which hit me so hard because that's what I do.
Since I was 14, I've been battling depression. Everybody goes through something or another at that age, whether it's normal teenage angst, hormones, or actual real illnesses. I thought about suicide and decided that I wasn't going to make it to see the end of the year, let alone graduation. (I never saw a doctor about it, or a therapist, but I did get put on birth control pills at 18 to help curb my severe PMS, which included horrific mood swings every month. The pills did help, but every few years I'd have to switch brands because the one I was on would stop working right. My doctor finally took me off them for good last year.) I started self-harming myself. It started off relatively minor. I'd push safety pins though the top layers of skin on my palms and then rip them out. Or I'd scratch up my wrists with a pin til I drew blood. There were other kids in school that did self-harm and other stuff mostly for attention and they displayed it like they were in a circus freak show. Not me. I hid what I did to myself. My cover-up of choice was a long string of ball-bearing chains (the kind that school IDs came on) that covered from wrist to mid-forearm. I don't remember exactly when I upgraded to razor blades plied out of disposable razors. Cutting and writing were the only things that could help me deal with the severe down moods I would experience on a regular basis. If someone noticed the cuts and said something, I passed most of it off on my clumsiness or kitchen accidents.
Eventually a relative or one of my parents straight out asked me what was going on and I confessed to a lesser version of what was really going on. I'd promise to stop doing it and talk to them instead if I was feeling bad.
That was a bold faced lie. I kept on cutting. Eventually there were longer periods of time between episodes. But I never stopped completely. I think I went a year and a half without an incident once, but then something or another happened that triggered a relapse. As of right now, I don't know exactly how long it's been since I cut, but I'd like to say a good 6 months.
Turning 21 was another milestone. I could now go out and buy my own alcohol instead of having an older friend or my friend's dad (who we would find out years later was an alcoholic) buy stuff for me. I liked to think I was a fun drunk, getting goofy and silly. That would later turn into bad decisions, sudden rages, crying fits, and general chaos. It also fueled cutting episodes. In more recent years, alcohol was pretty much the instigator behind most of my self-harm. I spent most of my 20's having too much "fun" on the weekends and learning pretty quick just how much hangovers sucked. But my friends did the same thing, so it was all good, so I thought. I'm betting most of them didn't drink til they blacked out though, struggling to remember the next day what had happened the night before. On occasion I'd wake up after a night of binge drinking that I'd swear off booze. Which lasted maybe a week.
At 25 I got fired from my job of 7 years. It was the single stupidest thing ever. A coworker who didn't like me decided to start making up stories about me to the boss, and actually blackmailed another girl into doing the same. They must have been some pretty good stories, because my boss fired me without really getting my side of things. I only found out all the details after I'd been gone for a few months. I ended up bouncing between unemployment and part-time jobs for the next couple years, and ultimately fell pretty far into debt due to medical bills, car problems, and basic living expenses.
Sometime in my mid-20s I added another vice to the mix. Why not round out the destructive behavior trifecta with an eating disorder? Bulimia it was. That started up mainly due to conflict with a relative. The same relative who even to this day can get me riled into a downward spiral faster than you can snap your fingers. The bulimia started off innocently. I'd eaten to the point where I felt I was going to burst. Why not just stick my finger down my throat and solve that little problem? It got very bad during my time working a previous job. where all the girls were younger and prettier and much thinner. (I've been overweight for pretty much all of my life, at this point in time I think I was at my heaviest.) It was a crazy job that was the most demanding thing I'd ever done. I babysat during the day and worked at the office at night and I honestly don't know how I made it through that year.
Soon all the stress combined with the ill effects of throwing up everything I ate and then going out drinking with the girls caught up with me. I ended up in the ER one night with heart palpitations so bad that my pulse wouldn't stay steady for more than 30 seconds at a time. Tests concluded that I was dehydrated and that my potassium levels were very low. (Potassium is important for heart health. Levels too low or too high are dangerous.) I was taken off the blood pressure pills and given a prescription for potassium supplements. That kept me on a straight and narrow path for a while, before I started up again with the reverse-eating and drinking.
During this time I started dating for the first time in 7 years. A guy I'd known a while but never really considered as boyfriend material. We drunkenly hooked up (as in made out all night and passed out in the spare room) at a friend's party. Looking back, I don't know how I let myself stay as long as I did in such a dysfunctional relationship. We hung out, drank, fought, broke up a couple of times, got back together. Instead of romantic date nights we'd have alcohol-fueled trysts that usually ended up with me worse for wear. One particularly bad night, he was so rough and violent that the next day I confessed to a friend that I wondered if I should press charges for assault & rape. Yet I stayed with him and kept coming back to him. During the last break, his drinking got worse and he got arrested on a DUI and sentenced to community service. We started up dating again and he committed to his sobriety. I got him doing his CS through my dad's church. We lasted exactly as long as his service period. The minute my dad signed off on his completed paperwork for the court, I never heard from him again. It was then I realized what a complete asshole and tool this guy was and I was much better off without him. Eventually I also learned that he'd been seeing another girl the whole last leg of our relationship. Last I'd seen on Facebook, they were engaged to be married. Good luck to them both.
Finally, I got myself into therapy. (I had a solid full-time job with benefits that actually covered most of the cost of a therapist.) Mostly because I was having a hard time with the breakup, but I was still battling with the self-harm, drinking, and bulimia. I stayed in therapy through the next relationship, which would end up being some of the worst months yet.
Another boyfriend. A guy I went to high school with. An ex-Marine who was, conveniently, about to go into rehab the week before we began seeing each other. Pain killers and booze. It's really hard to write about this one because it's one of the things that has effed me up the most in recent years. Here's what I can say. I don't know if his claim that he was injured in Afghanistan is true or false. I do know that he was a pathological liar with an outstanding warrant for his arrest and 3 kids with 2 different women, one of whom he still shared a living space with. That, along with the fact that his 3 year old daughter took a shine to me, made for some very awkward stuff. We only lasted a couple of months. Toward the end, his bipolar disorder got out of hand. It may have been because he stopped taking his meds and possibly started drinking again. I'll never know because I broke things off one night after he called me in some kind of manic rage and he scared me so bad that I hung up, texted that it was over, and wouldn't answer his calls or texts until he finally gave up after a couple of months. I think he eventually went to rehab again because he contacted me on Facebook asking for forgiveness (sounded like AA 12-step lingo) but I still ignored him.
The only good thing that came out of this relationship is that I stayed sober with him, a record 60-something days. Until I cracked the night of the breakup.
I have never been so terrified of another human being. I spent most of my therapy sessions relating my fears about how I had nightmares about my now-ex showing up at my door with a weapon (gun, knife, bat) and threatening me if I didn't get back together with him. Every time my phone rang with an unknown number, it sent me into an anxiety attack. This prompted a visit to a psychiatrist, who set about trying me on different anti-anxiety medications. Hence my earlier statement about being a medical guinea pig. From what I remember, we tried about 6 different drugs in the course of a couple months. Nothing worked; everything gave me horrible side effects, from insomnia to paranoia to turning me into a complete zombie. My boss noticed in a big way and sat me down to find out what was going on. After the last failed prescription, I swore off therapy and medication and went back to doing what I do. Self medicating with booze, food, and razors.
A couple of months after all that mess, I managed to start up with another guy. (Side note: I swear it was just a phase. I don't date much and I probably shouldn't, given my track record.) He was funny and sweet........and so what if he smoked a little weed on occasion? And maybe drank a little too much on occasion. And drove us home drunk from our first date and passed out on my couch. Thankfully, this guy wasn't violent or anything, but he had some issues. Like that previous relationship, we mostly hung out and drank, which was completely unhealthy and never led to anything good. He broke up with me after 5-6 months, in a letter, saying that he feared he was turning me into an alcoholic and I deserved someone better. I should've known it wasn't going to last when he refused to introduce me to his family. Supposedly his mom didn't like me because I was 4 years older than he was. That was just weird. Yeah, I know sure how to pick 'em. He kept drunk-texting me for months afterward which made me wonder why he broke it off in the first place.
But he was probably right about the alcoholic part. And it would appear that I manage to end up dating guys with substance abuse problems as well. I'm sure my therapist would have something to say about that.
(Backstory: I have lived in my grandma's house since I was 22. Partly because things at home with my parents and brother reached a boiling point (moody teenage boy plus moody 22 year old girl plus stressed out mom and dad equals disaster) so I moved out. Grandma (and my aunt) liked having me around to help. Grandma's health (physical and mental) declined over the years and about 3 years ago got pretty bad. Her doctors had diagnosed her with macular degeneration (eye disease that eventually leaves a person blind or near to it) and dementia. In the last year of her life, we ended up hiring a caregiver to take care of her, because we could no longer leave her home alone during the day while everyone else went to work. After a few months of shabby service, my mom (who was not working at the moment) took over as caregiver until Grandma passed away this past November.)
Slowly, over the next couple of years, I lost contact with most of my friends, largely due to the fact that I deleted all of my social media accounts after all the harassment from ex-boyfriends and other creepy stalker-type guys, but also because it got more and more difficult to have company over or go out for the night with my grandma needing constant care. I lost my job due to layoffs, which sent me into a panic because I had just worked so hard to pay off all my debts from the last time I'd been unemployed. The stress and pressure of living with and looking after a 90-something year old woman who wasn't in her right mind a lot of the time took its toll on me too. I passed the time by binge-watching stuff on Netflix while binge-eating and binge-drinking until I was sick. I drank to pass out at night, so I could actually sleep though the night instead of having to get up every time my grandma called out. After she died, I still drank to pass out for the night because I'd wake up thinking I heard her yelling for me, when I wasn't having nightmares. I started a new job, thankfully, a month after losing the previous one. They had me as a temp for 6 months before I was hired permanently. I was on pins and needles the whole time, fearing they'd let me go at any time. Money problems have always been a big trigger for a meltdown.
I noticed that my front teeth were starting to chip and erode from repeatedly throwing up all the time. When my dentist made a comment about it, I blamed it on my acid reflux. I had to take potassium supplements every day because my system was so out of balance from being dehydrated and under-nourished half the time. I gained back all the weight I had lost and then some. My hangovers were a brutal affair. I've lost track of how many nights I don't remember the ending to because I've blacked out drunk. I haven't done any cutting lately though, but I might as well, for as banged up as I get when I stumble from the kitchen or living room into my bed after a bender. Sick days from work were primarily for recovery days. Never mind the non-productive days when I manage to drag my sorry butt into the office with pounding headaches, horrible nausea, and general misery.
I am so tired of it. This stupid pointless cycle. I have been battling these demons for the past 20 years and it's time it came to an end. My left arm is a mess of scars from shoulder to wrist. I can't wear anything sleeveless or very short sleeved anywhere outside of my own home. I've got health issues resulting from all the abuse from alcohol and vomiting. My performance at work has suffered and I'm running out of available days off. If I keep this up, it's going to kill me sooner rather than later, and that's a very scary thought, seeing as I'm only going to be 34 in a little over a week.
Starting as of yesterday I am giving it all up. Self-harm, bulimia, drinking, the whole nine yards. It's going to take a lot of willpower and strength, and I hope that anyone who's read this will support me and be there for me when I'm having a bad day and need a friend to talk to. I have to remember that I am not alone and there are people out there who have been through similar things and made it through with help from their family and friends.
Thank you for reading this, and thanks in advance for everything else you may do to help me in the future. I am gonna start fighting and will always keep fighting!
When I was younger, I was sexually abused by a family member, and it has stayed with me ever since. Within the past year I've gone into a deep depression and I've been hurting myself for quite some time now. With Jared's campaign I've felt better. I got a shirt and everything, but I still hurt myself and I can't seem to stop and I can't find happiness anywhere but with my horse. I really need help but it's going to be a while before I can get a therapist due to my parents not putting it at the front of their to-do list. I really need help, and Jared's campaign has helped a ton, and every time I wear the shirt i feel empowered, but I still need help. I just wish someone were there for me to hug when I need it...
I was always the happy child, I was always the little ray of sunshine, well, that was the case until the end of 4th grade, 5 years ago. About 5 years ago my parents got into a huge physical fight, my two older brothers were in Michigan, my two younger brothers and I, 5, 7 and 8, saw the entire thing, it was really hard to see them fight this badly, my mom told me to grab her phone and call the police. I grabbed the phone and tried to call the police, keeping Nolan and Ian in my room so they wouldn't get hurt. For about an hour I was crying and trying to call the cops, when I finally called them, it was about 2 am on a school night, so Nolan and Ian were crabby and tired, as was I, they took us to our neighbors house and we had to stay there for the night, because my mom had to go to the hospital and my dad obviously went to jail. The next day at school, I was exhausted, my teacher found out about it from my school counselor because the police told her, so he was trying to make me feel better, but nothing worked. By the time 5th grade rolled around, my parents were divorced and I couldn't talk about it much, so, I didn't. My teacher asked me on multiple occasions why I wasn't the happy little ray of sunshine I was in 4th grade and why I was being so sensitive about being called ms. Frizzle by other students (I have extremely curly hair). I told her that words really do leave big scars on the inside. Around that time is when the mental abuse from my mother started towards all 4 of my brothers and I, she also neglected us and physically abused my two older brothers, Devin and Conner, and, my younger brother, Nolan. She was calling me worthless and that I don't matter and that everyone would be better off knowing I was dead. She doesn't remember saying any of that because she was drunk out of her mind, but, it doesn't excuse it, it doesn't make it okay, in fact it makes it worse. She'd be too drunk most days to get up in the morning, Devin and Conner had to wake us up and make sure we got on the bus in the morning. They made sure we had food on the table each night. They'd walk to dollar general right behind our house and buy us food. When the physical abuse got worse for Devin and Conner, the courts made them move in with their dad, at this point we were living in Michigan again, but, that meant that I had to take over, a 10 almost 11 year old, taking care of her 2 little brothers, making sure that I knew the way to our aunts house if needed. Then, right after 6th grade, we moved to Nebraska, my mom got drunk on my 12th, 13th, and 14th birthday, my 13th and 14th were the worst because I had friends over and they saw what she was like when she was drunk, she's almost killed my brothers and I because of her drunk driving. 5 months and 9 days ago, my great uncle committed suicide, I've been depressed for about 2 years now and this pulled me deeper into my depression, I've started cutting to feel something, and, I feel like my mother was right, maybe I am better off dead than alive. This campaign has helped me, because I see that people do care, and, I'm not alone. I feel like I need to always keep fighting, I need to do it for Nolan and Ian. I need to do it for me.
I have suffered from low self-esteem, depression, and anxiety since my teens. I always had an excuse for not doing things. When I was 18 I had to have 1 ovary removed because of a tumor. When I was 23 the other ovary was removed. The only thing I have ever wanted in life is to have children, now I can't. People walked around on eggshells around me, never knowing when I might "go off". I went to therapy but it just pissed me off.
In 2004 my uncle's ex-wife, the mother of my cousins, and a schizophrenic purchased a handgun and killed my cousins and herself. This was a woman that I admired so much. Needless to say, my depression deepened.
I have never thought seriously about harming myself. Instead, I eat. A lot. I weighed 298 pounds before having "fat girl surgery" (my name for it). I lost 75 pounds and have put on 40 because I continue to eat.
I am unhappy in all aspects of my life, but I continue to keep fighting. I hope to one day be out of this. And yes, I am on medication.
My story may not be extraordinary (and I'm sorry for my grammar and writing, my native language isn't english)
So I'm 16 years old. And my life seems to be okay. I have a best friend and a great family. But at school it's tough for me. Last year I had some really good friends there and then suddenly they started to push me out. I searched all the faults on me..but i had no idea why they did this. I started being depressed..i cried a lot. I wanted to tell it my best friend but I'm afraid..
So one day I asked them myself and they said everything is okay.
Then it started again. And I felt worse then before idk why. I have big trust issues. Last summer I started watching supernatural. It cheered me up. And then I got twitter and I've met some fans from #SPNFamily there. I started feeling better, even at school I didn't give a fuck anymore about my 'friends'. Then #AlwaysKeepFighting campaigne gave me courage too. It still hurts to be the third wheel, nobody wants you in a group work or something. But I learned fighting. To always keep fighting. Better times will come!!
My story is not spectacular but I still hope it helps to encourage other ppl telling theirs. :)
My childhood and teenage years were hard. So far what I'm seen of my short adult years haven't been much different.
As a child I had a lot of things that could be described simply as "bad," happen to me. I was molested by my grandfather from the time I was 2 until I was 7. I was raped walking home from school at 10. My mom was diagnosed with a life threatening disease when I was 7. My parents got divorced when I was 6.The divorce made my dad cold and hardened his heart. He wasn't the father I had known. He drank and had bad days that he liked to take out on me. Weather it was telling me I was worthless and unloved or beating me until I couldn't move anymore, none of it was good. Despite all these things I tried to have a good, positive outlook on life as a child. I told myself these things were learning experiences. That I would grow from them.
Although that is true, as a teenager it made me become withdrawn and unsure. I tried to pride myself on being kind because nobody deserves to be treated the way I had been but I was distrustful and afraid. My peers didn't help. I had been bullied for most of my time in school. Elementary school and junior high weren't great but I always told myself nothing they tell me would pale in comparison to my fathers abuse.
That was also true but the comments on my weight and appearance still tore me apart inside. Although everything they were telling me were things I has already heard many times from my dad they took on new meaning and stung in a new kind of way coming out of the mouths of my peers. I was overweight and I had never really fit in. I didn't have many friends and no one I was comfortable turning to. Eventually the comments broke me so I stopped eating. When I did eat I made sure to throw up no more than a half hour after I finished eating. I looked in the mirror unsatisfied. I thought I looked like a whale. I felt like I was the size of a skyscraper even though I was only a size 14.
The weight never came off. Not even a pound. Which I know now that's because I was going about it the wrong way. But I felt like a failure. The comments continued and all I could think was "you cant even loose weight right." I continued to not eat and to throw up what I did but it wasn't enough. The pain of my childhood, of my father, of the emptiness I felt inside, the cruelty of my peers weighed on me. So at 14 I turned to razors.
For once I was in control of something. My weight, my fathers abuse, my mothers slow decline I couldn't control those things but the amount of blood I drew I could control that. If I'm being honest the pain was comforting. I had already been numb for years but when I was cutting I felt something. It reminded me I was still alive but that wasn't always a good thing. I had been depressed but when I could feel something other than the mundane autopilot of the day to day it got worse.
By 16 everyday was a struggle. The need to cut, to feel anything became stronger. And the more I felt the more I though about suicide. I started acting out in hopes someone, anyone would stop me. I needed someone to stop me, to notice me. I needed the attention. By this time I had gotten away from my dad but my mom felt "lonely." No matter how hard I tried that was a void I could never fill for her. I needed her. I needed help, but I would never ask for it. No matter how how badly I needed my mom she always needed her boyfriend more. The vandalism and drugs, my bad choices were all byproducts of my depression and my mothers neglect. In my own backward way I was begging for her to notice me. Even after we moved in with him she never paid much attention to me.
Her boyfriend was a mostly good man. He had his faults like everyone but he genuinely cared for my mom and he took care of us financially which was more than my mom and I had since my parents divorce when I was 6. He drank more than a person should and he was a mean drunk. He was so much like my father. So much like the man I spent the first 16 years of my life trying to get away from only to be dragged back in. But my mom was happy and even though she mistreated me that was all I wanted.
At 18 I had stopped acting out realizing my mom was never going to give me the attention I longed for but I was having unexplained and severe mood swings I had no control over. Regardless I had graduated high school and for the most part gotten away from the constant torment inflicted by my peers. I was in college, it was different. The people were much nicer and this time I was there by choice. I was still sad but I had decided 18 was gonna be my year and up until a month and a half before my birthday it mostly had been.
A month and a half before my 19th birthday my moms boyfriend got drunk. Although that was the norm, this particular night he had been more wasted than usual. Hes was looking for something to nitpick at, even where there was nothing. He was looking for a fight and much like my father he chose me as the intended target. That night he never actually found anything to be legitimately angry about. None the less he tried and when it wasn't going his way he kicked me out of the house. Over the next few weeks I would periodically test the waters to see if I could return home. It was always a no. It stayed a no for 7 months with no protest from my mom. She "needed" him. She never needed me; I felt disposable.
I didn't really have friends no one I was close enough to ask for a place to stay from. No one close enough to me to offer to let me stay with them. When people heard I was homeless I got a lot of "Oh no, that's horrible," Or "How terrible, I hope everything works out," and again in my life I was alone.
Being homeless, jobless and trying to get through school full time is difficult. I spent 16 hours a day at school, from 6 AM to 10 PM with classes scattered throughout the day. The little time between classes I spent doing homework, trying to find food and find a place to shower. My nights were spent in various parks, under overpasses, pretty much anywhere I knew the police didn't check but most of the time I wasn't alone. Their is really no way to describe the terror of trying to sleep surrounded by people doing hard drugs or having really serious psychotic breaks. Sometimes I found a place by myself but not often. One night when I was alone trying to fall asleep under a bridge a man I pray I never see again found me and he raped me.
After 2 months and now being 19 I had found out how hard school was as a homeless teenager and stopped going, I also found out I was pregnant. Realizing I was never going to bring myself to get an abortion, I had officially decided I was keeping the baby. I soon I found out it was a girl. I loved her regardless of how she was conceived and I was so determined to give her a better life than mine. I decided my daughter who I named Asher was going to be what made my life better. I was determined to live. More determined than I had been since I was 12. Asher was supposed to live a long beautiful life filled with as much joy as I could possibly supply. But when I was 5 months pregnant I woke up in the middle of the night with contractions. I had no way to get to a hospital and no reception on my phone to call anyone. I had ventured far from town that night like I did most nights now so no one could find me anymore, so no one could hurt me. I was still an hours walk away from the hospital when the contractions got so bad I couldn't walk. It was happening so fast and at around 3 in the morning Asher was born 4 months early on the side of a deserted gravel road. She died in my arms. After I determined I could walk again I carried her all the way to the hospital but their was nothing they could do.
I was released from the hospital 2 days later and to my surprise my mom was there to pick me up. I was allowed back at my house but all my willpower was gone. I felt like my whole life had been taken from me by countless hardships. I couldn't remember any happy times, all I saw was a constant nightmare that I could never escape. I gave up. I swallowed sixteen 10mg Percocet, 33mg of Ativan, and 100mg of Ambien. I prayed for death, it was all I wanted. But I woke up 6 days later out of a coma in the ICU. The doctors and nurses told me I should be dead. Some of them told me that my life was a gift from God and that He obviously had a great plan for me because by medical standards no amount of stomach pumping or charcoal should have saved me. That's when I was shipped off to a psychiatric hospital for the first time.
While I was there they tried an array of different medications. Because of my unexplained mood swings and the way anti depressants effected me they determined I was Bipolar. They told me that my horrific nightmares were a product of the PTSD I had developed from all the trauma in my life. They treated me accordingly and after 2 months I was sent home.
I'm 22 now and since being diagnosed at 19 I've tried to commit suicide 3 times and I've been in and out of psychiatric hospitals almost monthly. in late November of 2014 I started getting really sick. I don't have a diagnosis yet but my doctors think I might have an autoimmune disease. I was to sick to leave the house so I started watch Supernatural in January. It took me 2 months to watch all 9 season on Netflix and what was available of season 10.
The show gave me hope. Being able to relate to Sam and his struggles in a weird kind of twisted way has proven to be a huge comfort. I've spent a lot of time learning about the actors and they've all inspired me to be a better person and made me want to live life again. Misha's kindness for others, Jensen's very Jenseny way of caring and Jared's own struggles and Always Keep Fighting campaign have made me want to do exactly that; Always Keep Fighting.
My life isn't perfect and its never going to be. I'm always gonna have whats happened to me hanging over me in a way I wish it wouldn't. But my moms boyfriend (now fiance) has become a much nicer person, hes quit drinking and has since apologized profusely for everything. I have a really great relationship with my mom now and although her health continues to decline I'm her caregiver and I get to spend all day with her. I've even convinced her to start watching Supernatural (We just finished season 8). I've managed to stay out of the hospital now for a full 4 months which is the longest I've gone since I was diagnosed at 19.
I still have bad days. Days where I don't want to get out of bed in the morning. But the more time that passes the less they happen. For the first time since Asher I see a future and I'm really trying to achieve something better for myself. I completely owe that to everyone who is a part of Supernatural and the SPN family. Everyone has changed my life completely for the better. And for the first time I'm looking forward to what the future is going to hold for me.
Always keep fighting has truly taken on a special mean for me and I intend to do just that; Always Keep Fighting.
I'm a 34 (almost 35)yr old disabled,single mother of two amazing kids. I suffer from clinical depression. I spent most of 2011 in the hospital. I went in for a simple gallbladder removal, something went terribly wrong. I had 15 yes 15 surgeries in a 6 month period,I had 4 blood transfusions,7 pic lines,kidney stents and even a feeding tube. I almost didn't make it. When I got out I couldn't stand on my own 2 feet. Since then my memory is a mess and my depression is worse.
My son is 8 and what Drs. call high functioning autistic. He has a learning disability and is being held back in the 2nd grade cause he can't read yet (he is 8 but more like a 5yr old). He is so sweet and well mannered, but a bit difficult to handle at times.
My daughter is 17 and also suffers from depression and I believe she has bipolar disorder she has self harmed in the past. Her n I fight a lot and I'm afraid she is going to hurt herself real bad which makes me feel worse cause I feel like its my fault.
My mom lives with us and she is bipolar too and her mood swings are very abrupt. Just today she was beating herself up and saying she was useless and a burden and wants to die. This makes me feel as if she doesn't care how I feel about her and how much I love and need her. Her and my daughter fight almost every day and I'm always in the middle of it. This makes ME feel useless so I wind up feeling worse and more helpless than ever.
To make matters worse we live with my mom's boyfriend,his daughter and her two kids that my family doesn't get along with very much because her kids and mine are being raised differently and her kids have NO manners. But we have no where else to go so we have no choice but to stay.
These are the struggles I go through every day and I have to keep smiling and pushing through as if everything was ok. That is why this campaign is so close to the heart for me cause that's all I do, keep fighting every day.
I wrote this on Jared's post, yet some things were left out.
Where do you start this thing? I've always struggled with depression, I went through Zoloft, Celexa, Effexor, Effexor XR, Wellbutrin, Lexapro...I'm sure there's a couple in there I missed. I always maxed out the dosages and they always stopped working, I would find out why in 2009.
I was bullied in school for my weight, my looks, just about everything. I wasn't a "typical" girl, dressed in Reebok high tops, jeans, t-shirts and flannels over that...I was in high school at the height of the grunge era. I'm still not a typical woman, t-shirts, jeans, sneakers and I'm happy with that.
At 19, I was raped at a friends house, I went through the exam, the blood tests... all of it which left me more bruised and traumatized. I lived in fear, I had nightmares for years to come (at times still do) my poor husband has received a black eye from trying to wake me up while I was moving around quite a bit.
I married Shawn in October of 1999, we'd met in May (of 99) in a chat room for X-Files fans. He lived in St Louis, I was in small town Western Oklahoma.
St Louis was too much for me, for one, there was nobody really there for me except Shawn, another I missed my family and small town. We moved back to W. Oklahoma in July of 2000.
In 2003, after 3 years of trying I got pregnant with our oldest son, Marc. His pregnancy was about as far from textbook as a pregnancy can get. Something wrong from the start, but I made it through until at 20 weeks they told me not only was I in early labor, I also had a failing cervix. I went in for surgery the day after my ultrasound, and carried him 5 weeks and 6 days longer. At 25weeks and 5 days my world crashed around my feet, I was in labor again, dilated to a 4 with a cerclage in place, he was a double footling breech with a prolapsed cord. They put me in the head lower than feet position and Mag Sulfate was started (that stuff is made of the devil...woogie!) this time they could only stall it out long enough for the first steroid injection to have 24hours. His birth is a whirlwind of a story, I didn't know what was going on, I just remember my water breaking, people screaming and a nurse riding the bed with me, keeping him in. In the OR I wasn't fully out when they started cutting (this in and of itself did not traumatize me, the whole she-bang did). I was told he wouldn't breathe when he was born, he cried, I was told he would be a lot of things he isn't and some things he really really is. Marc does have medical issues, some stemming from his urgent need to be in this world, some from things unrelated...but he is definitely one of the smartest 11.5 year olds I know (ok mama bias may play a part) one of the things they said he wouldn't be. He was 2lbs and 12.5". My thanksgiving baby became an August baby.
We were lucky in that he didn't have a brain bleed, he had "blushing" but no bleed...thank the gods and goddesses!!! We almost lost him on 4 separate occasions that I can remember, sorry I blocked out a lot after I got him home, but he was a fighter and I did get to bring him home at 70 long days/nights. (Did I mention we lived 120 miles from the NICU....it was a rough 70 days on all of us) But that doesn't mean our days of the hospital and drs were over, oh no that would be too easy, 11.5 years later and we're waiting on another surgery for the little man at the end of May. I'm beginning to hate our wonderful Children's Hospital. He's been diagnosed with Anxiety, a lot related to his medical problems.
2.5 years later, I found out 5 days before Christmas 2005 I was having another one. Scared doesn't even begin to cover it!! Ian's pregnancy went a lot smoother than Marc's, I had preventative care and specialists from the get go. At 16 weeks, I started 17P shots every week, and things were going on just fine with some bumps, but I'd take bumps over crash test dummy cars any day! Then 32 weeks happened and again my world was turned upside down. I started hemorrhaging and that forced them to take the baby to keep me and him alive. Back in NICU hell! Ian did great, he was big for a 32weeker, 5lbs 1oz and 18" and after 30 days was allowed to come home. He came home August 5th, 2006, 28 days before his due date.
If it had not been for my family, I would've been totally lost. I sank into yet another depression. He still has special needs like my oldest, but we're all fighting it.
In October 2007 my mom got really sick, she went into a Hepatic Coma which we were told she probably would not wake up from. But we are a family of fighters (both literally and figuratively sometimes) and she woke up. She was diagnosed with NASH with Cirrhosis (she was not a drinker) and had an appt with the liver transplant team when she again fell sick and we had to make the decision to stop medications. On Feburary 17th, 2008, I lost one of my best friends, my rock and my constant. I've blocked a lot of this out too.
In August of 2009, I called my sister who lived 30 miles away and asked her to come get me, I checked myself into the psychiatric hospital after not sleeping for over 4 days and wanting to put my head through a brick wall and finally figured out what was wrong with me. It's important to note that I didn't intend suicide, I just didn't give a damn if I lived or not, I just didn't want to be "here" anymore. If someone had killed me, I'd have perfectly ok with that on that day. That is not to say I didn't have suicidal ideations, I did, I just didn't know what they were called. I was diagnosed in the hospital with Bipolar Disorder II, that diagnosis was later changed to Rapid Cycling Bipolar I with Anxiety and PTSD. I've been in therapy ever since, it took quite a few medication trial and errors to find what worked for me.
My family is supportive, thankfully. I can write on my FB page that it's a bad day or a really UP day and they'll check in on me often.
I have comfort items and I use them often, re watching my favorite shows, re reading my favorite books etc. I hate the unknown so knowing what comes helps.
I fight every day to stay stable for my kids, my husband, myself. It's not always easy and some days I hate my brain & it's just a lay in the bed watching SPN on repeat day. I get up for my kids, but during school I know I can fall apart.
Sorry it's so long.
I never realized I had Depression and Anxiety until a few months ago when I started doing research on both and talked to a few people. At first I was in denial, even embarrassed because I always saw people shaming others with my condition. But then I realized that I had no control over this, so I shouldn't feel like my problems and feelings don't matter.
I guess I started feeling this way when I was diagnosed with a rare disease called Castleman 's Disease. I was only 12 then and had to do small chemotherapy treatments along with several other treatments and medication.I would have to go to the Cancer Center when I got treatments. At first I was scared, because the Docs told us that they know little to nothing about this disease so everything they were doing to me was to see if it would work or not. I felt like a guinea pig. But I never showed what I was feeling on the inside. Instead, I put my feelings to the side and tried to smile more and be more positive, despite getting treatment and being surrounded by people around me who were literally dying from cancer. My dad was with me the whole step of the way and I'm very grateful he was.
I continued the chemo for about 9 months and stopped after the Doc said that the disease was stable, on a dormant state. I went into remission but had to continue getting IVIG treatments because half of my immune system went missing and the Doc had no idea why. I did the treatments my freshman year and completely stopped the summer before my sophomore year, after my immune system was back to normal.
Since then, I've been getting check ups every 3 months to make sure that the disease doesn't start up again. Through this whole time, I felt like this was all my fault, that somehow I deserved this. That my problems didn't matter because people had it far worse. But then I started getting angry, asking why. Why did this have to happen to me? What did I ever do to deserve this? Just......why?
For a long time I had this mind set, that something was wrong with me for feeling this way. I kept everything bottled up and didn't tell anyone how I was really feeling. When I had an episode, I would do things like read or listen to music, or punch walls or even go somewhere and cry or scream. I have these thoughts that tell me to just end it, no one will miss you; you're just a burden. When someone asked what's wrong, I would say "nothing" or "I'm fine, just tired". I didn't realize then that I was only hurting myself but I honestly felt like I didn't matter and I should just suck it up and get over it. I still feel like that today and I'm very tempted to just delete this right now because I feel like I annoying y'all.
No one will ever understand what I've gone through. No one will ever know what's really going through my mind everyday. I can't tell you how relieved I was to find out that have Depression and Anxiety is not my fault at all, that it's an illness that could effect anyone at anytime. Now, I'm starting to tell myself that I am worth it, that I do matter. That everything will be fine, I just have to keep fighting and never give up. I'm so grateful to have 2 close friends to help me. I'm afraid to tell my parents about what I'm feeling because I've been brushed off before and we're not very close like that. But knowing that I have people like Jared and Jensen and the SPNFamily believe in me, believing that I can, that I WILL beat this, gives me so much hope.
For the past few months, I've been trying my best to cope with my illness and help others as well. The campaigns Jared and Jensen have been doing have really affected me and thousands of others in a very positive way. Them bringing attention to an issue that many people dismiss as being "moody" or "just a phase" is incredibly amazing. Just knowing that people care, is an amazing feeling.
Even though every day is a constant struggle, I promise that no matter what, that I will #AlwaysKeepFighting and will do my absolute best to help people who are suffering as well. I want to tell everyone who are suffering that I know it seems like you'll never see the light. But you need to believe that one day it will get better. I'm suffering along with you, and having that little bit of hope is what is keeping me going.
I beg y'all, to please don't give up. Remind yourself everyday that you are worth it. You matter. People CARE about YOU. And I won't forget to do the same as well. Thank you for reading this and remember to #AlwaysKeepFighting.
Also, Thank you Annalisa, Jamie, Mom, Dad, Jared, Jensen and Misha for giving me hope and believing in me when I didn't. I will be forever grateful for everything y'all have done.
I was diagnosed with Small Bowel Cancer last fall. It was pretty grim for awhile there while I was going through chemo. I have two small children and a loving husband and I was scared they were going to lose me.
I turned to the #spnfamily to help me cope and get through the darkest of times.
My battle isn't over yet but I can at least now see the horizon.
Thank you cast of SPN for all that you do.
Was diagnosed with Neuropathy in Dec ´13. Very sick and in hospitals and therapy homes. Had to learn how to walk and take care of myself all over again. I still deal with pain and eventually will prob lose all feeling in my hands and feet. I watched nothing but SPN pretty much the whole time. Nurses made it an incentive and it made me push myself harder. My daughter would visit me and would always tell me that Cas was watching over me as she was leaving. I'll always have this illness and my Neuro thinks I might also have Fibro on top of it. I'll never stop pushing myself to get better, or at least to NOT get any worse. I got this disease from alcohol. I was an alcoholic for ten yrs. I've now been sober well over two yrs now and I fight every day for myself and my family. SPN has given me so many friends and has made a lot of them family. I owe my life (literally) to the cast and crew. This is my family and I'm loving every min of it! #SPNFamily
I don't really remember how, or why but I just started feeling really crappy and sad all the time. The littlest joke upset me and I was angry at myself because I just saw everything that went wrong as my fault.
everything suddenly got really bad and days were just a blur of tears and loneliness. I didn't want to get up and have to spend the day with myself, I didn't want to inflick my presence on other people, and I didn't talk to anyone about it. I felt that I couldn't put my crap on other people, everyone has their own things to worry about and I'm not important was all that went through my head. And I was scared of what my friends and family would say.I felt trapped and alone and I felt like I couldn't breath. I was just so tired of everything.
I self harmed. For a little while it distracted me and made me forget about the crap I was putting myself through but after a while ito didn't have the effect I needed.so I stopeed.
I joined the spn family about a year and a half ago and it taught me a lot about how to battle my demons and that I wasn't alone. The fans gave me confidence and I felt as if I was part of something important. The thing about the fandom is that everyone feels important and loved and that really came across.
I told a friend of mine who helped me to talk to my parents and slowly I feel like I'm having more good days than bad ones and that it's okay to want to talk to others about my problems.
I still have really bad days but now I can talk to people about it.
The #alwayskeepfighting campaign is proof how much this family cares for everyone and I wear my jumper proudly for myself and others who might feel like I do. I honestly don't know where I'd be without the love and support from this family.
"You're fourteen, you can't be depressed" my school counselor
What she didn't know is that I worked from 11pm-5am just to get my little brothers food. I got home from school to have my step dad hit me, burn me, and try to drown me. I couldn't eat or sleep. I couldn't cry. I was failing school. So I hurt myself. I punished myself because I thought I was bad. That I was worthless. Why else would I get hurt so much?
My only escape was Supernatural. So thank you. I managed to live through high school. I'm now 20 years old and love life. Jared, Jensen, and Misha are my heroes and without them I wouldn't be here today.
It took me a while to decide I was going to submit my story here because I didn't think my story was important enough to tell. I didn't think anyone would care of benefit from hearing my story because it's not that great. Those thoughts are exactly the reason why I chose to.
I've struggled with anxiety and depression all my life. I've never been diagnosed by a doctor for it which is why it took me so long to realize what was going on with me. It comes in waves. I'll be doing fine, I'll hang out with friends, but when I'm alone the thoughts become very prominent. I often tell myself I'm ugly, unimportant, too fat, that nobody would really care if I was gone and a slew of other awful things that I wouldn't say to anyone or wish for those to be said to anyone in my whole life. I didn't get it, my life when I look at it is a really good one and yet I feel so alone and unworth of life. I put so much pressure on myself to do well in school and in life in general. Nobody really knows what I go through. I've contemplated suicide many times, but the only thing that helped me not try was my mother. My mother is everything to me. She is the strongest woman I know and I know it would kill her if I was gone. I'm only here right now because of her. I've never cut, but I did bite myself on my hand when I was frustrated or stressed. I know it sounds weird, but it just became a habit. I realized a couple months ago that what I was doing is self harm and I've been trying to break out of it ever since.
Other than my mother, the supernatural fandom and cast has really helped me without them even knowing it. I met wonderful people on tumblr and watched the show as well as interviews and even went to a convention this past January. It changed my life. Ever since Jared launched his campaign I've felt more and more like I wasn't alone in my fight. It's helped me tremendously and I can't thank Jared or the rest of the SPN Cast and Fandom enough. They don't know the kind of impact they've had in my battle.
I still struggle every day with my depression and it has been getting worse over the past few months, but every time I put on my shirt it helps ease the pain a little and really does help me. I don't know if I will get better, but I will try my hardest.
Thanks again to the whole SPN Fandom and Cast especially Jared and Jensen as well as my mom. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for everyone.
Always Keep Fighting.
Mine began a month before turning 13. My mom died suddenly without warning. She taught aerobics and we ate healthy food. She was healthy or so we thought. It was hard for all of us, siblings and my dad. For me it was like a cruel twist of fate. My mom was my advocate in so many ways. I had a math learning disability, cognitive and visual spacial, so she was always pushing at my schools to make sure I got the help I needed. After she died that help was gone. I was used to talking things out with her. I loved both my parents but my dad worked to keep a roof over our heads and was the primary one to bring in the money.
A year and a half later we added a step mom. Her ways of doing things were a lot different than mom's. She wanted me to fight for myself. It was like going from one extreme to the other and it left me confused and hurting. There were many things in my relationship with her that were hurtful, and only added to the hurt of losing my mother. Very quickly I learned to just not talk about how I felt. I became very good at pretending like everything was ok when it was not.
Something in my was lost when my mom died. I stayed mentally at the age of 12, trying to go on into an adult world that I didn't get. When I was alone I could do the things I liked, like watching cartoons, playing with my two year old neighbors, they were my best friends at the time. Even as an adult when I'm home alone, I like things like coloring Mandalas, coloring in coloring books. Writing Fanfiction.
I felt like something was terribly wrong with me because other people my age were going out and seeing movies going out together, but to me that just wasn't my thing. I liked being home alone, but surely that wasn't right.
All the negative words said to me made me thing I was Lazy and Selfish. I was lazy because I couldn't keep my apartment picked up. I was lazy because I would wear clothes off the floor. I was lazy because my hair needed to be washed.
I was selfish because I couldn't manage my money. I couldn't save it so I would have nest egg. I was selfish because my dad kept bailing me out. I was selfish because I didn't help out at family gatherings.
I learned to live under those labels. Trying to live on your own when you don't understand the world around you is nearly impossible, yet I managed to do it for a long time. from the age of 13 until the age of 39 before the walls came tumbling down.
Did I ever try killing myself. Yes. When I was 13-16, I thought if I held my breath long enough it would happen, but it did not. Tried when I was 26 and again when I was 39. My biggest problem wasn't the labeling it was that I never wanted to live a day without my mom. It got harder after I turned 39 because it meant I had lived a year long than she had on this earth.
Now I'm finally dealing with it as best I can. I talk about it with my family, and with my counselor. I got to group therapy, and I have meds that I take that are prescribed by my Psychologist.
There are still hard times for me. like this week was hard because my car was out of commission and when things get out of routine I don't deal too well. So my next session will be about how to handle the interruptions in life without feeling so sad about them.
Is it worth it to get help? Yes. Is it easier? Yes and no. Some days are better than others, but we now have a voice with AlwaysKeepFighting, and I'm going to do my best to have that right there on the days when I'm struggling.
Keep trying, keep fighting, and do it for you. You are important. You have a part in this world. Keep that thought in mind always.
The #AlwaysKeepFighting campaign means so much to me. Not only has it raised so much money and awareness for suck an important cause, but it started a very large conversation. I can't imagine anyone would want to read my story, but this is an important conversation, and I really want to contribute. Trigger warnings for my story: Emotional abuse, depression, self-harm, self-loathing, suicidal thoughts and attempts, PTSD.
For starters, I have recently been diagnosed with PTSD. I had struggled with depression and anxiety for years, but within the last few months, I finally sought help, and it gave some clarity to the mess I've got going on in my head.
I have every symptom of PTSD except for flashbacks. I regularly experience panic/anxiety attacks, intrusive thoughts, rapid thoughts, vivid nightmares, occasional insomnia, avoidance, occasional numbness, and hyper-vigilance. Because of this, you'd think my having PTSD would be obvious to me (especially since I've spent so much time researching my symptoms)
But I've never had any big trauma. There was no specific event. I've never been in the military, I've never been sexually assaulted, and I've never had any major physical trauma, so PTSD didn't really seem like an option.
But I did have two people. I had two people in my life were unintentionally emotionally abusive. That's it. That's all it took, and now I fight everyday to keep my shit together. This is kind of why I want to tell my story. Everything I ever hear about PTSD makes sense because of a specific catalytic event. My story isn't like that.
My grandmother moved in with me when I was two years old. She was my best friend and playmate for years. When my sister was born (I was five,) I wasn't the baby anymore, and her affection vanished along with my only-child status. I can tell you, things between my sister and I were strained for a very long time because of this. (Thanks to Supernatural, we're now best friends, but it took a long time to get to this point.) My grandmother never hit me or abused me in any physical way, but she said things. She'd call me things like "stupid" or "spoiled" or "selfish." I can't even count the number of times the words "brat" or "bitch" escaped her mouth in reference to me. She'd say these things to my face and behind my back. There's only so many times you can hear something before you begin to believe it. She helped teach me how useless I am, how worthless I am, how helpless I am, how words like "love" and "sorry" don't have always have meaning. Being around her long enough, it's not really a surprise that I started feeling depressed. I, like most kids, had bullies in school, and between them and my grandmother at home, not dealing with life anymore didn't seem like such a bad thing.
I have an interesting history with suicide attempts. I tried to hang myself with a jump rope from my curtain rod over my window. 1) Tying nooses is hard, very, very hard. 2) Jump rope on a curtain rod is really not strong enough to support a teenager's full weight. (I was in junior high at the time, by the way. So, 12 years old.) After that failed, I tried overdosing on ibuprofin. I've never been good at taking pills, so after about eight tablets, all I succeeded in was giving myself an upset stomach. I tried that again to the same affect. I thought about jumping off my roof, but I worried a lot about what would happen if the fall didn't kill me. I'm not much for pain, so breaking a bone would be very difficult to deal with. I also thought about slitting my wrists. Again, that pesky pain thing was an issue.
Also around this time, I had nightmares. They would be the strangest things, but they'd be incredibly disturbing. (I once had a nightmare where the walls and floors of my house developed faces that slowly bit and ate me while I was walking through the hallways.) This caused some intense insomnia (and also stunted my growth! Hurray for being 5'4" forever!) and the lack of sleep made it a lot harder to deal with anything.
Finally, after all of these botched/bad plans, the smallest thing made me stop. My friend, Sam, wanted to sit by me in orchestra (I play violin fyi) and was very upset that I was being moved to the front of the section to play a solo. That was it. That was all it took. My friend wanted to be by me. It all just kind of clicked that there must be something good about me if someone actually wanted to be near me. It dawned on me that people might actually be upset if I died. Sam didn't want me at the front of the section for ten minutes, how would she react if I suddenly no longer existed? So, I stopped trying to die and tried harder to develop a thick skin. I still had nightmares, but I had a source of hope for the first time in a long time. And for the next few years of high school, I was pretty okay. I mean, my self-esteem was still absolute crap, but other people seemed to like me, and I felt happy again.
(Sorry this is such a long story, by the way. I promise I'll get to the point.)
Anyway, my senior year of high school, I started dating a guy. I'd dated him before, and it didn't really work out. (He hadn't been giving me the time of day, and I'd met someone else, so...) But we started dating again. He was sweet, but he didn't really trust me since I'd "cheated" on him before. (It was truth or dare, I really don't think that counts, but whatever.) So, if I wanted to go somewhere, I had to ask his permission. And I mean, it made sense. I'd violated his trust. He wanted make sure I didn't hurt him like that again. So, I obliged. I'd ask his permission to go see my friends, to make sure he was okay that I had plans with other people. Most of the time, he'd just want to come along, but sometimes, I was allowed my own space. When I wanted to hang out with friends that he didn't approve of (like my ex), I had to resort to sneaking around in order to avoid a fight. Then, it became more things, like my boyfriend would start checking my phone without my permission, keeping tabs on my facebook messages, getting upset if I was talking to anyone more than I was talking to him. So, we started fighting more and more, and I saw my friends less and less. He was also a fan of nicknames like my grandmother was. "Slut" and "idiot" were probably the favorites, but "bitch" and "liar" were thrown around just as much. Then, he started getting really paranoid. I wanted to go to the school dance, but dances weren't really his thing. So, how about I go by myself? Well, no, that wasn't an option. He was worried I'd dance with someone else, that I might give someone else attention. Couldn't have that. The fighting got to the point that I started sleeping all the time. I'd sleep to avoid him, to avoid being around him. Being unconscious was as good of an escape as I could think of. Of course, I did consider breaking up with him. It's not like we were married or anything. I could just leave. But every time I'd get up the courage to leave, something would happen. He'd fight with his parents, he'd start crying, he'd tell me that he'd kill himself if he didn't have me. (Eventually, we did split. After I cheated on him, ironically enough.)
But when the fighting was really bad, I started cutting. I'd cut my wrists before if I felt an anxiety attack coming on, because pain was a good distraction. During the fighting, though, I'd cut to feel something. The fighting had me so drained that emotion took too much energy. And if I did feel emotion, it would be painful and filled with self-loathing, because obviously, it was my fault I couldn't keep him happy. It was my fault we were fighting so much. So, I'd slice my shoulders to feel something that wasn't my angry thoughts in my head. I'd also cut my shoulders if I felt anxiety building, but it was a mixture of the two instead of being the weird coping mechanism I'd used it as before.
I started talking to my friends more, telling them about how things were with my boyfriend, how things were in my head. I started feeling more stable, and after I started talking, I stopped cutting altogether. (Haven't cut in four and a half years now :) )
After I broke up with that guy (who will be referred to as 'my ex' from here on out), I was pretty solid. I had some family drama, because they were definitely not okay with the fact that I'd cheated. But mostly, I had a loving, supportive boyfriend who knew everything that had gone on with my ex, and things were pretty okay. I did have nightmares, though. I had horrible nightmares. I'd wake up feeling like I was suffocating. I'd dream that I was back with my ex, that I was married to my ex, that I was trapped or caged. I started sleeping with lights on, with the TV on, with a stereo on. Anything that would keep my mind distracted, so I wouldn't dream.?
Then, I started having intrusive thoughts. I'd remember moments from my previous relationship that were particularly painful (a bad fight, a time that in order to avoid a fight I agreed to sex that I didn't want, stuff like that.) And those memories would just haunt me. I'd be having a perfectly good day, and I'd remember something like that and feel empty and hurt and depressed. Then, it didn't have to be bad memories. Good memories cut like knives, too.
Finally, I saw a guy just a few months ago who looked remarkably like my ex. It startled me enough that, after getting on a crowded CTA train, I had a full blown panic attack in public.
So, I sought counseling through my school, got into group therapy, and was told that my symptoms make it pretty clear that I have PTSD.
I had a mixed reaction to being told I have PTSD. On the one hand, this is something that I'll have to deal with on some level forever, which sucks. A lot. On the other hand, I finally had a name to put to all my symptoms that were making me feel like I'm going crazy. I had a reason for why, after three years, I can't stand to be around my ex. I had a reason for why I've never been quite able to let go of the things my grandmother said to me. It made my feelings feel validated for once, especially when everyone I knew was telling me that I need to get over it, I need to move on and let go, I need to forgive and forget.
Because of the sources of my PTSD being so broad and not just an isolated event that makes me afraid of loud noises or anything at least a little specific, I have A LOT of triggers. My triggers: the smell of ICY HOT, men (white men specifically), closed in spaces, mentions of non-con/dub-con sexual experience, military uniforms, army style camo-print, yelling, anytime I feel I've disappointed or upset someone, my grandmother or my ex (and mentions of them in nearly any form), mentions of PTSD in the media, certain songs, and certain words or phrases that I frequently associate with things my ex or my grandmother said. All of these things are capable of inducing a panic attack instantly.
(Okay, here's the point, I promise. If you read this far, I love you to pieces.)
I started watching Supernatural in the summer of 2012. I wasn't quite as sensitive to all of my triggers as I am now (as I have gotten much worse as of late), so I got really into the show without anything causing me hesitation. I related to Dean's self-loathing on a level that probably should have alarmed me more at the time. I related to Sam's feelings of being an outcast and unable to fit in. (I especially related to Becky relating to Sam on the same level.) A lot of things helped me see myself in the show that started helping me help myself. I'd see Dean hating himself and wish he'd stop, because he's such a lovely person (and a wonderful character, thank you, writers.) And that made me realize that maybe I shouldn't hate myself either.
The more recent episodes have been harder for me to watch I see a lot of my PTSD symptoms reflected in Dean's Mark of Cain storyline. It makes sense for Dean to have PTSD after all he's been through, which is why it's hard for me, because I had bad experiences with people, but nothing like the stuff that the Winchesters go through. I understand why Katniss Everdeen has nightmares. I see why characters in war movies have anxiety and depression. I've never gone through anything like that, but my symptoms are the same. And it makes my symptoms feel less valid to me, like I should've gone through literal Hell for me to feel like this, but I didn't, so I shouldn't feel like this. I shouldn't have the same mental state as someone who has gone through so much. (I know I have PTSD and have reason to feel what I feel, it's just hard to remember that when watching characters go through so much worse.)
But the things that Sam Winchester has said to Dean through season 10 so far have helped me so much. (Thank you, writers!) The support that Sam's been giving this whole season has made it much easier to keep watching the show (which is great, because I definitely sold my soul to this show a long time ago, and getting triggered by it probably wouldn't stop me from watching.)
(Almost done, I swear!)
And this brings me to the#AlwaysKeepFighting?t-shirt campaign. Jared's t-shirt campaign went live the same day I was told that I should be prescribed medication for my PTSD symptoms. To Write Love on Her Arms has been a favorite charity of mine (for obvious reasons) for a REALLY long time, and when I saw that my favorite show, my favorite charity, and one of my favorite actors were all coming together in this one shirt, I ordered one on the spot. I ordered my shirt within the first two hours of being able to do so. But the sentiment behind the shirt meant too much to me to just order a shirt and let it go.
So I bought my sister a shirt.
And I bought one for my friend, Shai.
Then, I did a couple of nordic rune contest things and bought shirts for two others.
If I had more money, I'd be offering to buy people shirts today up until that last second.
It's such a powerful message, and it's something that I try to remind myself of daily. Always keep fighting. Some days are easy, and I'm excited to wake up and get stuff done. Some days are very hard where I can barely concentrate because every other thought is something painful. Sometimes I can hardly breathe, because I started having another in a long line of panic attacks. But I always keep fighting. Always.
And that's why this shirt campaign means so much to me. Not only is it an excellent message (which it is), but it started a conversation. And this conversation showed me that I'm not alone. Other people have had similar experiences, other people have the same issues that I do. And everyone's got something that they're fighting.
So, that's my story. (Sorry it was so long O.O)
Let's start at age eight, I became stick going to the doctor three times before he sent me to hospital first time bleeding as I use the bathroom to the point the gave me three infusion of blood. I spent six weeks in hospital they finally send me home this happen over and over again for almost a year.
Finely my ma took me to a new hospital for children it took a team of five doctors to figure out what was wrong with me. They tell my ma that it's ulcerative colous or Colon cancer sent to a doctor how is a specialist in both being so young they couldn't believe I had this problem problem. With my first of six surgeris five years later find myself with a bag on my side. I sent allot of time alone when I was sick. Depression hit me about twelve years of age. Tried killing myself at that time my father figure I needed to learn how to make man happy because no one would want me with all the scars and bag on my side. This was his way fixing the problems with me.
School wasn't much better some people avoid me or others wanted to be friends we were not friends before I was sick it just made me mad. Moving forward at twenty-eight years of age I was married thinking I could be pregnant go to doctor only to be told I have a tumor not cancerous but seriously big sixty-six poundslarge enough to be hitting my heart push other lungs up to half the size and my kidneys are slivers an not working well. The surgeon gives me ninety eight percent chance of death. Needless to say I did die on the table brought back after few minutes of time. At this time they confused me with another person same name
one in million thing she was to have a hysterectomy needless to say in one day I lost everything ever wanted children
About two years later we tried to adopt we found a young lady let us have her child to adopt we had her for almost a mouth she desided she wanted the baby back my heart was broken the depression came with a vengeance ten years of sadness wanting to die everyday. Now I have the boyz and SPN FAMILY only thing keeps me sain on a bad day. There is more to my story just to much for this format. Know I love yall even with the miles apart. Hugs and kisses to you from me. Thank you for reading my story.
I have spent my whole life controlled by deep, deep self-loathing. I turned to men at a very young age to try to make up for this, and eventually adding alcohol to the mix culminated in a single most life-defining event that solidified my self-hatred. I was the victim of a sexual assault and I know that I am not alone in that but I sure felt alone. I never told anyone; not for many years. Over the years I managed to get married, had a quiver-full of kids and went to nursing school, all the while keeping my secrets secret. I couldn't let anyone know who I really was because who I really am is the farthest thing from being worthy of anyone's love. Eventually, the monsters in my head were yelling constantly, drowning out everything else that I had buried deep in my heart. They told me I was dirty, unworthy, useless, and that my kids would be better off without me. In every single interaction I had with another person, there would be voices saying "That person does not want you to be their nurse." or "That person wishes they didn't have to serve you." or "That person wishes they didn't have to look at you." I often would go to a bathroom or a quiet out-of-the-way corner to cry when it became too overwhelming.
Then a funny thing happened. I was diagnosed with Stage 3b Cervical Cancer and given a 50/50 chance of survival. Now the monsters in my head had new ammo: "why hadn't I had regular pap smears? it was the careless lifestyle I had lived that made me susceptible to this particular cancer. Now I'm going to put my family through hell. They really would be better off without you." I struggled through probably the deepest depression I have experienced in the wake of my diagnosis.
While going through treatment,and so fatigued I couldn't drag myself off the couch I took my daughter's advice and began to watch Supernatural. I was hooked after one episode, and watched all 9 seasons in about 2 weeks. I LOVED it immediately and so identified with Season 7 Sam as Lucifer was yelling in his head all the time. That is what my life is every day. I decided to take my daughter to Phoenix con for her birthday and signed her up for all kinds of photo ops and autographs. I had that 50/50 number in my head, and all I wanted to do was make some memories with her. Memories would involve pictures. Which is another thing. There are no pictures of me. I don't do pictures. Not ever. But I decided that if I die, my kids should have pictures of their mom. So I began to be in pictures. And I planned to be in pics at the PhxCon. I was literally sick about it on the 6 hour drive there, but I did it. I took a picture with Jared and Jensen, and was so sure I ruined it that I bought my daughter a Jared/Colin picture to make up for it. I felt like a clumsy fool and just wanted to crawl under a rock and die. But I did it. The pics aren't framed or hanging anywhere, but I have them safely tucked away until the day when I am brave enough to show them to people. And I treasure them. So much.
But that was just the beginning. I became acquainted with the Supernatural Family soon after that, after I came home and wrote a blog post about the con, and my kids set me up a twitter and some folks read it and I began to connect with a bunch of other people who were like me. And I had always thought I was alone in the universe. And that is where AKF came in for me. I was in a very dark place and unable to see the light until someone on twitter asked if someone could buy a shirt for someone who couldn't afford one. I said sure, I could do that. So I bought one. And another. And another. And buying shirts for folks became so therapeutic for me. It was a concrete way for me to see that I was not alone. There are others like me. With the same struggles and the same monsters. The monsters may have different faces and different voices, but they are the same. This was monumental for me. It was in considering others and seeking to help that I was able to turn the voices off. I had a clear head. And it was quiet. Quiet enough for me to hear something else in my head: a song. I never write music. And no one in my family even knew I played the guitar. But I had a song in my head that I couldn't ignore. So I wrote a song. And I don't hate it. And I even played it for a couple of my new twitter friends and they didn't seem to hate it either. Someday I hope to be brave enough to let more people hear it because I think it can bring healing. It certainly has for me.
I got a tattoo the other day. My first one. It is a semi-colon, teal blue for cervical cancer. It will eventually say Always Keep Fighting around it. I showed it to my daughter the morning after I got it and she cried and said ?Mom, you are so much happier since getting cancer. That was so profound to me. And she wanted a matching one, so I took her to get one and now we have matching tattoos. And I have never been happier. I can honestly say that Jared and the Always Keep Fighting campaign saved my life, and gave my kids a new mom. And that's something. I will forever be grateful for the Supernatural Family who showed me that I am not alone. And I am so glad that family don't end with blood.
I had anxiety, was depressed and suicidal by the time I was 11 years old. I attempted suicide twice as a young teenager.
My parents had no idea what was wrong with me, and in the early '70s this wasn't something people talked about. I was able to struggle through high school and successfully completed university.
My depression came and went, and I finally was diagnosed and treated in the mid-2000s.
It has been about 10 tough years. The worst was last year when my husband died.
I have felt self-conscious about my depression, and haven't really come out to most of my friends and family, yet.
Hopefully this will change in the near future!
I have this deep conviction that I am not normal, that I am not like other people, that I will never be able to allow myself to be happy. I was going to write a story about how I used to be depressed and I used to cut myself, but then I read so many of the stories on here, and I thought that everybody else's pain feels so much more genuine than mine. I'm not sure if I used to cut myself because I felt so terrible, or because it was just a sort of fad. I don't know if I've really ever been depressed, or if that's just a convenient excuse for my laziness and apathy. I don't trust anything I think or feel. I pretend to be a real person, but mostly, I just want out of the real world. I don't want anything to do with it. I don't enjoy any of my relationships anymore - family, friends, romantic, whatever. I just want to be alone, and away from it all, and to not have to think about any of it. The Always Keep Fighting thing... it rings true with me because every damn minute of every damn day I feel like I'm fighting. Fighting just to keep up the front. Fighting just to get through work so that I can pay rent, because if I couldn't do that, I'd have to live with other people, and I really don't want to be around other people. I pretend - to everybody I know, and a lot of the time to myself - that I'm generally okay, just a bit moody, just a bit introverted. But the truth is, I resent it all. I resent that it feels like a fight, and I resent that I have to keep fighting. BUT. It's easier than it used to be. I think maybe I can manage a 'fake it til you make it' kind of thing. I love the AKF thing because I love knowing that there are other people who feel like just getting up and breathing in and out all day and getting to go to bed at the other end of it is a fight. It's nice to know I'm not alone. I still FEEL alone, because things that happen on the internet are different than the things that happen in real life. But at least it's something. Maybe someday I'll run into somebody in real life, wearing one of these shirts, and maybe I'll acknowledge it and maybe I won't. But it's nice to think of that possibility.
Before I start this story I want to point out. I do not want or have ever wanted sympathy. I am not something to be pitied. I am me. It’s been a struggle and most days are a struggle due to arthritis, Diabetes, Epilepsy, Asthma and an eye condition which is degenerative. But I am thankful for the support of my wonderful husband and my wonderful family. I hope this shows people you can overcome anything with the right support.
Now that’s out of the way , my story begins when I was 9 years old. My mother always wanted more than two children . But due to circumstances beyond her control she had only two of us, me and my younger sister. My mother and father took the decision to foster a chid to give them a loving home. Unfortunately the young man they fostered came from a very troubled background. He was 5 years older than myself. He used to go home at weekends to his father who was abusive. He would then come home and at night he would do things to myself and my sister. I do not feel at this time that it’s appropriate to say what. But I am sure you can imagine. My sister who was 6 years old told my parents that she didn’t like what he did. I remember coming home to social services taking him away. I never spoke of this at the time. Counselling was offered but I didn’t engage at that time in my life. A Year later it had transpired that he had done this previously to other girls and that was why he was removed from that home. Why they thought it was acceptable to then place him in another home with young girls I will never understand. My parents didn’t tell me of this until I was in my teens. They felt so guilty and still do.
Skip forward 4 years. I opened up to someone who I thought was my friend. Unfortunately this was not the case. I have always been on the large size and used to get bullied because of it. When this person told everyone the bullying became bad. I was physically hurt, told I had asked for it to happen to me. One day I had a fall at school and sprained my ankle. The next day mum sent me in with pain killers because you could back then. I had such a bad day with the bullying and had a brick thrown at me. I had tried to tell the school about it. My parents had tried seeing the headmaster about it and the response they got was Bullying doesn’t happen here. I snapped that day and took all the painkillers in one go. A friend had heard me crying in the toilet. She found the empty bottle and got help. I was taken to hospital had my stomach washed out and was detained in hospital for evaluation. I spent 3 months off school. In the meantime the school had told all the children what had happened. I had a steady stream of people who wouldn’t give me the time of day turn up at my house to say they were sorry. Inwardly I was screaming Where the hell were you when I needed you.
Throughout my late teens I self-harmed on and off and suffered deep depressions and manic highs. I had also become very destructive and would be so venomous to the ones closest to me. I was diagnosed with Trigger depression. I became stable in my early twenties and I travelled as a singer but still felt disassociated from the world.
I came back to my home town and set down routes. I met my husband online and we both had a love of Supernatural and Bon Jovi. We were engaged very quickly and I felt that the time was right to seek help. I had a wonderful counsellor who spent a year breaking down my barriers and building me back up. I have only ever put small pieces of my story down on paper. My counsellor said I should write a book of my life. Which I am . It has taken me 6 years from the counselling to finally think about getting all my feelings out.
I am now married and settled at 35 years of age with a wonderful man who puts up with my mood swings. Without him and my family I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I will not sugar coat it. Every day is a big struggle. I fight against pain, my health conditions and my mental health. But I keep fighting. I will not be beaten. I am ME.
Mrs Rachael Dowson-Williams and proud.
I have dealt with depression and an eating disorder since I was quite young and many of my memories include me struggling through life and trying to accept myself, unable to do so. I've self-harmed, to the point of feeling like I can't wear short shirts or skirts anymore in the fear that someone would be disgusted or, worse, triggered by me.
I found Supernatural in early 2014. I found a whole family that knew what I had been through and a cast that cared so deeply about its fans that I considered them a part of my family too. I finally met them at Asylum in 2015. To say that was the best weekend of my life is an understatement. I finally managed to talk to and hug the people that had made me realise my reason to live.
I will carry on because you guys give me a reason to.
Okay, time to get this off my chest. In 8th grade my life went even more downhill. My mother has a immune system disorder which is Crohn's disease and it is basically the worst case that they've ever seen. It spiked up in 2nd grade, and the year it got worse was 4th grade. She was in the hospital for 6 months. In 5th grade I lost my grandmother to broken hip complications and never got a chance to say goodbye, her last breath was when I walked in. In 6th grade my best friend Bryonah left me to be with someone who wasn't the best influence. In 7th grade it got a little better, I had some new friends but by the end of the year I hated myself. My appearance, everything. I could keep it off of my mind but it progressively got worse.
8th grade my mom was hospitalized again for a long time and because I stress eat which is considered a binge eating disorder, to stay in control of something I got to a whopping 198.5 pounds by the end of the year. In that time I had lost one of my close friends, Jeanna to suicide on April 27, 2014. Then 8 days later I lost my cat, the only thing I could talk to, to a saddle thrombus which is basically a blood clot of the legs. During that time I had already self harmed and struggled to keep the addiction of that at bay. And my friends almost always talked over me. The guys at my small school basically thought I was a whale and deserved to die.
On June 26th I decided to end my life. I was crying and almost was going to do it. There was just one thing holding myself back. What could I do to get back at Bryonah (Who was in turn rude to me.) so she could have something to destroy her. Something she enjoyed. I remembered that she enjoyed SPN so I watched one. Just so I could ruin it for her. But in turn I decided I enjoyed it. So after binge watching the whole thing I decided that maybe life was worth it. Freshman year was interesting. Because I refused to binge (I still have bad days sometimes) I decided that I needed to eat less and exercise more. Which in turn started up anorexia. It's been debilitating and I can't do a lot, the thing is that I can't eat lunch in front of my friends so they think I'm an anorexic but I just say I'm not. Some of the affects are hitting me harder. Like cold hands, our family has poor blood circulation so they are even worse. I am almost always wearing something long sleeved.
I just wanted to have people know that I'm continuing to fight this as well as my crippling Anxiety and love wearing my Always Keep Fighting T-shirt. And that it will eventually get better.
My story is the struggle for my sons life. He was in 8th grade the first time he attempted to take his own life. the struggle with the doctors and his school and also with my family to make them understand what he was going thru. He was hospitalized until the insurance ran out which was 3 weeks. Regardless of the diagnosis he was sent home. 2 weeks later he tried to take his life again and I was the one to find him and call for help.
He was hospitalized again for 3 weeks,. After much searching able to find a psychiatrist who took our insurance and she worked with him and was able to get the right medicines for him. Most insurance companies do not have very good mental health coverage and there are strict limitations.
Unfortunately it took a few years and a few set backs. insurance would not cover him after he turned 21. I had to use Canadian pharmacy and manufacturers free med programs to ensure he continued to get his med.
I thank whatever deity watches over him daily for his survival. He is now 30 and he continues to fight and everyday is a gift. He has his good days and bad days good weeks and bad weeks but he Keeps Fighting. This is not something that will ever go away he has struggled for most of his life but he still smiles, laughs, hugs me on the good days and that makes the bad day's bearable.
I remind him how strong he is and that he has to Always Keep Fighting!
I was the oldest and somehow I was expected to always "fix it" in my dysfunctional family. Of course that meant if I had a problem I couldn't rely on anyone to help me so I repressed everything. No surprise then that when I was sexually abused I kept quiet. Then one of the abusers realized that he could manipulate me into keeping the peace by being compliant and therefore his abuse escalated and continued for years. I became more alienated from my other family members due to shame and the hurt of believing that they couldn't possibly not know what was going on yet did nothing to stop it and therefore help me. This continued into adulthood and after being told by my abuser repeatedly that he was the only man who would ever love me and that if I ever did find another man that he would kill the other guy and me both, I avoided trying to ever find someone to love, after all, who could love me if they knew how evil I was. I developed an ulcer among other things and ate my way into an even larger edition of me, which of course helped with avoiding attention from men.
So began the endless cycle of self-hate, disgust that was perpetuated as I looked in the mirror and saw a fatso. I didn't keep close friends because what if they found out so being isolated gave me the opportunity to abuse food, grow bigger and hate myself even more after numerous diet attempts failed on a regular basis.
When I 27 some friends threw me a surprise birthday party and somehow I got the courage to say STOP to my abuser and talked for the first time to strangers on a sexual abuse hotline. Next I told a small group of friends part of the story and they didn't abandon me! I never believed I would live past the age of 30 so I had to tell my story in time to save my nieces and any other family members who might now be preyed on by the abuser. Driving down the street one day I met a dump truck and it took everything in my power to not pull in front of it! I just wanted all the pain to go away and didn't see any other way that it would. I tried drinking but because the abuser was a drunk it disgusted me and I couldn't do that. My friends stuck by me and encouraged me to seek counseling and I did go, attended a few support groups and eventually found my way back to God. I didn't believe that He could love me because I had "allowed" the abuse for so long but I finally listened to His word and realized He did forgive me and I that I needed to forgive myself. That took much longer but was so freeing when it finally happened! Eventually I was able to forgive my family for not saving me and finally forgave the abuser, not for his sake, for mine!
Through all of this I continued to diet and gain weight and haven't had any real or healthy relationships with men and finally came to the realization that being with users and abusers was not better than being alone!
While working to make a better version of Deborah I had 2 close friends commit suicide within 6 months of each other and after attending a support group for family/friends of suicide and it got me through that horrible period and also helped me resolve to never put my family/friends through that. I've had really down times since but never have I actively sought to end my life, although I continued to allow myself to live an unhealthy lifestyle in terms of diet and lack of exercise.
Fast forward to a couple of years ago and as the sole care-giver for my mother who had dementia I was again isolated and overwhelmed. I was 20 years past my expected expiration date so I felt God had kept me around to help my mom, and I tried, but of course you can't fix it and I blamed myself for everything as she spiraled downward. She died prematurely in the care of others when I couldn't handle it anymore and I beat myself up regularly with that guilt. Alone and at times lonely I fixate on actors and watch everything I can that they have played in and that's how I found Supernatural, just this past January actually! I was fixated on Jeffrey Dean Morgan so re-watched Grey's Anatomy episodes with Denny then tried Supernatural even though I hate sci-fi and monsters (cause the real ones in my past were bad enough!) I loved Dean's sarcasm and wit but had a hard time separating Sam from Gilmore Girls' Dean. Needless to say I became hooked on SPN and binge-watched all 9 seasons in 2 months before I started catching up on season 10. My cousins' son committed suicide before Christmas so when Jared started the 'Always Keep Fighting' campaign I revisited the feelings of helplessness and regret over not being able to save my friends or relatives. One night I truly believed my dad was going to commit suicide and Jared's message popped up in my Facebook news feed. So I bought a t-shirt. Somehow it helped me even though I likely will not wear it, the message is there in my drawer every time I open it cause I keep it on top. Like a light switch I began eating healthier and am now walking. I know, I've done this before and failed but this time feels different. To cope with loneliness or despair I watch youtube vids of SPN, Con panels, Jensen singing etc or go on Netflix and re-watch episodes of SPN. I haven't really been active as a member of fandom but feel overall that my obsession is healthy so far, not without tears and heartbreak but when I calm down and remember it's just a show I get through it. God help me (literally), if the series ends before I find something else though!
My niece used to cut so when the second AKF campaign was announced I quickly bought her and her sister shirts so am looking forward to giving them a tangible reminder to Always Keep Fighting. Even if my weight loss is slow, eating healthier has to be good for me so hopefully I continue to feel better about myself as well. Who knows what the future holds? Thanks for listening, didn't mean to keep rambling so I will end now. :)
I am a wife and a mother of two beautiful daughters.Years ago I got really down and depressed and I really didn't know what to do. I felt like everything
around me was going wrong. I actually felt like I was dead inside. I am a very emotional person and at this point I had none. I didn't feel a thing.
I started to cut and at first i thought it was helping me because whenever I did it because I was actually feeling something. One day my youngest daughter
waked in and caught me cutting and thats when everything went crazy.
I haven't cut since that day but I have had my bouts with depression and my youngest has anxiety really bad. I blame myself for that because she never wanted to leave me alone.
I have always been ashamed of my depression and I never talked about it. When Jared and Jensen started this AlwaysKeepFighting campaign I realized that I don't have to be ashamed anymore. Because of them I can llift my head up and not worry about being judged. They have showed me that I am a person that can do whatever I want to do. I am so grateful because now I have not only my family but the entire spnfamily.
Where to start...Family history, was I born with mental health issues? Did having an abusive father make it that I would always have a stigma attached? Being bullied in grade school is that how the depression started? Did MHE (a genetic bone disease) make it hard to blend in?
Maybe all this. There were times when I was a teen or early 20s when I would be sad and not like myself much. Even went to professional help that at the time I was sure I didn't need.
The denial that I had depression stopped ten years ago this month in Rome Italy. A once in a lifetime trip and there was a day where I just knew I wasn't happy. It felt like I would never be happy again. Your on vacation you're supposed to be happy. That's when I knew. I came home and asked for help.
There are good days/and bad, but help is there when needed most.
My Life is a little hard at times. People always treat me different and I get made fun of and bullied. But Jared's campaign has helped me get through some rough times. Someone punched me because I supported the Always Keep Fighting. I have a friend that helps me spread the word and now Im happy and I hope you all keep fighting! Thanks Jared You helped me. And that's my story :)
Heartbreak comes in many different forms. It's not always about depression or suicide. Relationships can be ruined or repaired in a myriad of ways.
I grew up a salesman's kid. We moved a lot then, too. I never made friends easily so I spent many summers buried in a pile of library books. I was happiest on my own in the peace and quiet. I remember a very strict household where we were told what to do, how to do it and when to do it. We were even told what radio stations we could listen to and TV/movies were limited. Every purchase I made had to be justified as to its purpose (e.g., when I bought a shirt to coordinate with a skirt). I was switched or belted up until my late high school years. I didn't know any different so I didn't question it. But I just dreamed of running away and living on my own although I had no idea how that was even possible.
I always tried to do what I felt others approved of, what they expected. I was a straight A student in high school and (almost) in college. I honestly believe that my grandmother was the only person who loved me unconditionally, who supported me in whatever I chose to do. Everyone else's affections came with a caveat, with strings attached in some way or other.
While in college, I joined the Army via ROTC where I met another cadet/student and did a 180 from my previous life. (Talk about stepping outside my comfort zone! I was sure it was my ticket out of there, out from under my family's thumbs and away from the smothered feelings.) I stayed up all night, had sex in out-of-the-way places - cars, my boyfriend's brother's apartment, wherever we could - and just did things that I'd been forbidden to do the past 18 years (except drugs) and generally had a blast. I even considered running away to get married when I visited my fiance in TX on his first assignment. Anything I could do to get out.
I married that cadet and we raised two beautiful sons. I served in the Reserves for nearly 12 years, finding units wherever we moved. I've found work everywhere we have lived. I've moved our household too many times to count separating myself from family and loved ones by thousands of miles. Sometimes I've hated it.
I said before that heartbreak comes in many different forms. It's not always about depression or suicide. Mine came via my marriage and the lack of intimacy that we struggle with daily. After nearly 30 years of being married to the same person, and after some major disruptions (aka an affair, some sexting and subsequent job loss) along the way, we're at a point in our lives when we look at each other and wonder who that other person might be. Did I really marry him/her for the rest of my life? Who is s/he? Who am I? Do I love him/her? Does s/he love me?
Some of those same questions, along with too many household moves, led me to a doctor's office some 15 years ago. I couldn't stop crying. Everything hurt. Everything was sad. Nothing made me happy. He asked me what I felt about the word "depression." Of course, all I thought of was the negative connotation of the word. I didn't know any different. I didn't know then that women in my family have suffered with depression for generations, that a great-aunt had a lobotomy to "fix" her depression symptoms back in the day. All I knew was that depression was a bad thing.
The doc prescribed a low dose of Prozac. Things started looking/feeling better in a few weeks. Several years later, another doc switched it to Wellbutrin saying we needed to change up the meds to keep them working. That helped things get better, but I continue to wonder if I'm in the right place. Am I in the right town/state/job/home for ME? Am I doing what is best for ME? That sounds selfish, but it's not. Not really. If we can't be happy in our own skin, how are we expected to help our mates, our families be happy?
As I've gotten older, I managed to break out of my shell somewhat but I still felt shy and my stomach gets in knots when I'm meeting a large group for the first time. I know my military experience has led me into some terrific jobs, my current one included. The Army taught me to be a good leader, something I'm proud of. Sometimes, though, I just want to crawl into that comfy turtle shell and stay there, letting someone else take the responsibility for a change. I both enjoy the attention my service & training has brought me, and feel horrified that folks notice it, too. Sometimes I feel they expect too much from me because of my background.
The marriage thing has gotten a bit better, and we are rediscovering our relationship with each other, but I still get so frustrated when I find myself questioning everything I say and do. I begin to wonder why I'm here. Why am I in this place in my life and still questioning everything? Why hasn't it all fallen into place by now? Where are the answers?
I've worked in churches for the past 15 years. You'd think that would make me a really strong, faithful person, but it doesn't. It often leads to more questions.
But my work experience has shown me that people suffer in so many ways. Some suffer visibly, some don't. For many, their faith has been enough to help them. For others, it's been the faith of those around them. Either way, many have been impacted by the love and support of those around them whether friends or family.
There are so many out there who suffer from more extreme cases of depression than mine. Who feel that they don't fit in anywhere. Who feel they have no recourse but to cut or hurt themselves or threaten suicide to be seen or heard. I've never gone that far, and it breaks my heart to see others hurting like that.
I found Twitter and the #SPNFamily via a rambling tour of online sites about a year ago. (I didn't join the Supernatural fandom until last spring. Better late than never, I say.) Since then I've made some close friendships with people halfway across the country and halfway around the world. I've shared things with some of them that my BFF doesn't even know. (She knows about the affair, but not the other.)
I've found solace in the fact that I've been able to ask the hard questions and get straight answers from others in similar situations. Maybe that's because we have the safety, the anonymity of the internet. I've spent hours on the computer talking someone through a problem, a bad day, whatever. Sometimes I just have to show that I'm interested in what s/he has to say. Sometimes I can share my work and/or life experiences as a means of helping them. I only hope that I can make a small difference just as the #SPNFamily has made a difference in mine.
"If you're gonna have faith, you can't just have it when the miracles happen. You have to have it when they don't." SPN 1x12
I believe that no one knows what loneliness really is until you feel it glued to your bones. It's a sweet feeling.
Yes, sweet, not wearing.
It's the cold to which you gradually give in without being able to wake up. That cold is reassuring; it never catches you with vehemence. On the contrary, it whispers in your ear "Indifference".
It begins with almost nothing. The early symptoms are slight.
One morning you wake up? You have too much work to do, too much life to live. Therefore you decide to roll over, back under your covers, and go back to sleep, purposely ignoring that "too much".
Then your friends invite you out, and without even knowing the reason why, you make up an excuse. An excuse aimed at yourself. "I am sorry, but today I am tired". A small and trivial excuse that slowly becomes what you always say. And you are genuinely sorry to give up your life in this way. You aren't lying. Nonetheless, you keep going on, and on, and on until you reach a point when you can't find that life anymore.
There is only one way to rise again. There is only one way to finally grab the walking stick and start that long climb which will allow you to find yourself once again. That way is fear.
You must succeed in being terrorized by your own passiveness, by your lack of everything.
It's sheer fear. Fear because you are not able to recognize yourself anymore. Fear because the weakness that forced you to breathe only fumes is simply yours, it doesn't belong to others. Others have nothing to do with it. It's you who has been slowly dying and you have done it well. Oh! You have done it well!
So you must start again. You must gather piece by piece that lousy fragment of bravery you still have and climb up.
I won't lie. You are going to fall many times. So many times that you are going to start wondering why. Why am I doing this? Why am I not able to succeed?
The answer is simple: you are your own and only enemy? the only enemy who can swallow your strength up. However you are also the only friend who is holding your hand. You must grab that hand, you must search it inside yourself if you need to, and you must find the guts to believe that it's worth it. Yes, it's worth it. That detoxification from yourself is the most precious gift that you could possibly give to yourself. It's hard to find. What is more, it is exacting, very exacting. Nonetheless, when you finally unwrap the gift, I promise you that it is going to repay for all your hard work.
It's always beautiful to unwrap that gift. It's Christmas in Sptember.
I first started self harming when I was 14. It was not long after one of my older brothers was diagnosed with brain cancer. The news hit me and my family very hard. I was terrified that I was going to lose someone so close to me. After his diagnoses and during his treatment, I fell into a minor depression. I felt like I was drowning and I felt like no one could see me anymore; like I was utterly invisible. I also have a tendency to be too hard on myself whenever I make a mistake. Self harming was not only a way to let all of my emotions out, but it was also a form of self punishment. Once I started to cut myself, I found it addictive. It wasn't long before my thighs, my "canvas" of choice, were covered in scars. I couldn't go a day without hurting myself.
Fast forward a few years, the depression and self harm become a much bigger problems. I had thoughts of self hate that evolved into thoughts of taking my own life. My parents found out about what I was going through and I was sent to counseling. I was in counseling for a year and a half and in that time, I was able to completely stop self harming. It was very hard to completely stop but I knew that my life was being totally consumed by self harm.
Fast forwarding again to my junior year of high school, I was met with huge life change. My mother, the foundation of my family, left suddenly one day. I later learned that she had checked herself into a mental hospital for PTSD, major depression, and a minor eating disorder. Not having my mom around during my hardest year of high school was devastating. I often found myself in yelling matches with my younger brother that left me curled up in the middle of my kitchen floor. My dad was working a full time job and my older siblings were dealing with the situation in their own way. My way to cope with the anxiety I faced during this time period was to control my food intake. All during middle school and the high school, I was much too heavy for my age and height. After my mom left, I started restricting my food intake. Unfortunately, I would get so hungry from restricting that I would binge and then feel severely guilty afterwards. This led to me developing bulimia. Since developing my disorder, I have lost a quarter of my body weight.
It was around this time that my best friend introduced me to Supernatural. I instantly fell in love with the brothers, Sam in particular. We had similar a demeanor and I felt like I resonated with Sam. Whenever one of the brothers went through something difficult but came out the other end even stronger than they were before, it inspired me. Along with that, watching Supernatural kept my mind off of what was going on in my life. It was a way to escape and watching the show brought me so much joy, and joy was not something that I was feeling very often. I realize now that Supernatural and the characters in the show, mainly Sam and Dean, are one of the reasons I didn't end up relapsing into self harm. Whenever I wanted to hurt myself, I would tell myself that if Sam and Dean could face the Apocalypse, I could make it through.
I am now 19 and in my sophomore year of college. My mom is at home and she is fighting her battle against mental illness and doing a damn fine job of staying strong. While I am still dealing with full-blown bulimic episodes on a daily basis, I am slowly starting to learn that I am not my disorder and that I can stay strong, and maybe I will fully recover one day. Sam and Dean are still two of my biggest inspirations and reminders that life will knock us down, but we have enough strength to brush ourselves off and trek on. While I can't say that Supernatural saved my life, I can say that it has my life a bit brighter and easier to face.
Not gonna lie, I haven't really suffered from depression and Supernatural hasn't been a savior of any sort. For a while it was just a show I'd heard about from my travelings on the internet. (The superwholock phase...) But I did connect with Supernatural in a personal way, just for a different reason. We know Supernatural is heavily centered around a family theme. This is something I find often in my life, because I'm adopted. The family themes in this show resounded in me, because for me I am not biologically related to anyone in my family. Supernatural showed the relationship of two boys who didn't have a father, and turned to someone who was a better father, a better role model, and better family. This is important to me and has touched and changed my life in the fact that it kind of made me feel stronger about my views on family, despite what outsiders/people who haven't had adopted children in their family might say. It also validated a lot of what I sort of felt family was, more of the those who are there for you, not whose DNA you share. Supernatural just really helped validate some of my feelings about myself and my family, and I'm thankful for it.
I was bullied all through elementary and middle school. The things my peers, people I had believed to be my friends called me were truly terrible. I honestly believed that suicide was the only option. In the winter of 2013, I attempted to kill myself. When I came home from the hospital, i was still devastated by my actions and those of the people around me. Then I found Supernatural. It made me think through my problems and deal with my pain, rather than taking it out on my body. Jared and Jensen and all the rest of them kept me from trying to seriously hurt myself again, and kept me happy. Although I don't have the money to participate in the campaign by buying the merch, I love to try to encourage people who need the campaign. Jared and Jen did something I've never really seen when they told us to Always Keep Fighting. And I think that's a beautiful thing. I love you all. If anyone needs to talk, kik-rayhedd tumblr-heartless-armor-made-of-tin. MWAH!!
Okay, so, I have Epilepsy. Seizure disorder. I've met awesome people because of it (at Epilepsy camps) so I can't necessarily wish I never had it. But it's knocked me on my ass. I was diagnosed 8 years ago, this October. I'm 19 in July. But anyway, I had my first seizure, got taken to the hospital (standard procedure) and when I got back to school...I learned first hand what "fake" meant.
I made a new friend because my other "friends" abandoned me and a boy actually just pretended to like me out of pity. This was like the first month by the way and I was still young. I wasn't at that "Fuck guys, who cares what they think" mentality yet. So this devestated me. Broke my heart. Meanwhile, seizures are still outta control.
So. Little self esteem, medicine useless, seizures unpredictable, in and out of the hospital getting scans and EEGs or whatever--Like, what else could actually go wrong? It's alright, I won't keep you in suspense:
My older brother leaves. To join a gang. So I'm in 7th grade, about 12, unstable, LET'S TAKE CARE OF MY 3 YOUNGER SIBLINGS! And my dad works far, so he leaves at like 3 am and gets home sometimes as late as 9. Sometimes not at all. At the time, my grandmother lived with us. So ya know, challenge accepted. But because of my mental state at the time I assumed he left cuz of me. Like, obvs. Shift seizures into overdrive.
So I went into the hospital again for a couple days, then at some point he came back pretending to care to get his stuff. I guess that's why middle school is a blur. I supposed high school will be better. Imagine how bad middle school must be where high school must be better.
I think it was for a bit. I spent half my day at school and the other at a vocal tech studying cosmetology. But I didn't get along with the other girls. And my medicine messed with my memory and concentration. I made excuses to stay home so I didn't have to go to Cosmo. I wasn't bullied but they made me uncomfortable and I had no friends there. So I left halfway through the year (which sucked because I'm epic at nails) and resumed high school but a full day. I had friends and my Epilepsy had turned to the small seizures. Where I gasp really loud, and drop things and fall to the floor. Which turned out to be a lot more sucky than the bigger ones.
Maybe 10th grade, he came back, a few days after his birthday. But he said he was joining the army. So all was forgiven. I don't see it that way. But I guess that's what makes me the bad guy. And that was the final metaphorical straw. I have never felt so happy and so broken at the same time.
I don't know when the panic attacks happened. I think 11th grade? We thought they were seizures. I had the first one after, dude get this, watching Toy Story 3. I was at that Epilepsy camp. I guess seeing Andy leaving Woody and Buzz reminded a certain someone about a certain life experience she spends every waking second shoving down. It was after a few more in school they put me in school like "These are panic attacks. You're depressed. You need to talk someone about this shit. You're fucking losing it." And through the waterfalls of tears because I'm busted, I'm like "Is this your medical opinion?" And my mom is all "You don't need to protect me." And I'm just like "Yea, I do. That's like, my job. Duh. I gotta protect all of you."
I saw the therapist for a couple months and she gave me anti-depressants. I graduated high school now and I figured college would be IT. Like, I had the experience. I said I was going to forgive my brother (slowly but surely), and I had great friends, maybe meet a guy (that'll accept me Epilepsy and all), get my Psych degree (yeah, yeah irony) it'll be great! But my seizures spun out and I'm on medical leave.
I'm at home right now on the couch. But I also applied to another school closer to home and meeting a neurosurgeon to get a VNS. Which is like a wire up to your brain that stops that seizures (to put it lightly.) It's gonna take adjusting even when I have it in. There was a time where I couldn't think about my brother without my brother without bursting into actual tears. There are rides I won't be able to go on with my brother when we go to Hershey this summer. But ya know what? I Always Keep Fighting.
Around three years ago I started suffering from severe depression and anxiety. I can barely go to the store because if I see myself in a mirror I will break down in tears. I skip school because I convince myself that people are thinking certain things about me.
It's gotten really bad as of late. I can physically feel the changes it's made on my body. And it scares me.
What keeps me going are you guys. When Jared and Jensen launched their campaign, an out pour of incredible stories emerged and I made it a goal to read as many as I can. I needed to convince myself that I am not alone, because before then, I was lost.
I didn't realize that the most beautiful aspect of this show is this incredible family, full of struggles, diversity and most importantly, love.
Every day is a struggle for me. I can't remember a night where I haven't cried myself to sleep. But the SPNFamily gives me hope, and that is more than I could ever ask for. I will always keep fighting.
The year was 2005 and for some reason the title caught my eye. I couldn't wait to watch it. I clicked with Dean as soon as he came onscreen and he became my all time favorite and I became a Dean girl forever. I thought the character Sam was pretty cool too. Until the writers ruined him, but that's only my own personal opinion. So I watched the show since the beginning and then about a year ago something started happening to me. I was in constant pain so I went to a chiropractor and he started working on me. Thanks to TNT I can watch the show every morning from 8 am to 11 am. Monday thru Friday. The distraction is great for the off days and recovering from going to see the chiropractor that day as sometimes it takes a day or two when he works on different areas on me. Thanks to Jensen I joined Twitter and Facebook after he did. I figured why not, if he does then I guess it can't be too bad. I have some off days and whenever I need a distraction watching Supernatural or even some of the J2's movies help some. My all time favorite is Ten Inch Hero. If you haven't seen it. Jensen and Danneel are epic. So thank you Jensen and Jared for giving me something to watch when I need it. I plan to keep fighting. So thanks to Jared for starting the campaign and for Jensen to support it and to the Supernatural family who is there to help keep it alive. Thank you.
Here's my story and a photo. I think this is a wonderful idea. For me, the worst part of depression is the shame. It's freeing to be able to share without judgement. Also, reading other people's stories helps me to accept that I am not alone. Thank you. :)
I was a happy person, until I wasn't. It all happened so fast. I went from being unstoppably motivated, to being buried in numbness. I was 25 and through what I thought was the hardest part of my life. Getting out. I got out of the situation I was born into and made my own way, I had succeeded, I made it. But I couldn't feel it, I couldn't feel anything. I knew how grateful I should be, how lucky I was, but I just couldn't feel it. I started to forget what it was I should be happy about, or what being happy felt like. I felt everything and nothing all at the same time. When I did have glimpses of emotion, it was sadness or anger. I was angry that I wasn't in control, that my mind was making a mockery of everything I stood for. I defined myself by my strength, my ability to survive and here I was failing for no reason at all. No battle, no struggle, just nothing.
I took back control the only way my confused, numb mind could find. I started self-harming. I felt like I was controlling my own pain. Self-harm is of course the exact opposite, but at the time I couldn't see that. I was more out of control during that time, than I had ever been in my life and I could not see my way out.
There was an episode of Supernatural in Season 5 called " Sam, Interrupted". I felt like Sam understood exactly what I was going through and he found the words I could not. This show did what all my friends and family couldn't, it opened my eyes. I love these characters and I always have. I respect them. I trust them. For whatever reason, that worked. I started to use Supernatural as a coping tool. Depending on my mood, I would flip through seasons, different episodes. Some were funny, some reminded me to be tough. Some reminded me to love and be loyal. They all helped me. It took a lot of very small steps and a lot of backslides, but I survived. I know now that if my mind betrays me again, I have a safe place to go and remind myself who I am and what is important to me. That place is a fictional TV show and it comes with a very large, very loyal, and very loving family. It’s home and for that I am eternally grateful and incredibly lucky.
People that know me or watch my livestream show So Get This usually don't believe me when I tell them that I have clinical depression.
They think because I usually appear to be jovial, cracking jokes all the time, etc, that I'm just feeling sorry for myself or looking for attention.
There is a stigma attached to mental illness and a plethora of misconceptions of how depression and other mental illnesses present themselves.
I find humor to be my defense mechanism of choice. I can make incredibly bad jokes and still have self-loathing, folks.
Let's take an abridged walk through the crap.
My mother was murdered when I was 7 years old. My father remarried a woman who wished me dead and physically and emotionally abused me from the time I was 9 up through adulthood. My father never believed me until I decided to move almost 900 miles away.
My father showed up on my doorstep 2 days before my move and told me he believed me. Well, being that I was then 43 years old and all, I told him that it was too little, too late. I still love my dad, talk to him often, but even after claiming to believe the things his wife did to me, still tries to force me to talk to her and have a relationship with her as if everything is normal.
I suffered from depression and suicidal thoughts from the age of 9 and up through now, at 44 years of age.
My marriage to a man with bipolar disorder has been challenging, to put it mildly.
There were so many hurtful events the past 14 years of our marriage that I can't even begin to process them.
I'm currently in therapy to try to detach myself from all of the things that have happened to me.
I've been to therapist after therapist and it was fruitless. Until now.
When Jared launched his Always Keep Fighting campaign and I saw that even he suffers with a lot of the same struggles I have and he's using his pain to actually help other people, I thought to myself that maybe this can help me too.
In VegasCon 2015 I spoke to Jared about the idea of designing bracelets and donating a portion of the proceeds to the Always Keep Fighting campaign.
His response was so supportive. He said, "This is awesome! As far as I'm concerned - go for it!"
To date we've raised over $1,300 for AKF and that's what helps me.
I still struggle every single day with depression but I've got more in my toolbox to help me to always keep fighting, thanks to Jared and Jensen.
Hello. I want to start off by saying that I am glad and feel blessed to be a part of this big family! :) It is very encouraging and there is so much happiness and love being spread by this campaign and motto. You guys (Jared and Jensen especially) are amazing and brave to share your stories so openly and to have a huge support group. This is amazing.
When I was three my parents divorced, and it was a nasty one. I have been told I was a pitiful child. My mom always chose men over me. I know she loved me and I loved her deeply. We were best friends, but more like sisters than mom and daughter (i.e. "Gilmore Girls" type).
I struggled with this for as long as I can remember. I started carving in my skin at age 8 and finally stopped around age 17. I was very depressed and attempted suicide a few times up to age 24. It was more petty, for attention type stuff. My dad remarried and for many years, until I was an adult, my stepmother and I had a hard relationship. She was the more mother type and treated me like her daughter. I was the one who was mad and mean and gave her a hard time. I was blessed with a little half sister at age 11. I battled depression, rage/anger, and hurt for many years.
At age 16, I was drugged and molested by an older cousin, whom I trusted and he deeply devastated me. I shut down and was numb, scared, and felt like I had brought it onto myself. I told my biological mom and a couple friends I trusted. I didn't tell my dad and step mom until three years later. The anger really set in around this time. The self loathing and pity parties. I felt like since my own family (the cousin) didn't care about my worth than why should I?
I went into a downward spiral for a few years. I did many things I regret and many things I should not have done. But, it is in the past now. I was raised in a Christian home with my dad and stepmom. My mom professed to be saved, but her life did not always reflect it. That is between her and God.
I was saved at age 7, and my own life did not always reflect Christ as it should. After being molested, I got way worse. I had many friends and I did seem to find other people who had been raped and/or molested and my experience was able to help them through theirs. It gave us both a person to talk to and sort of help one another cope and learn to forgive ourselves and the person who hurt us.
I started to slowly start focusing on God again a few years after the molestation. It took me about 5 yrs. to forgive myself and to stop having severe panic/anxiety attacks when in the same state as my abuser. I have generalized anxiety disorder, panic attacks, PTSD, and I am Bipolar II. I am well managed now on low dose medicine. I still take medicine for anxiety and panic attacks. I go to therapy and am a psychology and theology major. I wanted to study psychology to understand myself and how people think. I want to be able to help other people who have gone through turmoil and who are dependent on self-medicating.
In the last three years, my life has changed dramatically. My mother died in 2013, suddenly and unexpectedly. She was only 45. She had a heart attack the doctors believe. My world crashed and my heart shattered when I got the call. My heart still has a gaping hole in it and I still have crazy dream that are so life like I wake up crying like a baby. The spring she died was the final term of my bachelor's degree in psychology. I was blessed to be at school and the psychology department is the best place to be in the case of a death. I was surrounded by friends, mentors, and psychologists (current and future).
I also had what I call a "God moment." I was walking from one building to another and It was like the cold rainy day brightened and I felt this calm and peace spread over me. (**I know everyone believes in different things, I am only telling my story, not trying to push my faith on others. Everyone's experience is important and special**)I walked and prayed and thanked God for all the various memories of my mom. I probably looked like some crazy lady walking on a college campus tears streaming down my face and talking to myself. The next few days I was sort of numb but mostly felt at peace. I would have sobbing fits. A month later my cousin died unexpectedly and then the next week my cat, given to me by my mother and was like my baby, was killed. I missed about 8-9 weeks of school. I was blessed to have understanding teachers and classmates who helped me get back on track and I graduated with honors, and even raised my GPA. I am still not sure how that happened.
I started working on my relationship with God and I started going to church and helping with the youth and children ministries, etc. I have made many new friends and many of them I consider family. I have a support system at home and at church and it helps me greatly.
My mom and I had started watching Supernatural when it first started, but I got behind. She continued watching it. I decided to start watching it again when I saw it on Netflix and I caught up. watching it made me feel a connection to my mom. When she would laugh or cry and what I could picture her saying and talking about the show. The show is a blessing in itself. Then I started watching the YouTube videos of conventions and interviews and I discovered this big family of actors and fans. I then discovered the "AlwaysKeepFighting" Campaign.
I believe it is great that Jared openly talk(ed)s about his troubles and his fighting depression and sadness. I believe he is extremely brave, strong, and a great blessing and encourager to so many. To tell his story and to reach out to others. To create a family atmosphere within the show and with the fans is great. So many people look down on, and stigmatize mental illnesses no matter how small. It is good to have someone standing up for others (In Hollywood/the public). I have started my masters and I hope to get through it and I know I have to always keep fighting. It is hard, but I was open with my professors about my mental illness and with my worries and fears. I have been blessed with amazing, understanding professors at such a high educational level. It is intense and the schedule is short and hectic.
I am grateful to God for everything he has done for me and for helping me through so much. I still have problems, I still get sad and depressed and I go through phases and go through moments where I cry for no reason. I read my Bible and pray and have the support of my family and friends. I also have been watching and laughing my butt off at the videos of the cast from SPN at the cons. You guys are a great influence to the masses I believe. You are doing something great and I am blessed that I found this family. I like the wording "Always keep fighting" just like I love the "Keep calm and carry on" slogan as well. I really like how it's positively worded. "Keep fighting!" is much better than "Don't give up." It is hard to stay in the mindset that I do need to keep fighting. I am trying to carry on and keep fighting. I could write way more about all the ups and downs, but these are the main points.I feel stronger the closer I get to God. I also love y'all's (spelling police??) comedy and through the videos you can see so much about your (everyone's) true character and you have hearts of gold. Thank you Jared (and Jensen, and everyone else).
To Jared: I am glad you are taking a break for yourself to recharge and that you are feeling better. It is important for us to not spread ourselves too thin. I believe you guys are a blessing and I can't thank you enough for everything you guys do. Always Keep Fighting!! :)
To anyone else suffering: Don't give up and don't give in. Always keep fighting and find something to fight for. Find a goal. Remember, you are awesome. :)
Thank You Again.
I live a very active life - inside my head. My brain is very loud and constant and never shuts up. A lot of the time it's the voice in my head telling me that I'm "too much" and yet at the same time "not enough" and that no one actually loves me or cares about me. I know this isn't true, but man it sure feels real sometimes.
I struggle with this, sometimes on a daily - hourly - basis. Some days are better than others. When I first saw the #AlwaysKeepFighting campaign (Moose & Squirrel edition), I immediately felt a connection. Jared's explanation of why he chose "Always Keep Fighting" vs. "Never Give Up" was wonderful and inspiring and even on my darkest days, whether it's an internal struggle within myself to feel worthy, loved, good, etc. or just a bad day at the office or existential angst about the magnitude of the multiverse, repeating the mantra of Always Keep Fighting and wearing my AKF tank or going on twitter and seeing all the love the SPN Family has for each other - it helps me to keep going.
Always Keep Fighting is my new mantra for life. It inspires me and has helped me keep going - when I've eaten a bag of cookies and just want to give up; when I'm near tears because I feel unworthy of love or laughter or joy; when I want to scream in anger and rage against the machine - I think, write or shout outloud "Always Keep Fighting" and then, miracle of miracles, I do. I can. I find the strength to carry on.
If I hadn't come across the #AlwaysKeepFighting campaign and Jared's honest struggle and the SPNFamily's raucous love for life and support of strangers like me, I know that my outlook on life and my struggle would be so much heavier.
These three words and the global outpouring of love and community around them have made me feel a part of something bigger. We all long to be connected, to feel worthy and loved. To be happy and safe and warm. And we can be. We are. YOU are. Yes YOU - the wonderful, beautiful, bent but not broken person reading this right now.
As the poet Wordsworth once wrote - we have ALL of us, one human heart. And we will ALWAYS. KEEP. FIGHTING.
So, my name is Emma. I'm from the Netherlands. I guess my story begins 11 years ago, when my father died.
I was only fifteen and had seen him deteriorate over the course of 15 months. When he died, it felt like a piece of me died with him. I became depressed and spent my days locked in my room, not going to school, half-assing interactions with my friends which caused them to eventually leave. It wasn't long until I found myself on the ledge of the tallest building in Amsterdam, where I grew up. But... there was this voice - this small sweet little voice that surrounded me, and reminded me that I had a life to live. A husband to meet and children to put on this world.
At 17 I met a guy, he was fun and nice and I became infatuated with him. One thing let to another and before I knew it, I was holding a positive pregnancy-test in my hands. I was shocked - 17 and pregnant wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my future! Thankfully, my mother really stepped up to the plate and allowed me to stay in her house to raise my babygirl. The father is still around but he doesn't do much when it comes to taking his responsibilities.
That babygirl, Sophia, gave me reason to get up in the morning and for many years I was happy, just the two of us.
Then, when I was 23, I met this amazing man. I had met him before and we talked all night but we parted ways and never spoke again until that day in September when we re-met. We quickly fell in love and it was different from anything I had ever experienced with a man. I felt him... truly felt him, deep within my heart. He was in the process of starting up his own business and without hesitation I jumped in. So deeply in love, we were (still are btw) that we didn't think twice about starting that business and building our future.
We moved in together and with the greatest of joy, found out we were pregnant. But my second pregnancy was a terrifying time. At nine weeks, I started bleeding... Badly. I lost so much blood, that I was on the verge of death. A vein on my vaginal wall had ruptured and the doctors had a tough time closing it back up. Thankfully, impossibly, my baby wasn't effected and I managed to carry her to full term. As I'm writing this, my Eva, my little fighter is happily running around the living room as fast as her 19 month old legs can carry her :)
When Eva was 4 months old, disaster struck. We were sued for a clean 70 grand and our business went bankrupt immediately. Our dream, our future was shattered. We had to collect wellfare to feed the kids and when everything was said and done, we were left with a staggering amount of debt. I dropped out of college because I couldn't afford the tuition and our future appeared bleak at best. That same week, we found out we were pregnant again. My third pregnancy went well, thank god but with very little money, a court-appointed accountant and weekly allowances, it wasn't going to be easy.
Logan, my third child and only son, was born but the delivery was hell. He got stuck in the birth-canal and in the process, severely bruised my pelvis. When he was finally born, he was blue as a smurf and it took the longest two minutes of my life for him to start breathing.
After that whole ordeal, I started feeling depressed again. But it wasn't the 'cry-all-day' depression I was already familiar with. I just couldn't get out of bed, I barely had any energy. I took care of my three darling children but that took everything I had. Eventually I was diagnosed with something called 'burn-out depression'. Unfortunately, here in the Netherlands, psychological therapy for depression isn't free and my insurance won't cover it, so I can't get the help I need.
But with the help of my amazing man, my family and friends, and I have to say Supernatural, I'm slowly but surely getting there. SPN teaches me that even though the hits keep coming, I can't lay down and let it crawl all over me. It's taught me to stand my ground and keep fighting.
So, from me to whomever might be reading this, I have this to say: Even though life might be tough, remember that you will never stand alone. Stand your ground, keep your head high and laugh. And never forget: #AlwaysKeepFighting and your SPN family will fight right alongside with you!
I was 17 years old. I was in high school, but it was awful. My mother was a bartender at a local dive, and a lot of men "knew" her, really well. Her reputation rubbed off on me, and some of the people I went to school with thought mom and I had the same morals. We didn't, but that didn't stop the sexual violence. Every time I complained to any authority, because of my mother's behavior, I was ignored. The principal actually asked me why I would try to ruin a boy's life, just because he wanted to 'have a little fun' with me.
So, I wasn't really attending school on a regular basis, and it left my schedule wide open. I used to hang out at the McDonald's and drink coffee until my friends' school day ended, so I'd have someplace to go. It was at McDonald's, that I met my husband.
He was 32 and attentive. He was kind, and he seemed very interested in what I thought, how I felt, what my goals were... everything about me was the most interesting thing he'd ever heard. I was in love and it was real and deep and beautiful.
This was January, when Upstate New York is buried deep in snow, cold, and in my small town, a kind of bone-deep gloom that clung to everyone and everything. He was so intelligent. He talked about his travels, where he'd worked, his family, his daughter and ex-wife... all of it. I thought it was romantic, how he treated me like a wise adult. He asked my opinions and listened to them. I even made him laugh. He told me he loved me and he'd never been happier than when he was spending time with me, in that horrible little McDonald's.
By the end of February, we were living together. He drank constantly. Whiskey, mostly, but any alcohol would do. He introduced me to his family. His parents were confused, but polite. His mother took my hand, when we were alone in her kitchen, and asked me if I was alright. I told her I couldn't believe how happy he made me. She excused herself to her room and I didn't see her, again, until months later. His father just kept giving him odd looks and sighing. I didn't really understand why they seemed so upset, but I figured it was just the age difference, and they'd get over it as they got more comfortable with me.
By March, he was talking about leaving, and wondered if I'd like to go with him. When I'd ask where, he'd just smile and kiss me. His brother gave me a stack of medical records and patted my shoulder, before he was told to never come back. I read through some of the stack. There were reports of suicide attempts, drug overdoses, alcoholic blackouts, treatment facilities, court appearances, many diagnoses, agoraphobia/social anxiety being the major ones. Followed by possible schizophrenia, possible sociopathy, possible homicidal tendency, and several more. He burned the entire stack, one night, before I'd even gotten through a few pages. He told me not to worry. He said he didn't need the doctors and medicine, anymore, because he had me. If I loved him enough, he'd be just fine. I believed every word.
I turned 18 that April. We didn't go out. That was unthinkable, because of his anxiety. We stayed home and he showed me how much he loved me by putting his fist through every window in our home. He cried. He said he was sorry. He said he just wanted to show me how much pain he'd endure for me. I believed him. I was in love and I just knew I could love him enough to make him ok. We were married by a river that ran by our apartment, two weeks later. Neither one of our families attended. My mother didn't really have the time. She did mail me a cookbook, though. His parents were less supportive. They sent me annulment papers and their lawyer's business card. He was so inebriated by the end of the ceremony, he had to crawl to the car. The Justice had to help him into the back seat. I thought he was just celebrating, and went a little overboard. I actually laughed at how silly he was being, humming to himself as we drove home.
That May, we were sound asleep, when I woke up screaming with sever abdominal pain. We rushed to the emergency room, and after my exam, we found out I was pregnant. The doctor was worried that it was an ectopic, or tubal, pregnancy, and they wanted to abort immediately. I disagreed and demanded an ultrasound, so we were sent to a different hospital. He drove me there, but couldn't go in with me, due to his agoraphobia. He waited in the car. He drank, to calm his nerves. I didn't even know he'd had enough time to remember the bottle on the nightstand, but it was ok. I didn't really care, because my pregnancy was perfectly normal. The pain was caused by my abdominal muscles stretching. I was going to be a mother, and I was flying high with joy.
When we pulled into our driveway, he was very quiet. He didn't seem as happy as I thought he should be, and I asked him about it. He refused to speak to me. He wouldn't even look at me. He drank well into the night, and it was dawn by the time he came to bed. He woke up at 2 in the afternoon, and started drinking again. He still hadn't spoken to me, but I was being patient, giving him his space. I was doing the dishes, when he came up behind me. I thought he was going to hug me and apologize for being so distant. He picked me up and carried me back to our bedroom. His 12 gauge shotgun was on the bed, along with a sheet of plastic. I didn't fight, at first. It just didn't make any sense to me. When I understood, I clawed at him until he let me go, but he wouldn't let me leave the room. He started talking about how I promised him we could go away together. He told me he didn't want to die alone. He said I was his wife and that meant something more than just some damn piece of paper, that it meant forever. I started crying and begging him to just let me go. Please, let me just go outside. I told him I needed to go for a walk and think about it. For the first time in our relationship, he hit me. He slapped me so hard, I tasted blood and saw those floating lights you see when you stand up too fast. He apologized, and cried harder. He begged me to go with him, to let him send me along, first. When I didn't say anything, he sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the gun and leaned it against the floor and his temple. He told me goodbye and said he loved me. While I watched, he pulled the trigger, and I saw his head explode in shards from his shoulders.
A neighbor called the police, when she saw me running outside, covered in blood. One minute, I was standing in the yard screaming, and the next, I was in an ambulance surrounded by EMTs, firefighters, police, and other neighbors who just wanted to know what the hell happened. I couldn't speak. I tried to. I opened my mouth and tried to find the words, but they just wouldn't come. Then, I started shivering like I'd been stuck in a chest freezer, and I passed out.
I woke up in the hospital, being treated for shock. My grandmother was there, crying and holding my hand. A nurse came in and asked me if I wanted anything for my nerves, like Valium. I told her I was pregnant, and she said she knew that, but she figured I'd have an abortion, since the father was dead. My grandmother took her by her arm and shoved her out of the room. She helped me get dressed, and we left.
That was 22 years ago, as of last month. My beautiful son and his wife are expecting my first grandchild, Talia Cassandra, in July. Dealing with what happened hasn't been easy. I have PTSD, medicine, and a therapist who has a stellar sense of humor. So do I. I'm alright, now. I'm safe, happy, and well loved. There were several days that I wanted to die. Days that I was certain, nothing would ever be ok. That I would always be afraid and so depressed. That I'd never be able to trust another person enough to have a real relationship. That I'd never be happy, again.
I know my story is hard to read. It's been hard living through it. I didn't give up, though. If I had, nobody would've questioned it. They would've said how obvious it was, that I'd been through too much for me to handle. That I deserved some peace, and they'd hoped I'd finally found it. Nobody would've blamed me for killing myself, and leaving my son an orphan. They would've understood.
I think that's awful! I'm so proud of myself for not giving up! I'm 40 years old, and I'm going to be the best grandmother anyone's ever seen!! I would've missed out on so much good living, if I'd let myself quit.
There's an entire world out there, out passed the pain and anger and fear. A whole world full of people who will give a damn about you. Years of experiences that will enrich and interest you, if only you'll let go of that soul-crushing idea, that you would be better off if you were dead. I promise that's just not true. I swear, if you just take it day by day, you'll be amazed at how life moves on. Those problems you have today, will go away. There'll be brand new problems, some smaller, some even bigger and scarier. You can get through them, though. You can, and you don't ever have to do it alone. The SPNFamily really is a family. We're real people who really care. Reach out, hell scream, and we'll hear you and flock around you. We'll help you hang on. We'll love you, even when you can't love yourself. We won't let you down, and we won't abandon you. I promise.
Always Keep Fighting! <3
2 years ago, my family decided we should all move to Canada, that was the best decision to make at the time, except I was already in university in Lebanon, my hometown, and I had already developed a network of friends I could count on. When the decision was made, deadlines for applications had already passed, and I found myself coming to a country where I wasn't sure of anything. I had no education secured, no job secured for the year, nothing that made me feel safe or confident about the move. Suffice to say, just the thought of it started making me anxious. I already have generalized anxiety, so this was not good for me. I had several breakdowns before we moved, I was terrified, and no one could see how this was affecting me, because all everyone could see was how much good this would be for the family, and I would put on a smile and agree. But it didn't stop there, when we moved to Canada, where my parents were convinced we could figure something out, and be able to get into some university, my anxiety got worse with each passing day of not having anything secured yet. Soon enough, I was crying myself to sleep wanting nothing more than for all of this to stop. A few weeks in, and my parents gave up on us finding a university where I could go here, which made it worse, I was hanging on to their hope, it was my only lifeline, and suddenly it was gone. I felt lost, and scared, and started spiraling into a depression that I couldn't stop. I wouldn't eat, I barely got out of my room, and I started pushing everyone away. I wanted to be left alone, I wanted to stop caring about what was happening, I wanted to believe when they told me that it'll all be ok, and I haven't lost anything yet, but I couldn't. All I could think of was being in a new country with no one I could trust with my feelings, I was consumed by doubts that I didn't share. A couple of weeks after I went spiraling into depression, my family called me out and told me that my best option was to go back to high school, repeat my grade 12 and start fresh, but all I could hear was the fact that I was just about to throw away 2 years of my life as if they never happened, I was going to to back to high school, a place where I had bad memories in the past because I was bullied. To everyone it sounded like a good idea, but not to me, high school is the one place I never wanted to revisit, but they had already signed me up, and they weren't letting me have a say in the matter. When I started, it was terrible for me, I kept to myself and refused to talk to anyone, I sat in class hoping that my friends back home would talk to me and distract me, but they were all busy with their university lives, they had work and it didn't help that we were in completely different time zones, 7 hours difference between canada and Lebanon. Our timing never worked, and I found myself losing friends that I thought would remain the one constant thing in my life. This did not help me at all, as I spiraled deeper into my depression, and pushed people farther away. A teacher in school noticed how bad it was getting and started sitting with me during lunch period, at first I would just listen to her talk, trying to be polite, but I couldn't bring myself to talk to her, and tell her what's wrong. It took a while, but I eventually learned to trust her, and I opened up to her, and I told her what had happened, and she was supremely supportive, and encouraging. She kept sitting With me during lunch periods, and kept getting to know me better, and eventually she helped me get a job in the school. She recommended me to a fellow teacher, and I became her assistant. When that happened, I had a reason to get up again every morning. The teacher I was assisting worked with kids with educational problems, ranging from severe dyslexia, to ADD. she needed my help, and the students started depending on me a little more as the year passed. Those students became the only thing that brightened up my day, twice a week. the satisfaction that came with helping them, with seeing them succeed was incomparable. I had a little revelation that year, I didn't want to be a pharmacist like my parents had planned for me, I wanted to be able to help kids succeed, watch them make it to the top. They gave me the motivation to work harder at school to get into the university of my choosing. When the time came, I applied for psychology. I entered university last September, and I met some friends who introduced me to supernatural, by the time I was halfway through the first season, I was obsessed, unfortunately by then the AKF campaign had ended. Supernatural became my safe haven, my escape from reality. It increased my desire to help people anyway I can. So, I applied to volunteer at the counselling and disabilities services at my university. There I learned about different things I could do with my major in psychology, so I applied for a double major. Next september, I'll be entering my second year, and I'll be doing psychology and linguistics, hopefully graduate in a few years, and become an educational psychologist, to help students like the ones I worked with last year, but I also want to become a speech therapist, to help anyone who might need my help for whatever reason in that area. I still get bouts of depression every now and then when I remember what I have lost in this move, but in a way, supernatural is linked with all the good that came from it. When I'm feeling down, I would watch a few episodes, and the humor in it never seizes to lift my spirits up, and their determination to save the world, never seizes to re-motivate me to keep going, to study harder, so i can one day hopefully have an influence on people's lives. :)
I've never really had a happy childhood. Most would say that it was traumatic. At the age of 2, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, a Chromic illness that usually children are diagnosed with. I almost died due to how late the diagnosis was officially made and the fact that I was given an I'V drip with sugar b/c the doctors thought my glucose levels were low, rather it was quite the opposite.
My family dynamic has been a very abusive one. My father used to beat my mother while she was pregnant with myself and my sister. When I was 5 I remember seeing him throw my mom down the stairs, punch and kick, spit etc. You name it it happened. I was just confused, b/c it was such an isolated house and abusive I never really knew how other families functioned. I honestly that it was normal, but deep down inside I knew there was nothing good or normal about it. From then that's all I would see my father beating my mother over the littlest of issues, then storming out but my mom wouldn't let him. She needed him to help take care of her kids, and of our medical issues. She was a fraud to do it alone. My mom was my hero growing up, WAS being the key word here.
I was seven years old when things got very bad. My mom and dad were arguing as usual, and my dad stormed out of the house and went to work so my mom drove us to his place of work, and my dad tried to attack my mother in the middle of the room, while she was holding my youngest brother. The workers their literally had to peel by dad of her and hold onto my brother. That's when my dad went to jail. He stayed there for a bit then came back. The responsibility put on my since I was just a little girl up to that age was ridiculous. I had to put the safety and emotional care of my other siblings first before mine, I'm their big sister i have to look out for them.
That's when the emotional Saratoga and abuse was directed at the kids. Myself significantly. One day my parents were arguing in the car, my dad store driving and walked out leaving us in the middle of a slightly busy road. My took the wheel and started to drive away. My siblings are crying I'm crying, I'm screaming at my mom "Your adults why can't u stop fighting!?" It was then when I saw a change in my mother. She parked the car, screamed and hit me, slapping and throwing her heels at my face, took me out of the car and said "if u like your father so much then u can go find him" and left me on the road with no way of finding my dad, or my medical supplies with me I case of an emergency (which happened often for me as my medical history is pretty whack) I cried and cried and ran down the street screaming "Dad, Dad, help its me Hamda" 20mins go by and I find him eventually found him and he looked shaken up, which shocked me b/c he would tell my mom in front of my face that in a "worthless price of shit" that "God gave him a sick child" "She's the dumbest child ever, she can't even excell in her classes, is she retarded" etc. ( side note I wasn't the brightest kid in school, I had a lot of anxiety attacks during tests and would be beaten by my father with my mom watching it happen if I got an answers wrong. Etc) we eventually got picked up and went home. The emotional abuse continued on for me at home and school, kids were very cruel, hitting me with chairs, cutting my hair, etc. and when my mom found out she would hit me and ask "why you know defend yourself!?" (That actually how she said it) "why do I bring food on the table of u can't defend yourself you motherfucker" from then on I never told her how kids would abuse me in school, she though I ha d handled it.
As a child there was more physical abuse than emotional, kicked in the ribs, below the stomach, stepped on, I've been chocked by my mother many times, most totally because I took a music class as an elective in highschool and she didn't want that. My father watched as a gasped for air. It was the first time I had flipped and screamed till I was hoarse. To say the least I got bested so hard I could breathe or move by the end, it was with a metal rod and a coat hanger. I had scratched from the hanger all over me. I've been whipped with the medal an me leather of my fathers belt for eating yogurt after school when I was hungry which was okay even if in diabetic. Think was I lied about it cuz I was scared of getting hit. And I got my siblings hit, but my mom knew it was me but still a hard us all. I ev really caved. I've learned to have a high tolerance to pain. So much so that it kinda freaks them out when I'm stoned faced and emotional as, no tears or a word coming out I just let it happen and compartmentalism it later.
As teenager I never lashed out cuz of fear but recently in the past 2yrs I've begun to lash out have intense mood swings, I've been hurting myself just wanting to feel something b/c feeling nothing is like that feeling when your half asleep half Awake, kinda like your just stuck and nothing will make you budge. It's very scary. I'm trying to leave, I'm 19 in Universoty and want to get as far away as possible.
It's sad to say but when I look at my parents and even my siblings (we don't get along at all, we actually hate each other blame my parents.) I don't see People I love, I just feel empty and hollow, and horrible memories. I goes to to god think I have anxiety, and bipolar disorder. I just cnst get a grip on anything in my life's when I wa. Amid I told myself I would be the best version of myself, not what they said I would be. I would be the best parent. Now I'm afraid that if I have a kid, I would treat them the same.
I don't have family not friends. No one really cares about me, what's the point if the point of life is to surround yourself with PPP u love. I can't find nor anyone can love me. Just a living breathing disaster. That's what life threw my way, and I can't ever change that.
All the abuse, no matter who I take led to got ignored, the times I've been kicked out without my medication trying to make sure I don't fall into a coma like I did when I was
2. Etc, it's just all so ubfortunate. I cnst help but feel my existence caused their issues, the the abuse on the kids.
The show has really helped me cuz the boys really didn't have a great upbringing. There may have not been physical abuse but there was an emotional scarring that Dean especially had to suffer, and went with it to save and protect his brother. Seeing hat at age 8 when it was aired, really helped me relate to someone, even if he is a fictional character. Then as I got older I could see myself I Sam's point of view, rejecting his families planes or views. I'm at that point now. I still live at home, and still hit and abused, but Sam made be feel that I'm not the only freak. Like I said earlier someone. Can choke me out and if be stone cold and emotional as. Kinda like Sam when he feels like a freak. I did and still do. But slowly through watching his life I'm seeing the positives of myself even if after a split second later I deny it.
Slowly I'm trying to get better, and it's very difficult. My first step is that after I'm done school I'm moving out, to live my own life.
I am not who my parents made me out to be. I am not my scars that are still on my body, I am not my mental or chronic issues, and it's taking time, but I'm beginning to see that, and beginning to feel. Hopefully when I do begin to really feel emotions again, It doesn't hit me like a ton of bricks bringing back old mesmerizes.
I love the SPNFAMILY, you guys are my only family, forever and always. Always keeping fighting my loves, we are worth it.
I hope my story made sense and wasn't to scattered. It's brought back memories that I've locked away for many years.
Tomorrow is going to be a very hard day for me. It would have been my daughter's 8th birthday. She was born 1 day before the hospital I was at would help her. She fought for air for 20 minutes and died in my arms. Minutes later I hemorrhaged and they almost lost me as well. 07/27/2007 was the worst day of my life. I have many other reasons to #AlwaysKeepFighting. I have 6 children still living and 5 grandchildren that still need me. I have a son and granddaughter that have schizophrenia and immanent explosive disorder. I myself have depression. Some days are really hard to get through, but other days I know how much my knowledge and suffering helps others going through it. If you don't want to fight for yourself...remember your suffering through will help someone you care about later down the line. Remember you are AWESOME!
Honestly, this campaign that you guys are doing, #AlwaysKeepFighting is making me so happy.
Three years ago, last month my mom died unexpectedly of a heart attack. I wouldn't do anything. Come out of the house, go to school, etc. I would sit and channel surf all day, until I came upon TNT and seen a show called 'Supernatural' on. I flipped it on and I immediately fell in love. Along with a favorite band, you guys gave me enough strength and courage to go back to school after 3 weeks. You guys made (and still do) me very happy, and many others as well. this campaign, has made me so amazed what some celebrities will do to make their fans happy.
Always Keep Fighting!
I'm 37 I'm married to a wonderful person who fills my life with laughter and we have two beautiful boys ages 12 and 14. My life hasn't always been filled with laughter, when my oldest was little and I was pregnant with my youngest I was married to a man that was abusive physically and emotionally which caused me to think I was worthless no good and ugly. I couldn't do better than him so he told me. It took 6 mouths into my pregnancy to figure out that I'm beautiful and my babies deserve the world! So I divorced the jerk! Moved back home and started my own business! Supernatural premiered that year on TheWB (CW now) that I found my soulmate! I realized that the characters Dean and Sam are just like my boys, adventurous, smart, funny, risk takers and love each other with everything they have. I struggle daily with PTSD due to what my ex put me through but it doesn't define who I am! I am Jennie, smart beautiful giving, sweet kind and one of a kind! A person who will give the shirt off my back to make sure you don't go without but I have my demons to deal with just their bigger than yours and scary! I believe in ?? Hope dreams and kindness to get me through the day I thank my Higher Power every day for getting me through that pain and suffering. My hope is someone will understand I'm beautiful even with my demons.
Recently, my family was hit with a very large pill to swallow. My aunt (who survived breast cancer last year) was diagnosed with brain cancer. They found six tumors around her brain. They're telling us she has a month before she forgets who we are. They don't know how long she has.
The only way I have been able to survive this is Jared's message. It gives strength to my body to get out of bed every morning. Through those simple, powerful words, I have been able to construct a bubble of functionality for myself.
I wasn't able to get a shirt when they were available, but the campaign itself has been an anchor for me. I am forever grateful.
My story is simple. I had a torturous childhood and young adult life. None of you should see it written here. It is full of torturous and cruel things without end at such a young young age to early adulthood. It's better to say I had a horrible life once. Through all of that I developed PTSD, Anxiety attacks, and Clinical Depression. By the time I was 5 I had PTSD and Anxiety Attacks regularly. Even though I had the bad I can't help but always hang onto the good. So I never forget what good I had through those horrible years. I don't take any of it for granted and hold onto it dearly. I learned to forgive everyone who ever harmed me but the memories linger on and new ones always surface. I believe I developed the Clinical Depression at 18. Memories of the past that I never remembered are what taunt me now (now that I'm older). In my early 20's My Clinical depression led me to a few suicide attempts which I put an end to when I saw the lives it would effect when I was younger. The same goes for now. No one in those times ever sent me to see a psychiatrist or therapist to help me. So I never really knew how bad it was. But from what my family say now in retrospect it was bad. I wanted to kill myself once again in November 2014 and my husband had me put in a psych ward until I was out of danger to myself. I was told to follow up with a psychiatrist and never did. My depression became worse in 2015 and then I came across Jared Padalecki's "Always Keep Fighting" Campaign and I read his story and the reason for the campaign. At first I was angry at Jared for making me feel so hurt. I didn't know why I was hurting or angry at him. It took me a week to realize that it was me I was angry with. I hated what I had realized I needed to do. Which was face the truth and get help before I tried to commit suicide once more. I set up an appointment to see a psychiatrist. I bought t-shirts etc... from the campaign for myself, my family and for people on twitter and facebook asking for one free. I felt good doing that. Then I saw my psychiatrist and talked and he immediately put me on meds for Clinical Depression and Anxiety. He's working on what to do about my PTSD. I'm already on meds for the first two illnesses but those are for other illnesses but could work with the ones the doc put me on. So hopefully they will work. I'm in a trial period right now. I also see a therapist in the same office. She nearly committed me back to the psych ward before ending our first discussion (which scared the hell out of me). She thought I was a danger to myself but I assured her that even if I had those thoughts that I don't want to act on them because without me here it's my family who would suffer the scars of my death. I could never do that to them. I hope that I can keep that from happening. But if it weren't for Jared's campaign in the first place and his bravery to speak up I wouldn't have been urged to seek help for myself and in many ways I owe him the greatest thanks for helping me see what I needed to do when I couldn't see it myself. Thanks Jared. (in some way you saved me) And thanks Jensen for coming on board and supporting the cause. It means the world to me that there are everyday men like you out there who actually care. My heart. My love. My gratitude.
My parents divorced when I was four-years-old and my brother was eight. They had argues whilst together, which meant a tense atmosphere at home. My mum is my hero, and my dad is most definitely not.
My dad comes from money, and his family know many people in high places where we live. My mum comes from very little, having grown up working hard in her large family, especially as to pay for medical help her severely disabled brother needed.
When they split, both my brother and I needed to be with my mum; it was she who loved us and cared for us. My dad, however, pulled strings and flashed cash - we were incorrectly sent to live with him whilst my mum 'sorted herself out'
My dad often said I reminded him of mum, he often made me very uncomfortable, and he would often fall asleep on top of me. My brother did not - and still does not - know of this. We both were treated badly by him. Verbal abuse as well as physical abuse, though nothing that left any incriminating marks. Neither of us had friends at school, as one day when some of our friends were round my dad stumbled around the house drunk and in his underwear, giving my (then nine-year-old) brother a large knife as to cut bread for us to eat. Nobody would even talk to us after that.
Many times I have had to steal food from the local shop - always me as my brother wasn't as deceitful as I. Of course, our teachers, the school's head teacher and other such people in power were all friends of my dad.
When I was six-years-old my mum finally got us. For two years she had been fighting. My dad would disconnect phones and hide her letters, but my brother and I would sneak out to a pay phone or beg strangers to borrow their mobiles, and we never lost hope in our mum. And then she did it, she got us, and it was one of the best days of my life.
We moved away, of course. She fell in love with another man, who had three sons of his own, meaning I now had a real mum and dad, and four loving older brothers. It was amazing - I love them all so much.
My dad did not leave us alone, however, and won custody rights in that we had to visit him a weekend every month. He, too, had re-married and his new wife would force me to bathe with her for "girl bonding time" on a daily basis. After each of these weekends, mum would try to take the Monday off for us as we would cling to her. I remember how she and I would sit on the bed for a few hours slowly easing out the knots in my long hair as my dad would not brush it and I couldn't do it myself.
Throughout this, though, there seemed to be a silent agreement between my brother and I to not tell mum about dad. She already hurt so much over not being able to be with us that we couldn't cause her more pain. We would not.
And so it continued until we were old enough to refuse to see him without having to then speak to lawyers, judges etc.
Everything was finally, finally evening out into some sort of peace.
May 2011 my eldest brother - the eldest son of my mum's husband - was beaten to death because he was bisexual. I have seen the CCTV footage and watched as five hooded figures surrounded him, pushed him down, punched him, kicked him, stripped him in humiliation. This lasted for 42 minutes and then they left. Worst of all is that his death was not immediate but instead was caused by a slow bleeding out.
I miss him every damn day.
I am currently struggling with depression, OCD, anxiety and an eating disorder. I have been diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa, and have caused my parents to watch their youngest child slowly kill herself via starvation. I have scars along my arms, my legs, my stomach.
I have not given up.
I am now eating enough as to not be in risk of heart failure, and my hair is no longer falling out. Currently, I have no fresh wounds upon my skin, only the scars and healing scabs from before. I went out of the house to a shop yesterday, instead of staying in my room as much as possible. I challenge the OCD daily in efforts to heal.
I have not given up.
I will not give up.
I will Carry On.
I just felt like getting this off my chest and here it goes... In seventh grade my sister was diagnosed with depression. She's my twin so I knew all her people and she knew mine. She started cutting when a girl came back into our best friends life and taught my sister how. She attempted suicide a few times. I would sit on the stairs and hear her yelling at my parents and them yelling back. I was terrified every night that she wouldn't be there in the morning. High school came and she had recently broken up with a boy she was in love with. They dated one year from eighth grade. He couldn't deal with her depression. She dated a new boy and they did a lot of sexual things but never had sex. She told me all this and I told my parents because I was afraid she would have sex. They said nothing about it because they didn't want her to do anything bad. I told our therapist and She was there and had to go to a mental hospital. Sophomore year came and I got a boyfriend who I was in love with. I made the bad decision to do all the same things my sister did with her previous boyfriend because I was curious. She was at a private school now. Summer came and my grandmother died. I was crushed. I got lice and had to cut all my hair off and she had to go alone to a church camp. She was bullied. She came home and a while later ran away from home. I fell asleep at 2 and she ran away at three. I felt like it was my fault... She had told me earlier that she had hooked up with a college guy in his car. I didn't tell my parents. She was "in the shower" a number of times from midnight on and I heard her talking. She told me she was praying. She was talking to the guy making her plan. She ran out and jumped into his car. My dad saw it all. My mom woke me up when the police officer got there to find out his name but I didn't register it. I was so tired from getting no sleep for about three weeks with my lice. I got up and her light was on but she wasn't there. I was convinced that she had killed herself when I saw the flashing lights and the police officer. I couldn't breathe I asked where's my sister. My mom took me into her room and told me she had run away with the guy. I couldn't breathe and I cried more than I ever did before. I helped hack into all her stuff and we found nothing. My dad drove to the guys house and they didn't find her. Her therapist came over and helped too. We found her at five am in our neighborhood. He had brought her back. They had had sex in a target parking lot in his car, he is now a registered sex offender. My mom told me to get my brother, he was awake at this point. We went upstairs and watched a Disney movie. She was sent to a camp. Then to a boarding school in Arizona. I never wanted to see her again and even talking now scares me to death. My boyfriend and I broke up when our parents found out about how far we had gone physically. I still loved him. He string me along for a while. We were going to get back together senior year. Then he dated a girl with my name and a twin sister as well. I was broken beyond repair. They broke up twice and we got together and he wanted to have sex. I said no. A week later he told me we couldn't be together because "im not a strong Christian". I am a strong Christian. I cut. I saw a therapist for a while and promised I wouldn't cut again. I'm terrified I might have an std because he gave me oral sex and I got sick for four weeks with a mono like virus. My tonsils are still blistery-looking and swollen and I'm afraid. My sister is away at college but better now. It has been over a year since she got home from Arizona. I'm just so afraid..
I wish my story was about depression :(
A bit over 14 months ago I found out my dad had cancer, the day after I found out he had cancer he passed away. He had been in the hospital for 2 months, every test they made to check if it was cancer was negative and still one of the best doctors about the area was sure it must have been cancer.
I'm the only child and I was also my daddy's girl which made it all even harder. I had at the age of 27 to plan for my dads funeral, fix everything when it came to his stuff and at the same time try to pack my own home cause I was gonna move some months later.
Everyone kept telling me how strong I was cause I always kept saying I was okay. The truth is my heart was not as much broken as crushed cause he was both my hero, my best friend and the only person who truly did understand me.
I'm still fighting everything after his death about 14 months after his death. I fought the thoughts of hurting myself and decided that I rather would eat almonds and nuts (which I'm allergic to) even if it was really tempted to cut myself. This cause I know how my dad wouldn't want me to do it. Also I had been clean for over a year without any relapses and I just felt it was a bad idea.
But this is a fight I always will have to fight and this is also one of the reasons that I did buy the tee except knowing it would help people struggling with depression and so on.
So I'm hurting only that my scars can't be seen by the naked eye.
Trigger warnings: self-injury, suicidal ideation, body dysmorphia, trans*
From the time my hormones kicked in until almost a year ago exactly (a good 12-14 years) I fought with severe depression. At the best times I was capable of functioning normally for two weeks before another wave hit me. I got through middle and high school mostly because I was lucky enough to be adopted into a family with a heavily academic background. College was harder. It took me 6 years to get a 2-year degree, and by then I'd been in an intensive treatment program off and on for 3 of those years. Medications didn't help me; most actually made things worse (anti-depressants, mood stabilizers - eventually my psychiatrist stopped trying new things and stuck with the few things that didn't cause problems: tranquilizers and ritalin for anxiety and adhd respectively, nothing for the depression). I self-injured repeatedly, and was often told that I was lazy and would never amount to anything. I was called a spoiled bitch by my step-mom, and even though my dad didn't say anything I could tell that he was afraid of dying not for himself but because he thought I would be helpless without him.
I've spent over 10 years of my life regularly self-injuring, and when I was asked to do those exercises where you say where you'll be in 5 or 10 years I couldn't do them because I always assumed I'd be dead, preferably by my own hand. When I finally went to a 4-year college and moved out of the house I though things would be better, and a lot of the depression lifted, only to come back for two weeks out of every month. I wasn't constantly depressed, but I was still severely impaired by the cyclical depression.
The one thing I had refused to admit to myself was the thing that saved me: I was living in the wrong body. See, the only exposure I'd had to trans* issues was movies in which the trans* identified individual dies at the end. Being at a liberal, women's college with a large non-binary population introduced me to other ways of being trans*. I was able to recognize that the source of my body dysphoria was being in the wrong body, and my psychologist helped me find a clinic where I could start transitioning. Through transitioning I learned that the depression that came back two weeks out of every month was directly tied to my female hormones. When I got rid of my ovaries I finally experienced what it's like to have normal moods. (A lot of women with similar problems can actually be helped by hormonal birth control. Part of my problem was that birth control made things worse for me, and even when it didn't make the mood swings worse it made the dysphoria worse.)
I've had bouts of depression since the hormone switch. The difference now is that all the skills I'd tried to learn in therapy prior to the switch actually worked. When I get depressed now I can actually change how bad it gets. I have a long way to go, and a lot of struggles ahead, but I can look ahead 10 years and I have no clue what I'll be doing but I'm pretty sure I'll be alive to do it. I can see a future for myself for the first time, and I can finally understand why it's important to Always Keep Fighting.
My name is Gabriela, I'm 24 and I live in Honduras. Since I can remember my dad was my best friend; he was killed when I was 7 and my world just fell apart. Growing up I had a rough time during high school because I was overweight.
By the time I turned 22 my weight was over 250 pounds so I decided to go to the doctor; the first time I went I fell I was being attacked because this doctor said I had a mental problem and that's the reasson I kept eating non stop (wich was non true as I didn't eat between meals, I just couldn't lose weigth no matter how much I worked out); those comments really hurt me and my family as they felt I was depressed because of my dad's dead. I changed my doctor and it turns out I got Cushing Desease, basically a pituitary tumor, this is a non common desease that is hard to diagnose and causes overweight, diabetes, depression, fatigue and finally people can go blind. I was diagnosed in february 2014 and got a brain surgery in april; the change was very fast and I lost almost 50 pounds in just 6 months. I had a MRI on december last year and it shows there are remains of the tumor so I need to get a treatment called gamma knife surgery, wich can't be done in my country so I have to travel to USA. This treatment costs almost $30,000.00 so my family is doing fundraisings and we're working really hard.
When Jared's campaing started I was told I had to travel for this treatment and the first thing that crossed my mind is that I have to Always Keep Fighting so I can defeat this desease.
I'm 17 almost 18. I've been bullied ever since I was in elementary school for being "too nice". I tried not to let the bullying get to me but I couldn't take it so in 6th grade I was homeschooled. That went well for a while but then my mom wanted me to start high school. 9th grade went ok until I developed anorexia and depression. I went from 172 5' 1" to 105 in less than 3 months. In 10th grade everything went down hill drastically. I started self harming. My mom was called to the school and I was forced to tell her. I tried to stop but I didn't and it got worse. Everything got worse. I was being bullied at the time and I was sick of it so I tried to take my own life but it didn't require me going to the hospital because I was caught before I could do it and I kept telling my mom I was ok. Long story short I couldn't handle completing the year of school so I was taken out of school a few months before it ended. That summer I overdosed and was admitted into a pediatric psychiatric ward and that wasn't the last time. I ended up in the hospital 4 more times but for different reasons but all mental health related. I had started to hallucinate and my mood would go up and down. Later to be diagnosed with schizoaffective bipolar disorder. Now I'm doing better and I'm a few months clean of self harm. I still have my bad days here and there but supernatural has truly helped me and the amazing cast. Jared has really pushed me to #alwayskeepfighting and knowing that I'm in such a wonderful SPN family makes me feel like I'm not alone.
Just sending out virtual hugs to everyone who needs a place to share their journeys, and thanks to Carry On SPN for providing a good place for them to do so. I have a dear friend whose depression looked to me like she simply didn't want to be friends anymore. She was struggling, but I didn't see it. I didn't know. Jared's AKF campaign was able to reach her when I couldn't. I'll always, always be grateful for that.
Keep carrying on, everyone!
Suffering from chronic daily migraine, fibromyalgia, RA, depression, & anxiety. Homebound. Fighting for 4yrs for SSDI benefits. Finally have appeal hearing date in October. No income, no savings, no assistance. Desperate and out of options. If you can help me, email@example.com for. PayPal or Amazon Wish List for my therapy cat Sam. Much love! #AlwaysKeepFighting
My name is Tammy im 32 and have had a learning disability all my life my lungs collapsed after having a hole in my heart when I was just a baby, stopping air to my brain so it makes it harder for me to learn, I can learn and I just like any other but math and school work come a lot harder, So when I try to find work and they find out im on disability most of the time they dont give me a job, So I have been fighting to show people like i'm any other person out there, When you look and me and first meet me know one can tell I have one, But that being said they are scared that I cant do the work when I know I can, Its hard to keep fighting though it but I do, SPN has helped me with that to be strong, My main dream in my life is to act and the boys show me that anything can happen, For that I love you all. Also I thought I should throw this in there that is my real last name. Im saying that because a lot of people ask me if it is or not.
Throughout my childhood, there was a lot of pain and tragedy that I have had to face at such a young age. About a month ago, I had been diagnosed with depression. The fact that I am clinically depressed really overwhelms me, considering the fact that I'm not even twenty years old; I'm only nineteen. It was really hard for me... And I had reduced myself to self-injury. I would always cut myself because I felt like my whole world was crashing right in front of me and that I was powerless to stop the pain that I had gone through thinking about the pain and tragedy of my childhood. As a child, I was forced to move back and forth to for a months live with my mom and then live my dad for a few months. They had divorced when I was about two years old. And when I would live with my father, he would always be abusive towards my sister and I. And I am his youngest daughter, you would think that I was supposed to be 'daddy's little girl'! Well, I wasn't. It was a living nightmare being with my father. At one point in my life, I was about seventeen and I knew that there was a possibility that I would have depression; it just never occurred to me that I had depression until I was diagnosed. "ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING" is my new motto, it helpse get through every minute of every day. If Jared and Jensen ever get to read this, I would tell them that I am so grateful that they have created a life changing campaign like this! I thank God for it every single day! I'm sending my love out to them right now!!! Thank you, Jared and Jensen!
I am a mother, wife, and a hairdresser of 18 years. On the outside, all looks well, which is the story of so many, but I fight daily just to stay NORMAL. My parents split when I was only 10, and it was bad! There was physical abuse, mental abuse, and then the ties were severed with my father. I struggled through my teenage years with self esteem issues and depression. I even spent 72 hours in a psychiatric hospital when I was only 19. I hadn't planned on killing myself, but wished something bad would happen to me. I spent a few years in a diferent state starting over, but eventually came back to my home area. Then I had my first child and things didn't work out with her father, so I met another man. He ended up being my husband, and all was well at first, until I found out about his past relationships and his goal to push women to the edge. He was a true sociopath. It took a few years to get away, but I did. Then during my lengthy divorce (2 years) I met my current husband. After I was divorced we married. He has been wonderful, but, I have truly been through a lot that I never worked through. We had a son, then after complications I had a total hysterectomy. This brought on multiple health issues including almost daily migraines. I've had them last for up to 3.5 months at times. This has caused alot of my depression to flare up because I can't function properly. I have always wanted to help abused women because it's so dangerous to leave. I wanted to help them make a plan. But my health gives me limits. I fight depression daily!
I have always been different from childhood to current. I have always thought less of myself and always think more of others. One day I was about 14 my families maid ( farm maid) got into an accident leaving our driveway she was very shook up I offered her a hug and she declined. This made me very confused and emotional the next day she sent my father a card and a box. In the box was a very special ring a friendship ring ju my size the card read: Jennie, if ever an old lady declines a hug from u again in your life don't be upset or hurt just know that you feel things others dont. Your friend always! From that day on I began to look into what she meant by feeling things others don't, turns out I'm an intuitive empath and I feel others emotions. I take them on as my own. As I have gotten older I have learned to block and ground myself from these. But it was very confusing. I use my super powers for good! Lol I help people whenever I can. With all this I do have sever depression and sometimes I don't beat myself up. I see in Sam some of an empath, where he takes on the feelings of his loved ones and I can relate to that. I am more of a deangirl because I have watched Jensen since his time on days of our lives. Thank you for letting me share
Hey guys. Just wanted to let you know that I love you guys beyond compare and that I have watched everything I can that has Jared, Jensen, Misha and Mark in it. (Jensen, 10 Inch Hero is One of my Favorites!)
I also wanted to share my story on how I have always and will #alwayskeepfighting and I want you to know that the AKF movement is what actually inspired me to donate from each sale of my book. Before, I just wanted to tell my story. After seeing AKF and some of the stories, I knew that my story could make a difference - one dollar from every sale goes to a charity dedicated to ending Child Abuse.
It's not a story for the faint of heart, however. I lived a truly depraved life. I grew up in a home abused on every side, in every imaginable way... And worse, I went on to abuse myself. I'm good now though - married, kids, and we're all rabid SPN fans. But it wasn't always that way.
And you guys and your show? Sometimes, it was the only reason I didn't kill myself in later years. I just couldn't go not knowing what happened next - I guess that's a thank you to Kripke, but honestly - you and Jensen. Your acting, your performance - and how you are in real life and the way you truly love your fans... You are all inspiring.
I love you both and one day, hope to shake your hands.
I lost my father at a young age and the government "took away" my mother.Through out my childhood my mother had abusive boyfriend's.It felt as the whole world was blind and I was the only one who can see clearly.
My mother and father were terrible role models and then I started getting bullied.I got raped twice and never told anyone because no one one would believe me.I never let the emotions get to me,because I thought they're people out there who deserve he attention or who need help more then me.Then I started watching Supernatural and the cast was the last family I had.I couldn't let them down,I could use this life to help others.I'm still fighting every day but at least I have people who care even if I don't know them.
Hey spn family, my story is more a find-yourself story.
I'm living in Germany,and I was born here too but my maternal family lived in Kazakhstan so they have a quite different culture. I'm kind of a sandwich child( we call it like that in Germany) bc my cousine is 4years older and my other cousine and my brother are 4years younger. It'difficult to survive between perfect persons (my older cousine was pretty good at school and my younger one swam on the german swimming competition for your state and my lil brother is the only boy so vip without doing a thing).
I was never the person to be skinny or to be very good at school but theres one thing I really can call mine and that is handball. They keep telling jokes like my team is not extraordinary good but we're not bad and I know it sounds quite irrelevant in comparison to other peoples problems the pressure of my fanily to be perfect,be skinny, be good at school and win prizes in your kind of sport. My grandparents and aunts and all relatives really love to compare children like on an auction and imagine being the one no one talks about. You can imagine,kinda frustrating. So i decided to just be myself. It sounds strange but know I'm listening to music my family finds ridiculous, wear comfortable clothes and do body building. Not like this exessive kind, just getting strong (and I mean literally).
It was kinda hard to "find" myself and to keep fighting, even sometimes againt my own family.
So I would add "for yourself":
ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING FOR YOURSELF
Thanks for reading and good luck you lil cutie
I have been into supernatural for almost 2 years now. I love it so much especially Jared's "Always Keep Fighting" campaign. I'm trying not to sound so cliche but honestly it has helped a lot. My life is really crap right now and every day honestly I want to give up, and just quit everything. But those same three words go through my head every time and I try to go through another day. everyday and this has really helped me, more than I even thought it would. I just wanted to say it is one of the best things in my life right now. thanks to my spn family i don't feel like crap all the time anymore.
I struggle with anxiety and depression, this is some of my story. Before i even started watching supernatural I knew of Jareds campaign and his struggles with depression, and I feel I connected with him, I didn't feel like I had the right to be feeling depressed because I had my dream job by the time I was 15, I had all the latest gadgets and technology, I was good with money, just bought myself a brand new unused car, I felt I had it all, yet at the same time felt I had absolutely nothing, and hated my life, here's how supernatural helped me...
Just before I started watching supernatural my gran got diagnosed with terminal cancer, which meant my grandad had to go into a care home( he had dementia and she could no longer look after him, ) 6 months after my grandad went into the care home, his room in the care home caught fire, and the care home fucked up and took 12 minutes to call the fire department, he died 24hours after the fire. These events triggered some lingering mental health issues. I went to the doctor once about it and felt I got treated pretty bad, so I've not been back since, and ended up ripping up the prescription for anxiety and depression meds. I'm not gonna lie, it was terrible, I spent days holed up in my room, laid in bed all day. One day I decided to start watching supernatural, and it changed everything. I totally connected with Sam and dean, them greiving for their mother who died in a fire and me greiving for my grandad who died the same way. All of us angry and sad and seeing revenge about the way our loved ones died. Sam and Dean helped me through the hard times in ways that other people around me couldn't do. The AKF campaign has helped me decide to seek medical help again, and helped me get stronger and not be embarrassed about being depressed. I fight every single day and I couldn't have done it without Sam and Dean, And Jensen and Jared.
In the new year I'm going back to the doctors and I've also decided to quit my job and go travelling next year, which is a massive step that absolutely terrifies me, it's all due to the cast and crew and SPN Family and their support! They've helped change my life for the better, and I can't think of anyway I could ever repay them for that!
I have struggled with severe depression, suicidal thoughts, self-harm and anxiety for many years now. I don't ever remember being a happy child, I was always cursed with sadness and pain. I didn't want to live, however growing up I never considered myself to be suicidal. I never tried to kill myself, I never thought about killing myself, I just didn't want to live. But, I found solice and comfort in self-harm. I began cutting myself at the age of 12.
It was mostly manageable, that didn't mean it didn't hurt, or that I was okay, but for the most part I was able to manage it. But then in June of 2013, it all came crashing down, and I was brought down to my lowest.
In June of 2013, right after I had finished my sophomore year of high school, my family and I lost our home. My family and I had always struggled financially, my verbally and physically abusive mom refused to work, she felt she was "too good to work", therefore it fell solely on my dad to work and provide for us. I come from a family of six, I have 3 siblings, and my parents, so providing for us was not an easy task for my dad. He had gone through many jobs, but since my mom refused to do anything, he had to take a lot of time off to take care of us, drive us to Dr's appointments, etc, therefore at this point my dad hadn't had a real job in almost 10 years. He got by, by doing small handyman jobs here and there, but it was never enough.
We were never starving or freezing, we always had the essentials, but we struggled. We had gotten behind on our rent, by almost a year, and our landlady had had enough, who could blame her, and told my parents either pay her the money for the rent, or get out. We didn't have it, we weren't able to get it, so we were kicked out.
This is when my depression hit me the hardest. I was homeless, didn't have clothes or food or a bed, or anything. I was angry, mainly at my mother for allowing this to happen because she refused to do anything, at my dad for not working hard enough, even though he worked so damn hard for us, and, I hate to admit it, but at God too. I was a religous person all throughout my childhood, and had a pretty decent relationship with God, up until that point. I couldn't understand how someone who was supposed to love me the most, could let this happen. I was so angry and hurt and sad.
That was when I made a plan, to kill myself. I decided I was going to take the knife my father had, and slit my wrists. I had gotten to a point where there was no light at the end of the tunnel for me. There was only anger and pain and sadness. I had nothing good in my life, I didn't want to have a life anymore. I wanted to die.
But then, I was blessed extraordinarily, with a set of missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They began to talk to me about the gospel and my purpose and as I began to attend Sunday service, I began to feel better. I was with people who made me feel genuinely happy, something I don't ever remember up until that point. I was with people that I missed, people that when I wasn't with, I wanted to be with.
I was reading the Bible more often, I started reading the Book of Mormon, I was attending service, I was in the Young Women program, and it was amazing! It was the happiest I had ever felt in my entire life! I wasn't cured of my depression, of course, but I was seeing the light. I was around positive people who cared for me, and supported me. I could feel their love, but most importantly I could feel God's love. That was the reason I decided to be baptized into that church.
In February of 2014, I was baptized into the church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We were still homeless, I was still depressed, but I was in such a better place than I ever was. I felt good, I felt happy. I felt that I had my place in the world and I was ecstatic! I hadnt thought of hurting or killing myself since i was with the church. I mean my life was still in pieces, we were homeless, my mother was still verbally and physically abusing me and my siblings and was still refusing to do anything, but church was the good thing.
When Jared began his first "Always Keep Fighting" campaign, it hit really close to home. I honestly thought i was all alone in the way I felt. I felt that I was the only one who felt this pain and sadness. But this campaign showed me that there are so many others out there suffering like me. And of course, knowing others are suffering does NOT make it any easier, however it proves that I am not alone. That no matter what I am struggling with, there is someone who is struggling in the exact same way.
Especially, Jared, an actor that I loved, talking about his own struggles with depression, made it evident to me , that no matter who you are, or what you do, depression can still affect you. Again, it doesn't make my struggling any easier, I don't believe in "misery loves company", but it proves I'm not alone.
Flash forward to now, December 2015, I am still homeless, but thankfully we are living in a safe, clean and affordable hotel, my mother is still verbally abusing me, and yes I am still depressed. But I can see that I have so much good in my life. I have amazing friends who love and support me. I have talents. I have so many dreams, goals and passion I have yet to achieve. I have graduated high school and will be attending college in the spring. I am no longer an active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, for personal reasons, however I do credit that with saving my life.
I am no way shape or form saying saying that everyone needs religion to be saved, however that is what saved me. Through religion, I was able to see that light at the end and the good in my life. That religion and those people were what pulled me back from that ledge. What I am saying, is that the light is never not there, it may be dull, but it is still there and we can find it. We may just have to look hard but it is there and we will find it.
Religion, my goals and dreams, my relationship with God as well as my relationship with my friends is what makes me always keep fighting!
Do I begin at childhood, when I was the chubby girl in dance class who hated herself? Do I begin at my teen years, when I slept as much as I could, hoping not to wake up? Do I begin at my junior year of high school, when I mentally crashed so hard after getting off (now illegal) diet pills that I ended up bell jarred for a weekend? Do I begin with my adulthood, when I started injuring myself or when I lost my brother to a vicious heroin addiction years later?
Or do I begin with what finally helped? The Wellbutrin. My SPN Family. Carry On. Always Keep Fighting.
I discovered "Supernatural" in 2012, by way of a job at a closed captioning company, shortly after discovering that I'd finally found my personal pharmaceutical savior in Wellbutrin.
Throughout the year, I dipped a toe in the fandom, then started making friends. It was a new world. For the first time in my life, I had more than one friend. I attended my first convention in Chicago, then immediately participated in my first GISHWHES. Taya asked me if I would like to be part of this site, Carry On. I was thrilled. Life was good.
Everything fell apart on December 6th, 2012. My mother called me in a panic.
"I think your brother's dead."
I held on to the "I think" on the short drive to my mum's house, fantasies filling my head of my fire fighter husband resuscitating my brother, ugly flowers in a hospital room, teasing my brother about green jell-o. But we got there and he was already gone and there was nothing anybody could do but cry and grieve and plan his funeral.
Through it all, my SPN Family carried me. The messages of condolences I received were overwhelming. The emotional support I received was immense. And it was the little things, too. One friend bought me GISHWHES shirts because she knew that by the time I started to rise from my fog, the shop would be closed. Kim Rhodes sent me a lovely tweet that I'll never forget. A friend lent me the book Jim Beaver wrote about losing his wife. Virtual hugs were constant. The support was there for me at all hours. (Living on the east coast of the US means nothing when the family is worldwide, after all.) Taya and Carry On were there for me, helping me, keeping me busy with my first project, a gigantic card for Creation's wonderful photographer, Chris.
I struggle with my faith sometimes.
But without a doubt, I know it was no coincidence that I found my online family mere months before I would suffer the biggest loss of my life so far. Through it all - the good times, the grief, the depression that snuck up on me when I thought I was "done" grieving - the SPN Family has been there for me.
When Jared announced Always Keep Fighting, it was natural, seamless. He gave words to what all of us already knew - that our family is here to help each other in each of our fights - whatever they may be - and to remind us to never, ever give up.
I grew up very involved in school and organizations and sports. Basically anything I had the time for, I was a part of. I did well in school and even when I didn't, trying harder always paid off and I never was faced with a challenge that I couldn't fix with a little extra work until I started college. My first semester was difficult. After a few months, I dropped one class because of my grade. Even with one class dropped, my workload was too much for me. I didn't see that way at the time because I didn't have a job, wasn't in any extra curricular activities or any sort of other commitments that would limit the time I could put into school.
I felt like a failure. I spent all my time at my desk well into every single night and never did any better. I was scoffed at for my grades and trying to participate in classes by my peers and professors alike to such a degree that I couldn't sit in any of my classes any day of the week without having what I soon found out was a panic attack. I put all my time into school aside from the one night a week I allowed myself to spend with my boyfriend. Still, my grades never got any better and I felt worse about myself. The anxiety increased and I started a habit of rushing from class to class, hurrying to make it to the nearest bathroom before melting down. I spent so much time sitting on disgusting bathroom floors and I never once took a shower that semester where I didn't burst into tears before getting back out.
Right as finals week started wrapping up, I got really sick. I slept about 30 hours straight from what my roommate told me and I didn't eat for an entire week. By the time I went home for Christmas break, I could see my ribs from how stressed out and sick I was, never once going to see a doctor. I told everyone I caught the flu. The next few semesters passed just the same. I developed ways of hiding my anxiety from others. I never saw any of my classmates outside of class. I never went to see professors. I never spoke in class. I did everything I could to avoid classes to the point of skipping as much as I could and skipping and taking zeros for major class presentations. It wasn't until my junior year that I finally accepted that I had a problem, assuming that what I was dealing with was anxiety. That was the year I had begun having thoughts of self-harming.
One day, a class I had in the afternoon had gone particularly bad. I was called on in class, something that rarely happened because it was so obvious that I was an anxious wreck (it was also a language class where it was impossible to pass if you didn't speak). I didn't know the answer and was so panicked that I said I didn't know it. My professor tried and tried to get me to come up with any answer before finally telling me that I knew the answer, but just didn't have the confidence to say it. I know and I knew at the time that he was just trying (and the first professor to do so) to help me realize that I was smarter than I thought I was, but it was the final straw for me. I drove back to my apartment thinking only of the razor in my bathroom, only to pull into the parking lot to see that my roommate had come home early for the first time ever. I am sure even now that I would've started cutting if she hadn't pulled in first. I think it was that same day that I finally got the number for campus counseling.
It wasn't until another semester had passed that I finally plucked up the courage to see a therapist. I had been telling myself for years that I just needed to put in a little extra work and it would all sort out and that it would be better when I graduated. There were times I never thought I would feel normal again and there were lots of days where the things and people that made me happiest couldn't make a dent. Therapy helped me come to terms with my anxiety and helped me learn how to face the things that make me so anxious and the ways I can balance it when it's at its worst. By the time the semester was nearly ending, I felt like I was finally in a place where I could manage daily things without them overwhelming me.
It was about that time when I started watching Supernatural. I had seen it advertised for a long time on the CW and I knew it was something I would love, but I didn't have the time to indulge in it. I didn't think I had time for anything because of my anxiety and the idea of time alone used to be enough to trigger a panic attack (and still is some days). I have also been a huge Hillywood fan since they started making parodies. After seeing their Supernatural parody and the huge level of success it had compared to their other major franchise movie parodies, I decided to dedicate my summer to watching on Netflix. Having the support of the Supernatural family and following the trials of the brothers and their continual return to their love for each other over anything gave me something to hold onto on bad days. Finding out about Jared's personal struggles and his campaigns to support others battling mental illness has made me finally be more open and honest with myself and others about just how completely debilitating mental illness can be.
What Supernatural has done for me is helped me fully realize that it's always okay to reach out for help and that it doesn't make you weak to do so. We may not be battling demons like Sam and Dean, but all it takes is the right demon to overpower us and it's not the same demon for everyone. Thanks to the show, I feel happier. I have more confidence in myself. I understand, to a certain extent, the way my anxiety works. I have my own support group.
My name is Lauren, I have depression and anxiety, but that?s a secret. I have had my highs and lows, I?ve been ecstatic down to wanting to disappear from the earth and this is my story. I hope it opens eyes and helps those who are going through their own hard times and trying to hide it all behind a bright smile.
At a young age I had felt the effects of anxiety. When I was about six years old I started complaining of being tired all the time, I never was hungry, I had chest pains and was sad. At the time the doctors thought nothing of it, they through I was just going through a growing spurt and I was just getting older. No one ever picked up that I was having anxiety attacks or that I was beginning depression. I went through my childhood thinking I was just being silly about how I was feeling. As I began trying to fit in with class mates I wanted to show off, show how awesome and tough I was as a girl. I began fighting with others, I began hurting other kids, and I would argue and outwit them.
In August of 1996 my family was hit with a tragedy. On August 24, 1996 my cousin was taken off of life support. He had been able to live for only 28 days before news came in that he would never recover from injuries at birth. I begged my parents to take me to the funeral so I could see my baby cousin and finally they gave in, letting me see him for my first and last time. At the time it never really bothered me about death, I just wanted to see him. I walked up to the casket and touched his tiny hand but again I didn?t comprehend or understand the sadness of losing him, all I knew was what I saw. My loved ones crying unontrolably. I never thought much about it, just anted my loved ones to smile again. So I hugged them and told them I loved them as they held me tight.
Going back to school the boys started challenging how tough I was. I was a girl, there was no way i could beat them. How wrong they were?I got into fist fights, I would shove and kick them, I would even walk behind them and kick their feet out from underneath them. The councilors at school began to take notice of what I was doing and called said I upset about my cousin. They said I acting out because I was affected by the eath of my cousin, they put my into couciling at the school making me read books on how to say goodbye and teach me that it was a part of life. In all honesty looking back I can see how I would begin acting out even more, and I even began acting like they were telling me I was, just to get the attention of the adults who would spend time ith me and listen to me. It was something I had started to lose as my younger brother was diagnosed with ADHD. School, doctors, even my family seems to pay attention to him, it was all about him. It was then they started putting me in another counciling with other students calling it low selfesteem.
As I got older I felt more and more alone even though I knew I had so many people around me. I never told anyone, never whispered or spoke an idea that I was feeling like this. It was just me feeling bad for myself, that?s what I always told myself as I went years of not having people listening to me and showing how proud they were of me or showing ny support at all. I?m not tryng to get a pitty party for how I grew up or make people hate my family, I want to let adults and children, alike, know that it?s okay to speak up and tell someone how they feel. Even if you feel silly, it?s better to tell someone that you are feeling alone or sad, that you need help. I never opened my mouth, I learned to live with it, it was just how life was, or so I thought. I always wore that bright smile and had a sarcastic remark ready to make others laugh. I never wanted anyone to know how crazy and alone I felt.
In high school I begain feeling a little better. I climbed the latter I had pushed through to highschool, even if I did get D?s most of the way, I had made it to the last four years of school. Its true when people tell you, you?re going to miss those years. Those four years were some of the best years of my entire life as of yet. I was accepted into the technical school. I was so proud of myself, I had gotten into a school that would not only prepare me for life but it set me up for a career. I was able to meet amazing people as I worked hard and made it through the grades with B?s and C?s. highschool made me feel like I could really do anything. I was getting good grades, I was feeling like I belonged and finally wasn?t alone. The crazy feeling neer went away but it was quietly sitting in the back while I laghed and had fun with my friends. I met a young man who was funny and cute. He was a year a head and in the same technical program as I. before long we were good friends and dating. At sixteen, I couldn?t be more happy. I was carefree, high on life. I worked hard to do well in school, I had a guy who treated me like a queen and I was going to get my driver?s license. It was May of 2006 when I was hit with another loss. My grandfather passed from pancreatic cancer after fighting for five long months. He had been an alchoholic and had a temper that my ad matched so I grew up knowing my father?s parents and spent some time with them but I never really got to know them. Losing him at this time hit my hard. It was then that I realized that I would never get to know him at all. I could never talk to him and build new memories with him. It was then that I knew I needed my family, I needed to know them and have them with me as long as possible, even with my dad working two jobs.
I spent more tme with my mother?s parents, I became even closer to them, I held onto my family members and my boyfriend. I made it through and managed to build myself back up ut never forgetting the lesson I had learned in 2006. It was now my senior yeah, the high that I had never realized I could reach. This year was the most stressfull, I had to make my grades and I had to pass my tests while still keeping my lovydovy relationship with my boyfriend who had graduated the year before me. I felt stressed and those worried, anxious and sometimes sad feelings came back overwhelming me at times but I never let the world know. I thought that if I said anything I would be told I needed to grow up, that it wasn?t that bad. I thought if I pressed on and graduated and passed my examination I would be praised and told how amazing I was, so I pressed on and fought for every grade I got. I studied, I worked and I took my tests. In April the day before my birthday I was scheduled for my Nursing Assistant test. It was going to be either the worst birthday ever or my best birthday present to myself. I studied and struggled and second thought everything I did but I managed my wa through the written test, holding my breath as I handed it in to be greaded and waitied for my name to be called to take the sklls part. I had never bee so nervous in my life, I almost couldn?t breathe as I was called to finish my test. It was hard to stop myself from shaking as I went through the motions that had been drilled into my head fror the last four years of school. I finished and stood waiting for the computer to spit out a pass or fail, I was getting sick to my stomach waiting until the paper prnted and the proctor smiled handing me the paper. I couldn?t believe it. I had passed. I had become a certified nursing assistant at seventeen. A class that was for college students I had passed. I couldn?t keep the smile from my face for days after.
Even though I had passed the test it didn?t bring what I had wanted. All I got was a congratulations. It was what was right to get, but I still felt empty, I felt unappreciated and unsuccessfull. Again I was being silly. Of course my parents were proud of me, how culd they not be? I had worked hard and gained a career for myself. I shook it off and continued through the rest of my senior year. When graduation time came I was so happy, so proud. I had made it from the little six year old terror to an eighteen year old young woman, ready to take on the world. I have an older cousin on my mother?s side and I would be the first to graduate since my aunt and before that is the oldest of the four girls as my mother and her twin never did. I thought, NOW they have to be proud. This is something that was a big deal. I had a career and now a highschool diploma, I had battled through highschool with college level course for my certification. There was no way they couldn?t tell me and show my how amazing I am. But again I was wrong. My mother took over my graduation. It was as if it was herown, I had to dress the way she wanted, look the way she wanted, act the way she wanted. I felt like its wasn?t my granduation like she was just using it as an excuse for her to live it out as if it were her own. I was hugged and I felt like my father was proud of me but no one ever said a word. It was my mother?s parents who hugged me tight and told me how much they loved me and how proud they were. Not my parents, they were too occupied taking care of my brother who was continually failing school, had been kicked out of the tech school and then sent from the regular high school to a charter school. I again was alone, again I was nothing.
I love my brother but everytime something was coming up and I was excited and proud it somehow turned into about him. it was a concern and worry about him doing, saying, passing, growing. Even after making it through high school with good grades, I passed a college level course and became a nursing assistant before even graduating, I held a job and had been working since I was sixteen. What more could I do to show how worthy I was of being cared about, and proud of? I couldn?t figure it out.
It wasn?t until I was nineteen that I decided I was going to move on. I decided my best option was getting out of the house, so I got an apartment wth my best friend. We had been the closest friends in high school, we were the twins as out one teacher called us. It was a great idea, we both wanted out of our houses, we both had jobs. We could do it. So, together we moved out and into our own apartment. It was amazing, it was freedom. We couldn?t be happier, we went out and got a puppy who was the cutest little thing you would ever see. Soon the happiness turned to a nightmare. My boyfriend and I had fights and arguments, my best friend and I had a falling out and I was left with the apartment. At twenty years old I haddn?t done anything but prove I was worthless. I was scrambling trying to kee the apartment trying to keep my grown up status, trying to make people proud that I was able to survive but I was drowing little by little. Before I knew it I was rushing mysef to the hospital. I couldn?t breathe, my chest was incredibly tight, and all I could feel was stabbing pains thoughout my chest. I could have sworn I was having a heart attack even though I was only twenty. It was here that I was told I experienced my first major panic attack. I didn?t understand I wasn?t panicing, I wasn?t afraid of anything.
The end of 2010 and the beginning of 2011 was the absolute worst time of my entire life. I lost the apartment and had to mov back with my parents in august, losing my best frend at the same time. In October my great uncle passed away from lung cancer. Soon after that my grandfather was in and out of the hospital. He was the only one who had ever made me feel proud and happy, the only one who kept me looking at a bright future I could hold. Always telling me he loved me, always holding me tight, making me laugh, always telling me I should be a model and that I could do anything I wanted. He became more and mre sick and I started taking off work to sit with him at night as his mind began going. I never thought I would lose him. he was what held me up in roug times. He was the one who taught me everything I knew, always quick with a joke or that silly grin before flipping his bottom dentures in and out at me.
December 22 2010 I got the call that broke my heart and shattered my world. At about 4 am on our way, rushing to the hospital I was called from my dad. The words he said next still are clear in my head and stull crack my heart a little more as I think about the nightmare. My dad said softly, ?pop-pop didn?t make it.? I tried to hold it together, it had to be a dream it had to be something, it couldn?t be real. One of the greatest men I had ever known in my entire life was gone. I would never be able to see him, I would never be able to talk to him. no more silly grin, flipping the bottom dentures out, the ?banjo? where he would grab a grandkid and start ?playing? the banjo under our arms making us laugh histerically, no more walks in the woods learning about nature. No more Pop-pop. Even as I write this today tears still stream down my face. I had never felt so much pain and even today I still have never felt anything like it. He was the one who could make anything better just by that silly grin of his and it felt like nothing would eve be okay again. Two days after Christmas 2010 we held a memorial service for him and I spoke. My heart broken, I told all those who came, about the great man I had called pop-pop.
I mangaded to make it through, I managed to pull myself together and keep going. I told myself Pop-pop would have wanted me to, I told my self I was doing it for pop-pop and I made it through a few more weeks. Suddenly my dog that had been a part of my life since I was seven had a stroke and developed pyrometra. The middle of January I sat petting her as she was sent off to be with my grandfather with no more pain. I broke, how could I continue? How could I keep going when everyone around me that I loved with all my heart kept being ripped from me. My dog, Gabby was a best friend, she held all my secrets, she was the shoulder to cry on and the only to listen without judging, how was I going to survive? I was angry, I was furious. I was furious at my parents for not even testing Gabby to see if she had a chance of pulling through a surgery. I was furious with god for taking my grandfather and now my best friend. I began doubting there even was a god. If there was why would e be trying to hard to break me? Why would he be putting my through so much pain and misury? The end of January another great uncle was taken. And it settled it. If god really was real I wouldn?t be ripped apart, I wouldn?t be tormented, tortured and put into such a horrible life of people being taken away, animals ripped from me, parents who cared more about my younger brother who had seemed to only become worse as he got older, gaining not only more activity, but alsom major oodswings.
At this point, my freedom had been taken away, family members were taken, my closest family member was ripped away, my best friend and dog taken too fast, my parents didn?t seem to care one bit how I felt or what I felt nor did, my brother had moodswings where one day he was the greatest guy and the next he was tryin to break down my door to get to me because I had said something he didn?t like. I couldn?t take it, but I knew I had to. I was strong I could make it. That?s what I thought until December 23 2011 when I lost my job as well. That was the last straw there was no way to keep my life going. It was the absolute lowest I could ever reach.
I started pulling away from my frieds, I started hiding in my room, pretending everything was alright, I was just tired, I told everyone before closing the door and crying histerically in a little ball, most of the time for no reason at all. It didn?t take long for the heart ache to turn into perminate pain. My life was horrible, I couldn?t do anything right, I wasn?t amazing I wasn?t something to be proud of and things only became worse as time went on. I sat in self pitty thinking that I was at fault, I was doing something wrong that ruined my life and made my parents hate me. It was easter when we had family over, my mom putting on the front that we were a happy go lucky family, better thn we were. My father was n the kitchen and I couldn?t handle it any more. I started crying and I broke down telling him I couldn?t handle it, that I was in so much pain and so sick and tired of everything. It was the first time for years that I saw how worried he was about me as I cried. He gave me the money to go to the doctor.
It was here I let it all flow. How sad I was, how hurt I was, how tired I was, how done I was. I told her how I had even started contemplating killing myself. It would have been better for everyone if I wasn?t there. No one would have to pay anything for me, no onw whould have to make it look like they cared, everyone could pay attention to my younger brother. It was best if I just disappeared from the face of the earth. It was this that scared me to death, the thought that I might actually do something to myself. This wasn?t me, I was strong, I knew I was. To me killing myself was like a cowards way out, what would it solve? Would it fix my pain? Would it fix my mistakes or financial problems? Would it bring back those who were so dear to me? No, all it would do was take me away from anything that could possibly be good in life. I explained it all to my doctor, who asked me a few questions and listened as I explained. It was then that I was told I had depression. It was then that I realized exactly what depression was and why it was such a painful and dangerous disease. It was silent, one that was hidden from even the closest family members.
I started taking my medication, I was doing alright, I ws getting myself back together. I found a new job and was going to be able to pay my bills and then some. On my way to have a test read at my new job I was involved in an accident. I was shaken but nothing else, except for the fear of what my dad wasgoing to do to me when he found out. How was I going to pay for this? I was just getting things together and then I was blind sided by an accident that smooshed the front of my car. I was so tired of bad things happening, it was never ending. I felt cared about this time, though. I called my mom who came rushing to me with my brother and on the way she talked to my dad. After I calmed down I talked with my dad who asked if I was alright and talked to me about getting the car taken care of and how everything was going to work out. My brother drove my car home for me and my mom took us out to eat talking to me to calm me down a bit. I felt like I was actually someone. I upose it was somewhat of a good thing to happen as it cause me to feel like I mattered.
I did well for several years, I worked and started working on getting my bills worked out, I started getting my life worked out. My medication was working I was feeling so good, I worked and lived my life according to how I felt, it dodnt bother me as much as it used to that i wasn?t important that I wasn?t cared about. I felt good, I still had my moments of sad and such but I don?t think I was anywhere even near where I had been. I didn?t have the money to continue so I stopped getting my mediction. I felt good still, I still had some sad and down moments but I was able to control them and I felt better about myself. It wasn?t until after I started working at a new job that the stress and depression kicked up again. There was no trigger, just a slap in the face. I was stressed about having to look over my shoulder at work, hoping they liked my work or else I could get in trouble as they nit picked my work, I started having more and more problems with my boyfriend, it was constant fighting with an on again off again relationship. My home life seemed to blow up as my brother went to school for heating and air but couldn?t hold a job due to going out to the bar at night with friends and not being able to work the next morning. He still threw his mood swings and it only got worse as he lost his jobs. My mother who had been diagnosed with Bipolar had decided to have a gastric bypass and felt that since she lost weight she didn?t need any medications. My father was becoming more and more stressed as he had to pick up my brother?s bills and was still trying to pay for his own and catch up. October of 2014 I was let go after the director of nursing didn?t like that I would bring problems to their attention and when nothing was done I would follow the chain of command. She came up with a reason and fired me. Now on top of My brother still being our of work, my mother not taking medication andhavig her own mood swings, My father was never home and no I lost my job, unable to py for my own bills at the same time My grandmother moved into our house.
It was never ending once again, buiding and building pain and stress. I began feeling the intense chest pains and again I started feeling like I shoul just disappear ad make it easier for everyone, but once again I realized it wasn?t me. I sucked up my pride of controlling myself and went back to the doctor. I decided to go back on my medications on a slightly higher dose and my doctor also suggested I begin taking another medication to help calm my ches apins. This time the medication did help but not like it did last time. I began trying to work through everything once again but this time I had to do it by myself as my boyfriend and I broke up after eight years. I had lost everything, I had nothing left. I wanted to disappear I wanted it all to end. My dog helped me trail along as I couldn?t imagine leaving her behind. I thought I was at my witsend of being rulled by my brother and treated like trash, thrown back and forth with my mother, my father not being home ever. My parents being all about my brother not even recognizing anything I had ever done, not caring for me, not saying they loved me and not een hugging me, I was given a little reliefe. A family friend entered my life, he had his own problems but he could see I wasn?t myself. He knew something was wrong. After some prodding I finally opened up, I fnally spilled what was bothering me, I told him about how I felt and what was going on.
I finally started to feel like I could make it, I started looking at things differently, I wasn?t crazy. It wasn?t just me feeling like I wasn?t important it wasn?t just me feeling like my parents cared more for my brother. I really wasn?t crazy I wasn?t being selfish. The family friend spend hours listening, talking to me, making me see that my parents did love me, that they did care about me but because of my brother and his own disorders they needed to pay more attention to him, they needed to worry more about him. the family friend made me think and look at things differently, it was stll wrong and it still hurt like hell but I could nderstand and deal a little better. And then the answer to all my prayers came. I was offered a place to stay out of the house, and even better it was in the mountains. It was an area that I couldn?t be happier to be at. It was like God had finally sighed and said I had enough and was giving me a chance. He opened the door for me to get away from the pain and stress and to a place I love. I found a job and began the process of moving, but again I was hit by my parents when they started making comments and making me feel like I couldn?t do it. At twenty-five years old I am supposed to be grown up, I;m supposed to be on my own I?m supposed to be living my life, but here I am living with my parents, brother and grandmother and feeling like my life is going to end soon. I feel like I?m back to eing a little kid and being ignored and told I can?t do this and cant do that. I?m an adult. I can do things, I know I am powerful, I know I?m strong. If I wasn?t I wouldn?t have made it through so many years of feeling like dieing and disappearing forever.
Things had twist and turned and in the last year my world flipped upside down. I ended up being left in the dark by the family friends becasue they felt i was being pissy and throwing a tempertantrume when i was actually having a major panic attack. I ended up moving back with my parents and settled back into the depression. I decided i didnt want my life to stay like that so i regularly went to the doctor, found the right medication and doesage, take them faithfully, and i started a blog opening up to anyone who wanted to know me. soon after that i felt great, so i put myself on an online dating app and found such an amazing man who makes me feel good about myself, is supportive with everything and is so understanding when i have my moments. he's by my side, taking care of me.
i felt more releived and not alone when i found out about "always keep fighting". It's inspired me to show more people and be more open to those close to me.
Ok so here i go, i have always been depressed since i was i kid because i was raped. I don't remember anything of it i just remember i felt horrible. But it started to felt worse a few years before when i was like 12, i could basically move out the hole raping thing but i had Medical Depression because i was sad for no reason, i had friends and good family and basically a good life, but i did not feel a thing. With the time it just got worse because of many special days like my birthday ad stuff were just lost days because i didn't feel anything. With the time and help of The Supernatural Family, and watching my fav tv show (SPN ofc) i just realized that life was worth living for. And of course i still have breakdowns, but i remember myself to always keep fighting.
It just sort of happened. I was thinking too much and next thing I knew my arm was bleeding and stinging, even from two tiny cuts. I regretted doing it immediately, but that didn?t stop me in the years to come. I hate myself so much that I just want to let it all out, and it?s almost as if cutting is the way to do that. I like the pain. It helps distracts me from everything else that is going on and I love it. I?ve tried to stop before, and I miss the pain. I don?t miss the bleeding or the regret that comes afterwards, but I love the pain. It?s almost like it is my high. We are all addicted to something that takes the pain away; some people have marijuana, I have a blade that slices my skin open. I hide it and hide it and hide it until it all builds up and explodes and the deeper I cut, the higher I fly and the better I feel. All day long, my depression is yelling at me, telling me that I?m terrible, making me replay every damn mistake I?ve made, every humiliation. It controls me. I hate it and I love it. I hate the way that I feel so confused, so broken, so useless, like I'm not good enough, that I'm falling apart, that I?m pathetic, annoying, rejected, defeated. The list goes on and on. It?s so fucking tiring, because I?m tired of bitched at, tired of being the butt of everybody?s jokes, tired of feeling ugly, of being ignored. Tired of feeling unloved, of not being cared about, but most of all, I?m tired of pretending to be happy in front of those I care about because I know that if they see the real me, they would leave in an instant. It?s a disease, but not really, because when someone says they have depression, there is no scurrying around to find a cure, because there is no proof but the word of someone.
It started roughly when I was in seventh grade, about five years ago now. I remember cutting for the first time, with an old, rusty pocket knife that my dad had given me. My little sister, in second grade at the time, was in the bed across the room from mine, about three feet away. I don't remember now what exactly had possessed me to slash my skin, but I do remember thinking physical pain to overcome the emotional pain. I made two cuts on my left wrist, neither were very deep. Nobody noticed. A few weeks later, after the cuts had healed, I made another two cuts in the same place on my wrist or pretty close to it. Blood ran down my wrist, something that hadn?t happened the first time, and I ran for the bathroom to wash it away. My older sister was listening to Skillet?s song, The Last Night, as this happened, happily oblivious to what was happening behind her. As the year wore on, I got braver so to say. I cut more often, still only two cuts though, and still not very deep. At some point, I told my best friend. And then I told another friend of mine after seeing similar cuts on her own wrist. During a game of Never Have I Ever during lunch that same year, it slipped out to two other friends, one of whom taunted me about it in the following year. Sometime during that year, I started making more cuts, and though I still wasn?t cutting very deep, I had started rubbing over the raw cuts with a washcloth to cause more pain. At one point, I recall my mom seeing the two thin lines that I was covering with a thick red rubber bracelet and I lied, telling her that our dog had pulled me through some brush with thorns on it and that they had cut into my skin. She didn?t question me.
The following year, things weren?t exactly better. I wasn?t cutting on a regular schedule, but each time I did cut, there were more and more cuts being added on. One time, one wrist wasn?t enough and I slashed the other one so that they would match. In eighth grade, things got kind of bad. There was this guy and for lack of a better word, he was an asshole. He constantly asked me for nudes and to have sex. He told me on multiple occasions that he want to pull me into the woods behind our school, and fuck me. I recall saying once, ?What if I don?t want to sleep with you?? and to this day, three years later, his words still chill me to the bone: ?Then I?ll just have to force you.? I?m short, probably around 5?1 maybe 5?2 at the time, and I was at a healthy weight for my height, though I didn?t have much muscle, and I remember thinking, holy shit, if he?s serious, I wouldn?t be able to stop him. He was much taller than me, probably 5?10, maybe more, and he definitely had a lot of weight over me. It didn?t help that this guy played football, among other sports. I remember having panic attacks and freaking out because it really wasn?t that hard to type my name into Google and find out where I live, and we had a gym period together, kind of, and I caught him staring at me too much for me to have been comfortable. I started cutting more, and wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer, which being in Florida, raised more suspicion than I wanted. I remember being in Disney World that year and having to hide the cuts from my parents, though they weren?t being all that attentive. Shortly after that, I found out that he had started sleeping with my older sister?s best friend, who lived two houses down from ours. I became scared to walk around my neighborhood because of that, I was so terrified of something happening. Every car I saw suddenly belonged to him and I didn?t want to leave my house, not even for school.
During that same year, towards the end of it, someone I had considered my best friend told me that she had only been using me to get good grades and for the past three years, she had hated me. She told me how worthless I was over and over and over and how much I was hated and how I didn?t have any friends and how after she left the school (as she was switching schools, which was what prompted her to finally come clean), everybody who was my friend were just pretending and that I would be left with no one. The night that this happened, she pretty much kept me up all night long, berating me and blowing my phone up as she continually messaged me. I couldn?t stop crying and I wanted so badly to cut, but I had promised another so-called friend (the one whom I had mentioned about as using the fact that I cut to taunt me) who the first friend had added to the chat to help her make me feel worthless, that I would throw out my razor blade and I actually had. All I had was my pocket knife and it didn?t cut very well. I waited until the next morning to get out to our shed and find another razor blade. Cutting had never felt so good. The messages continued to come in over the next day, and part of me wanted to block them both, but I didn?t, because part of me felt like I deserved everything that they were calling me. And after a while, I began to believe it. It wasn?t the first time that I had heard stuff like that from people that I had loved, the first time having come from my own family, from my sisters and brother. To this day, I?m still told by my brother and sisters that I?m ugly, that I?m worthless, that I have no friends, that I?m hated.
Over the summer in between eighth and ninth grade, things kind of got better. The guy from above had stopped pestering me, and things were going okay. There must have been some record (for me) set there, because for a period of time, I wasn?t cutting. Once high school started, the guy returned with a vengeance and I was/am in a high stress program that puts me through two years of college during high school. It was a surprise that I didn?t break down a lot more than I actually did. For the first time, I had considered jumping off a bridge a few miles from my house, or stepping out in front of incoming traffic, or taking too many pills, or eating those little packets that say DO NOT EAT on them. I never did, but I had seriously considered it.
The October of my freshman year, I got my phone taken away and my parents had gone through some of my conversations with my friends and there was this one bit about one of my friends cutting and I had mentioned that I understood the pain and the allure to cutting and my parents cornered me and asked me to explain what exactly I had meant by that. I told them that I had cut once and that was it. They believed me and we didn?t talk about it.
In high school, I had acquainted myself a couple of people whom I didn?t trust at first. Over time, I grew to trust them and they?re still my best friends now. One of my friend broke down crying when I told her my story, which I had ended up telling her while we were walking through Universal towards the end of our ninth grade year. At the same time, the guy from above had decided that it would be a good idea to start sending me nudes, as if that would make me want to send him some back. My best friend made me promise to stop cutting and I tried like hell to keep that promise, because the last thing that I wanted was to make her cry again.
But because nothing can ever be simple and good for more than a month or two, the shit hit the fan. Over the summer, I was texting this guy, a different one than before, that I really liked, and he was really nice. It turned out that he was friends with my ex-best friend, the very same one who had pretended to be my friend. And because she hates me, she told him and everybody at her high school that the thing that happened with the other guy was the opposite way around and that I was the one begging him for sex and begging him for nudes and sending him nudes and a bunch of other stuff. I woke up one morning, and found a barrage of messages from him calling me a slut and a whore and a bitch and a cunt and a shitload of other stuff, and I started crying. When my parents asked me what was wrong, I refused to show them the messages but briefly explained to them what had happened. And they had the audacity to tell me to get over it. In the months following, I came fully clean to my parents, about my cutting, and I showed them the healing cuts on my wrist at the time and I told them about me not really eating because I hate the way I looked. They cried and hugged me, and I gave them my blade and we never spoke about it, except for a couple of times when my mom would grab me or touch me somewhere and I would flinch. She would make me show her my skin to make sure that I wasn?t cutting. Some time went by and I cut again that December, which is just over a year ago now. That was the last time that I had cut.
Shortly after that, in February, my father and I got into a stupid fight, and everything that I had bottled up in me exploded. I wrote a suicide note with the intention of never waking up and took more pills than I should have. The night, the police came to my house and woke my parents up, looking for me due to the fact that I had reached out to a suicide prevention line and they had sent the police after me to make sure that I was okay. The next day, I was admitted to a mental health resource center. When I told my friends what had happened, I was later told that they cried. I was in MHRC for five days, from a Friday to a Tuesday and I returned back to school that following Friday. When I was admitted, I had told my parents that I only wanted my friends to know, not my teachers, not the school, nobody. During visitation, I was told that my parents had emailed all of my teachers telling them what happened because homework had come flooding in from them and my dad didn?t want them to expect me to have it when I returned to school.
Going back to school, I was so ashamed of what had happened. Only two of my teachers had mentioned it to me. My favorite teacher had actually asked to speak with me outside of class, and when I came back to school, his was the first class I went to and he stopped teaching in the middle of the lecture and welcome me back and walk across the classroom to give me a hug. My best friend who was in that class also leapt up to give me a hug, and when I saw my other best friend that morning, she sprinted across the room, dropping her bags to give me a hug. I felt so awful for causing them this much pain, because that was never my intention. I just wanted to escape from the pain that life had brought me. The week following me getting released, I started watching Supernatural.
It wasn?t too long after I had been out that I found out about Jared cancelling his appearances at conventions to go home and be with his family, and because of that, I found out about the Always Keep Fighting campaign. Reading Jared?s story and supporting the AKF campaign has helped me in so many ways imaginable. I am no longer ashamed to tell someone that yes, I've been diagnosed with depression and anxiety. There are still temptations every single day. Every single day, I ask myself if today is going to be the day that I break my year free of cutting, and this far, the answer had always been, No, not today. Some days have been harder than other, some days, I?ve envisioned exactly when I want to cut, but I never actually do it. I was on antidepressants for about a week or two before my mom took me off them, and I went to two therapy sessions before my mom quit taking me, but despite all of that, I?m still here. I?m still being called despicable things and I?m still constantly beating down panic and hysteria that always follows. I?m still constantly beating down the urge to slice my skin open, but for now, I?m winning my battle, and I?m not planning on not fighting anytime soon. The SPN fandom, and SPN in general had kept me going, and has kept me from giving up and had kept me remembering to always keep fighting. So to anybody reading this post (sorry for the length of it), but thank you so very much, because you?re as much of a reason of why I?m still here as Jared and Jensen and Misha and everybody else on Supernatural. I owe the fact that I am alive today to Jared and to Jensen and to Supernatural and I owe it you guys too.
: I've been suffering from depression for 19 years now. I have the same reoccurring memory every night. When I was 8 years old, my step-father at the time, took away my innocence. Made me feel that I would never be truely love-wanted. In 19 years I have been raped more then 7 times more then 7 different men. But I never gave up. I have a beautiful little girl, and am in a happy-healthy relationship with a man who knows my past.
I have been struggling with depression for a long time due. to complications after on operation.I was on very strong MED's and they made me into a zombie so the last few years have past in a bleer but had my MED's changed after going into a coma back in June 2015.But my depression got very bad as going through other things to tried to take my life and then found social media and found out about the SPN family and the (always keep fighting) campaign still got problems but I know feel that I am not alone and I am taking it one day at a time and it's through watching SPN and wanting to find out more about the star's that I found out that Jared suffers with depression and found the AKF it is helping me to keep going. Sorry for rambling and probably not making much sense but I just wanted to say that watching supernatural has led to me knowing that I am not alone and to keep fighting. Hope this make's senses and helps others see you are not alone.
I wrote this story in another fan page that was heading (I hope) straight for the boys so is written to them but is no less my story:
I have only been watching Supernatural since mid-Summer 2015 after stumbling upon it on Netflix. The characters' journeys and growth were amazing to follow. Bu as I do with any show I come to love, I started following the actors' real lives and that's when the addiction happened.
In 2009 I lost my brother to heart failure at age 35, he was 6'4 and well over 400lbs. My brother and I were very close and a very large piece of me was crushed to oblivion and rendered irrelevant. I stopped everything I was and gave up what little care I had for myself. It took years to get back to being o.k. with being alive without him, or to stop being jealous that he was gone and I was still here.
Then came Supernatural- well to me anyway- and its wonderful cast. I have not yet met either you, Jensen, or Jared in person, I've never been to a convention yet but to hear stories from your co-stars, guest stars and behind the scenes team members describe your personalities, generosity, love of life, each other, your fans and your jobs has re-awakened so many things I gave up. Jensen, you in particular have become an absolute heart throb for me and not just because of your adorable looks (although that doesn't hurt) but you seem to be a genuinely warm person who has his friends' back and is a loyal husband and father. You share way too many characteristics with my brother; born March 1st, tall, supportive, musical, beautifully quiet voice, belief in people and probably not coming to fully understand the value of the beautiful soul that you are.
You have inspired in me to get back to my creativity, my writing, singing, acting, my health. AKF has helped me to keep it going once I got started. I've lost over 30lbs in that past couple months alone, started a poetry book, taking acting classes and signed up with a casting agency in Boston. You boys, with what you do both in and out of the show, inspire far more than you mean to and are truly Supernatural.
My name is Journey. I am currently 17 right now. I'm graduating high school this year. High school was rough for me. I was that horse crazed child, everyone made fun of. I also have an animal phobia, focused on cows, since I was almost trampled twice as a child.
The kid I told in confidence in fourth grade about my phobia, told the whole district and I have been made fun of there until my freshman year. I was hospitalized for a week, during my freshman year, due to horrible thoughts. After I was hospitalized, I went to a mental health program at a different school and made one of my greatest friends. Before I was hospitalized, I found Supernatural on Tumblr. I didn't watch the show until the April of 2013.
After that, I was hooked. People ask me why I love Supernatural. I tell them how I connect with Sam, my favorite character. I tell how during my rough times, I felt like Sam was there for me. And when I found out Jared had depression too, I knew I wasn't alone. Thanks for hearing my story. #AlwaysKeepFighting
I was a normal kid. I had many friends.
Then, one day I started to change. I had acne. At the age of nine! My mum and I went to the doctor and he said I was early adolescent. I got more and more pimples everyday and with every day I lost one friend more. At the end I was bullied, alone and started to isolate myself from the world and even the few friends I had left, that didn't really care about me. From that on my life wasn't good. I cried almost every day, got in fights with my parents and the worst part for me: I had to leave my childhood behind. From the outside I was a teenager and everybody expected me to behave like one, but I really was a child in a teenager's body. Life got pretty bad and I knew something went terribly wrong with myself. I caught me ignoring the mirror or sending hateful stares at myself. It went to the point, where I couldn't go outside anymore without getting told how ugly I was and what a b*tch I was. So I wanted to kill myself. I started to cut myself. In 7th grade I wrote goodybe letters to my few left friends and family. I went to school ,expecting it to be the last time. But when I wrote down stuff on a paper sheet (that's what I do, when the thoughts overcome me), my neighbor read them and started to cry. She said things like: Don't do it, you have so many people that love you etc.
I started to cry as well, because the panic started to rise inside. We got outside and cried. She hugged me and cried. And I stood there just thinking about what I would do next. Then without a warning my class teacher came out of one of the rooms at this floor and asked what was wrong. The girl told her we would like to speak to her after the lessons. So we went inside. I stayed quiet, while I could see people telling each other, what was happening. At this day the girl told my class teacher and she called my parents. The teacher wasn't that nice and told everyone about me. She started to judge me. She hated me. And the next day, everybody knew. They talked behind my back, stared at me etc.
A few weeks later we were at the therapist. But she couldn't help me, she was kinda crazy idk..
In the mean time, I started to get more friends, I started to go out a little bit more, but just with friends. And I started to watch SPN.
I loved it! I loved the actors, the story, the angels and Crowley xD and just everything. Spn kinda turned the light on again.
3 psychologists said I had depression and something like an unnormal aggressive behavior, but my parents just couldn't believe it. They told them right in the face (!), they couldn't do their job correctly. I was so ashamed of them and my illness.
Well, in 2015 I heard about AKF and wanted to buy a shirt. But my parents said no. But in the second one, I got a shirt and a tank top. I wear it so often, even in school. It makes me feel so much better. I want to go to a convention this year, but my parents said no :(
Well, life turned out ok. I have my struggles, I have my insecurities and everything but I will stay strong. I will stay strong for my future kids. So I can tell them, that your looks don't define you. And I also want to share Supernatural with them sooo.. ;)
I've been bullied, abused, raped, and beaten. My mother died when I was 14 from cancer. I lost custody of my first son when I was 20 and haven't seen him since. I've had 9 pregnancies since then and lost them all culminating in my sons stillbirth in 2011. I've been homeless most of my life. I don't have any blood relatives that want anything to do with me. I have health issues I cannot attend to because I don't have insurance or an income. I suffer from crippling depression and have spent countless hours convincing myself to keep on fighting when it gets dark and quiet and I am alone. There is much much more to my story that I don't feel comfortable sharing. However, I know in my heart that when the time does come and God calls me home I will have a whole HUGE family waiting for me, and I keep going so I can tell them about all the things they missed. Some days I win, some days I don't. The pain is always always there and that won't change. But I do my best not to let it consume me. My heart breaks everyday again and again, but I will ALWAYS keep fighting.
My name is Jordan. I'm 23 years old and I grew up in Alabama. For everyone's sake, I will try to keep my story as short as possible without excluding anything important. My parents divorced when I was 6 months old. My dad was a very heavy alcoholic and a control freak and my mom couldn't deal with it. So growing up, I always felt like my family was incomplete. I lived with my mom and saw my dad on weekends. Eventually, at the age of 8, I decided I needed my dad in my life more so I moved in with him. I lived there from 4th grade until finishing middle school. During that time, I endured so much emotional abuse and drunken fights that it began to take a toll on me mentally and physically. I had seen friends die of suicide and other things before even getting to high school. Things also started to weigh on me. I had been seeing a therapist and she realized the broken state of things and told my mom to go to my dad's while he was working, pack up everything I needed and leave. So that's what we did. The first summer with my mom, I started to develop anxiety and panic attacks. I did not leave my house for 3 months. I couldn't even walk outside without having extreme panic attacks. I made it through two years at a public school that had over 2,000 students. My anxiety became so bad at that point that I decided it was best for me to homeschool my last two years of high school. Something amazing happened though. I joined a Christian Metalcore band and began playing shows and speaking the Word all over the southeast U.S. My anxiety had also vanished. I no longer was on medication and was able to do everything the way I had in the past. It is still to this day one of the highest points of my life. Fast forward to 2011 and I was working as a cashier at a grocery store. I did that for a year. In 2012, my anxiety returned in full force. I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder, and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I was taking 4-5 medications a day just to not have panic attacks. They came out of nowhere at first and then I started not being able to go do daily activities. I stopped driving and I couldn't work. I couldn't go to college like I wanted. I was in a pretty low place in life and having very suicidal thoughts. Still to this day I am fighting tooth and nail just to keep my head up. I lost my health insurance at the end of 2015 and therefore all treatment I was getting. That's not going to stop me though. I've made it through what I consider Hell on Earth. Being trapped in a body that seems healthy on the outside, but is completely broken on the inside. That's thing about living with mental illnesses. People can't see what your handicap is. You seem totally normal at a glance. Since you look normal, people assume you are normal and healthy. Regardless of all the things I have to deal with on a daily basis, I'm not giving up. I will ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING.
This has been going on for...I donteven know how long. At least 10 years that I can remember? Im 28 now, and that semslike a long time...
I dont know what this is, or even if it is anything. I can be watching somethign I really love (like Supernatural, or one of the Marvel movies), and be freakishly happy for some reason. But the next its llike someone flipped a switch, and things start going downhill. I call it kinda depreive, but Im not sure thats the right term for it? Sometimes call it 'The Feel' too.
When that happens, I have to force myself to do anything. If im eating, I jsut kinda...stare at the food, maybe force myself to eat it because I know I need to, then stick it back in the fridge for sometime later. Ive tried everything I can think of that could help and I have access to (watching TV/moves/reading a book/reading fanfic, playing with mine or my moms pets...Nothing seems to bring me out of the slump.
I could be watching omething that my ultimate favorite, talking to people about something, laughing at video on YouTube and thedownhill feeling will start. Could be meeting my favorite webcomic artist again, and will jut kinda feel "Meh" about it.
Or I could be listening to something like In the Arms of the Angels (played at grandmother funeral), If You're reading This (Letters a oldier wrote to his wife and mom that they're reading because he didnt come home alive), and be perfectly fine.
Then there Thres alo some family on my mom side that think Im some kind of slut or drug user. I had gone with my cousin to her boyfriend at the times apartment, and one of his friends (that i ended up dating for a bit), and my cousin/BF were doing something together...Im not sure if it was in the apartment (sleeping was likely), or if they had gone somewhere. I stayed there a bit longer before I got a message from my mom (not sure if it was on my phone, my email, Facebook...) that I needed to come home and do the dishes, and she couldn't care i I got fucked 10000 times after, but I needed to do them now.
A while later (when we were still dating, my bf and I were sitting on the oprh outside the house my mom/sister.cousin/uncle lived in, and I was in between my bfs legs (but not in any sort of adult themed way, with my cousin and her BF just about the same. It was cold out, so we had a blanket. got more than one comment about how I was doing stuff under there.
They're also a big fan of leavine me behind when they go somewhere. Once my mom bought concert tickets to see a group she liked with my aunt, and my aunt had something come up and couldnt keep, and I said Id like to go. My sister was the one that went (no biggie there, maybe she asked first.). Some WWR wrestlers came another time, and evenbefore the tickets were bought I said/asked that if my aunt doesnt go again, Id like the ticket. Again, my sister went, and nothing was said about "Hey, shes getting it" or something like that. (this was around 6 years ago)
One of the mroe recent things was my mom not being home when I woke up at noon one day. She had all the food in her apartment, but thank God I had a set of keys. Messaged her asking where she was since I think the truck she's borrowing was there, but she wasnt. Eitehr got some half-assed answers, or none at all.
I go to an aunts FB page (the same one that did the ticket thing), and see some pictures of my mom, 2 aunts, a cousin and my sister out eating somewhere in Louisiana where the aunt and cousin (opssibly) live. They never said anything to me about going, ask me if I wanted to...I had to find out on Facebook. Whent hey got back they handed me a takeout container with a piece of fish and a haldful of french fries that were cold. When I aske dmy mom why I didnt get to go, she said that I was asleep.
Yeah, I was. But she's woken me up before for thigns. She never told me why, but I think its because she thinks i take too long to get ready to go 'out' somewhere. Even if Id just been asleep a few mintues, I would have gotten something to change into and brought my laptop with me so I can listen to music. maybe watch a movie and then fell asleep. I sent the screenshots i made to a cousin that I can tell pretty much anything to, and even said she thought it was fucked up.
Hell...At least send me a message on FB or my phone, something like taht to say where you are because it'll start freakng me the fukc out because I dont know if something bad has happened or not.
Then theres my dad and stepmom that the that people you can ony talk to online aren't 'real friends'. Thi is the same guy who told me its weird to call my mom every day, and he calls his only once a week and thats enough.
But those 'real friends' have helped me in some way, even if its just to listen to me bitch about something. Even a 'hope you feel better' is more than some of my actual family has.
Not even sure if this is something that will actually be posted here, but I just felt the need to get it off my chest.
: I have depression passed down from my mom but my friends haven't made it easy. On top of the depression I have really bad anxiety, which makes it impossible for me to do anything new or like talk to a stranger. So I sort of depend on my friends.
I have slight problems with self harm and suicidal tendencys but it's gotten better. My mom also won't let me be on antidepressants, even though she's been on them for years.
Everything was getting better, until this year. My friend shot herself and there was chance of her surviving, but it was very very small. I don't even know why they told us this, it just gave us hope. But she ended up not making it and I guess, according to my friends,I've been distant.
Most of my supposed friends don't even talk to me anymore. I'm basically all alone, but I'm just going to have to get used to it.
It's been a while since I've felt this way, and maybe some of you hearing my story can draw help from it and not follow the same path I have.
Since mid 2014, I've suffered from a severe psychotic depression along with social anxiety and major problems with self harm. Here I guess I went wrong, I tried to fight alone and survive without any help and that was the wrong thing to do.
It got to the point, at the end of the year, I tried to end it all. I spent Christmas 2014 up to New years Eve in general hospital recovering before they put me in a mental hospital. I struggled here so much for months before they let me out and since then It's been the same going in and out of hospitals.
I don't know if I'm any better now then I was then, but all through this time, Supernatural has been such an important thing to me, it's more than just a show. Being able to watch supernatural even while in the mental hospital is what helped me get through each painful day and it still does.
Supernatural has taught me to always keep fighting even when your at wits end, to Carry on no matter how much it hurts as there's always somebody who cares. Somebody always cares, as supernatural taught me family doesn't end in blood.
So I guess that's my story in the short, thank you Supernatural and all the amazing actors you've had, without you and the family I've met due to the show I wouldn't keep fighting.
July 2015 I planned to take my granddaughter with me to the SPN Convention Feb 14 in Houston.
The more research I did I found that we should get there early Friday and stay til Monday. I found an affordable wheelchair to be available for me and arranged to have a freezer in the room because I needed around the clock ice bars. I found seating we could afford, accessible for the wheelchair and pictures with Mischa for her, and maybe gold tickets so we could visit with all 4 and I could sing with Jensen or Mark.
I have FMS, RA, Spondylolisthesis, Narcolepsy, Depression, and Anxiety. I stopped taking pain medication in 2014 because I was tired of the humiliation of having to submit to so much each month. I started water therapy at the Y in March 2015 because they had financial assistance. I wanted to build my arms so I could use the wheelchair in February.
When the tickets went on sale in September I had to be honest with myself that I could not physically accomplish this trip. I have been homebound so to speak for 12yrs. and have no stamina. So I had to change my goals and decided I'd meet 'em one day for coffee and cards lol.
FMS affects every part of your life definitively and you must listen to it and adjust or you will regret it.
I go to water therapy at the Y 6 days a week. 3 days aqua classes @645AM, 3 days I do my made up work out mixing Isometric exercise, Tai Chi, body building, Karate, & Yoga. In May I started drinking 2 gallons of water daily. I try to drink it all before lunch. In 2014 I found someone that assists me with daily tasks (thank God), and in 2014 began receiving meals during the week. I have a therapy dog and small therapy birds. Most of the birds I had rescued or raised from a few days old. I have 5 doves, 8 cockatiels, 3 parakeets, 1 lovebird and 1 parrolet.
I am in the process of epidural procedures and physical therapy has been made available too.
I am a Christian Advocate for medical marijuana and legalization.
I am a legally ordained Reverend. In 2011 I wanted to be able to marry people who wanted to get married and blessed by God.
I am a licensed Cosmetology Instructor with AAS Degree (prepared 3000 students who passed State Board in 6yrs)
I am the owner of carolejosart.com (had to let the website go but kept the name and can be found on facebook)
created SETX Fibromyalgia Support on FB to share coping methods.
I have watched and rewatched SPN since 2005.
I love how they eradicated everything I have ever been scared of and did it with humor and grace. I love how it is different than others of that genre, but share some of the same things, especially actors.
I love how they instill a bit of responsibility & ethics into their work.
I love when they are FBI.
I love that they stopped arguing and overdrinking
I love the little things that get in the script like ad libbing.
I love how they spin a story again and again and again and it still works.
I love how they show 4 parts of different stories within the episodes.
I love how they get most of the icky gooey stuff out of the way early on.
I don't watch the beating up scenes too much.
I love that they listen to their fans. The musical version was the best shout out to fans I have ever seen and the Hilly parody with shake it off is over the top awesome.
I saw Dean emote every single excruciating face I have ever made in pain.
I don't watch them experiencing pain any more, but I am learning to push through my pain with more determination.
I have a more "can do" outlook on myself, its stronger.
I love that they stay true to the lore.
I love that they stay true. SPN helped keep me from checking out early.
I love that there are so many ways that SPN could have done the end of season 11, but God bless them they totally kicked ass.
I love the twists and spins with reality.
It's not just that they don't stay dead, but there is always an up side.
I do not have any reason to fill my life with bad endings either.
In my lowest points having the reruns gave me something to look forward to, to plan around, enjoy, and laugh with. Traveling the US from my TV to kick ass evil 4 episodes in a row is a lot of activity for someone like me.
Thank you for asking for my story.?
July 14,2015 I lost my job at an age of 50 I felt useless. For the fist time ever ending it seemed like the way to go. Then I happened to watch a show called supernatural. At first is just a good show, but soon I found about AKF. I started watching all the past con videos, binged 9 seasons. I decided that if I didn't find a job by by my birthday in January I would ended it. I became obssed with SPN. It was the only thing keeping me here. I did find a job. But was still battling so I used SPN to give my self another thing to clinger to. I promised myself that I would attend a con. I have purchased tickets to Huston Con 2017. It still a struggle everyday. I have my YANA & AKF shirts along with a Dean pick so they are the first things I see to help me. Thanks to all the SPN cast, crew fan family.
I have struggled with depression for the past 5 or 6 years. Ever since my parents got divorced when I was 9. I am 14 now.
I always thought that it was my fault my parents split, and I always took the blame for everything bad that ever happens to me, even when I know that it's not my fault.
After a while, as you can imagine, all of this got very stressful, and it eventually turned into full on depression.
After my second real boyfriend broke up with me last year, I started to cut myself regularly. Then my now best friend came along and made me promise to stop. A few months later I started watching supernatural, and became completely obsessed with the show, to keep my mind off of the crap that was going on in my life; when I found out about Always Keep Fighting.
A few weeks ago I started having anxiety attacks. I still have days when I don't feel like living breathing or moving, but I do, because I have an entire fandom supporting me, who will always be there for me when I feel like breaking. That is why I always Keep Fighting.
Please... no matter how hard it is for you don't ever give up on yourself. Never give in to the darkness. And Always, Always Keep Fighting. We love you so much! So don't give up!
My story starts in 6th grade. I hated every day of it and it seemed to get worse each day. I had no friends and it seemed like the world was against me. That was how it was until about 8th grade. Then I went to high school and things got better. During 8th grade I started cutting. I never told my parents but I'm trying to get help now and I'm in 10th grade. It's hard and I do relapse but I'm doing the best I can and Supernatural really helps me get through the times I want to relapse. Things do get better. But only if you want it to. So remember to always keep fighting and you can always talk to me via email; firstname.lastname@example.org or Twitter; @LexiLucyDemi. We really are a family and family can always come to each other with anything and you can. I won't judge.
Ive never really been close to my family,My mom,Step mom,Dad and brother and sister.exept my brother and sister got adopted by a family(Iam not adopted)and I never see them anymore.My brother is handicapped to make it worse.And then my best friend whent to high school this year(while im still in elamtry school)and I have this really bad bulling problem.i used to get bulled a lot about my weight,I have an ass and really large boobs.And im 12!.This guy in my class,lets call him Jeff and then his best friend lets call him greg.Greg and Jeff always touch my butt,and grab my boobs:( but you see I don't like to tell people stuff like that.And to make it worse Jeffs mom is the princable of are school.My nick name is Khia Made In China because everyone calls me plastic because of my body.So when I was in the 5th grade I started cutting myself.it got pretty bad at one pont.But then it just stopped because of my best friend,lets call her Carol.You see Carol is a very sweet nice girl,But she is also really tuff and all the guys are afraid of the.She told them if they didn't stop that she would break every bone in there body.And trust me she probly would have.then my bulling stoped.Kinda.Jeff and Greg still make fun of me but now I just tell Jeff to leave me alone when ever he starts talking to me.And then theres Greg,you see me and my friend Breea have this inside joke where we call a guy in are class Tic-tac and then Greg starts calling me tit-tat (to how big my boobs are)I just don't know what to do.
I'm Shaina Marie Cebrero. A fan from a bit far country, Philippines. People kept on saying that lies makes us hurt. But for me, the most painful lie is from my family. I don't know what to do and whom to trust. I just realized that one day, I don't want to go home. Being at that house makes me wanna burn my self.My bank savings had been taken without my permission. My Dad and Mom are broken. They leave me hanging.
Supernatural is my sanctuary.This T.V. premiere helps me to escape to my hell life even just for awhile. Dean and Sam's struggles made me realize that I should ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING! Supernatural taught me to be strong as I can. And I am hoping that SPN will never end.
My story starts in 2007. I've never been close to most of my family. Although, I had one person I could always count on. My aunt Jackie. She was the one person I could go to for anything. On December 10, 2007, I lost her. 18 months earlier she was diagnosed with a fatal disease called langerhans cell histiocytosis. Every day I would pray she got better but she lost the fight. I lost one of my best friends. I also lost my other best friend Kimberly. I'd known Kimberly my whole life. On June 11, 2008, her and my brother where hiking in the mountains and Kimberly fell of a 400 ft. cliff. 6 months, 1 day. Withing 6 months I lost the only two people that truly cared for me. It was so hard for me. Flash forward to freshman year. I spent half of freshman year struggling about my sexuality. I decided that I needed to stop pretending that I wasn't gay. I came out to my closest friends. At first, they seemed very excepting but I was wrong. About a month after I came out, I started getting hateful texts and Facebook messages telling me "kill yourself dyke" or "you should of stayed in the closet freak". The moment I got that first text I realized my life was caving in. I started self-harming because it was the only way I could release my emotions. I did everything to keep from having to go to school. I would make myself throw up in the morning so my mom wouldn't send me. The bullying continued constantly until sophomore year at the end of September when I did try to take my life. I was rushed to the ER. I ended up staying a week in a mental hospital. I learned I had bipolar depression. After I was released, I returned to school. The bullying continued but it got worse. I wasn't being bullied by just students but teachers and parents of other students as well. One of my teachers told another student about my health. Another teacher saw one of my scars and said "oh look you gave yourself a tattoo". I can still hear my classmates laughing. I spiraled i started cutting more, drinking, smoking, anything that would make it go away. Around December of my sophomore year, I was supposed to be measured for my band uniform. The band boosters had an 18 year old male student measure me. He felt me up. I hid it from my parents but eventually I spoke up. My mother took it to the school because it happened on school campus. The principal brought my mother and the band booster president in to talk. The band booster president told my mom "your daughter was only uncomfortable because she is gay". When I heard the I couldn't believe the discrimination. I decided to just leave that school. I joined an online school and I got better. I cut off all communication with people from that school. However, in January of my junior year, the bullies started again. Attacking my through my social media. In April of that year I ended up in a mental hospital again due to a suicide attempt. It's been 7 months and I have been completely clean. No cutting, no drinking, and no smoking. I am proud of the person I am today. I refuse to let my past define my future. Thank you for the opportunity to tell someone my story. Sorry it's so long. You Are Not Alone!!!!
I don't know why I have a story. I'm not supposed to have a story. I have a loving, caring home, people who care about me, a good education and friends who will go through hell for me (or purgatory if you will). The point is, I thought I was doing everything right with my life.
But then I met this girl online, she was a good friend really, untill during all our chatting and talking and eventually skyping together, we started to love one another as sisters. Her live, unlike mine, was misserable though. And I tried so hard to make it bearable, I did my best to make it all better for her. But with her in America, and me in Europe, it was hard sometimes. I was going to come visit her though. I was saving money, it would only take another year. But she couldn't last that long.
And she took the pills and she went to sleep forever and when I received her last, dying message to me, I didn't even know! I woke up that day and I saw that she messaged me and I didn't even read it immediately. I thought it would be nice to read in my lunchbreak at school. So be the time I read it, she was already dead. She would never hear my last words, she would never know how that there really was someone in her life who loved her and who cared for her. And it was all my fault.
I should have come see her sooner. I shouldn't have started an argument because I thought she was being impatient. I should have taken the first plane possible and gone there and hug her and take away her pain even though I'm still not sure how I could've done that because I wasn't even an adult yet.
But that's just that petty excuse a friend of mine keeps telling me. It can't take away my guilt. And I promised my sweet 'sister' to never leave her alone so I couldn't help but sometimes think that I should take a couple too many pills too. Because then she wouldn't be alone at least. But I can't. I'm too scared. And I don't want to hurt my friends.
So now I'm here. Paying for my mistakes because I couldn't save the person who mattered the most. And I try to Always Keep Fighting but it is hard.
So if there is anyone else out there, who I can help, so I can redeem myself by at least saving another soul. I would put my hand through the fire for you. I would do anything. Promise.
in 2009 my aunt was diagnosed with stage 2 leukemia and the doctors told her she could survive she was almost 3 years in surviving the cancer and she gave up and ever since ive been losing it now and again from thinking about her. then my parents told my guidence counsler at school and they helped me
I have been in the SPN family for almost a year and I trust you guys more than anyone I have ever me! When I am upset about something, I turn to fandom to make me happy again. Recently I was bullied by my teacher and my councilor at school and I am scared to go back to school on Monday. I am afraid it will continue. My gut becomes empty feeling and I get butterflies when I walk in there. It started when one idiotic person who I... Okay, even though she is a retard, I still don't feel sorry for. ANyway, the retard told the principal and counselor about a rumor and they suspected me because I had in the past helped my friend through some hard times and this, for some reason caused them to think I was the starter of all this all the time. I was apparently comforting this friend too much to where it seemed suspicious. We had promised eachother we would be there for eachother so I wasn't going to NOT over react to her thing. ANyway, I guess that is why they suspected me. They called me down stirs 6 TIMES on Thursday to basically punch holes in my story. I wasn't going to lie to make it make sense for their idiotic minds, so I told the truth and only the truth. WHICH THEY DIN'T BELIEVE! I have turned to fandom to cope! I want to thank everyone from Tumblr who may be here, for supporting me through these hard times! I don't know what to do! My parents believe the idiots at school who called them and LIED! ANd I can't tell the principal cause SHE IS THE PROBLEM! Ugh! Thanks for being there for me , guys!
Supernatural changed my life for the better! A lot of bad is happening in my life and I am happy to have something to turn to!
When i was nine,I was Molested.But the only thing good about it was that i learned a very valuable lesson,That nobody is perfect and people make mistakes but some people wont and don't want to change even when they hurt someone else.
When i was small i was like almost every little girl i didn't think bad was in the world.But now i know no one is perfect and there may be bad and evil in the world but you can change it.You may not change the whole world but You can change you!!!!!!!!!!
I've been bullied for miost of my school life, and i'm curently still being bullied. At home I have a little sister with ADHD who takes up most of my parents attention. I've been dealing with suicide thoughts and the constant feeling of feeling worthless, dumb, stuped etc. I've never talked to any of my friends about it because I know that they have to deal with there own stuff, and I don't want to burden them with my problems. I've started cutting myself, but i'm curently trying to stop. I don't know how long i'll be able to deal with this, but i'll try to hold on. I promise.
My story is a little different. My demon is addiction. For the past 12 years I have been in constant battle. For 3 years I took Percocet and Vicodin like they were candy ... see I had a medical issue that caused a lot of pain and the docs just kept filling prescriptions until I was hooked. 8 years ago I had surgery to fix the true problem and then went on some medication to help me stay "sober". Yes, I say "sober" because the last 8 years I have existed not lived. 32 days ago I decided it was time to get off the devil drug and get SOBER for real. I know what Dean felt like, what Sammy felt like in Hell. For the past 32 days I have lived my own Hell. Constant withdrawals, pain, thoughts of just ending it all ... but I Always Keep Fighting. I look at my gorgeous daughters and husband and dog and think; if I can't fight for me today, I will fight for them.
The battle isn't over, not by a long shot ... but I will exorcise this demon and I will Always Keep Fighting my addiction. 32 days clean and truly sober is something I never thought I would achieve. With God's grace, family, and Supernatural to keep me distracted ... I will win this battle.
Its a bit of a long story. I can graze over my childhood causinme to have terrible abandonment issues from my biological father. Then in my early 20s I just couldn't handle anything that was going on in my life so I started cutting myself and I attempted suicide via of. That's when I foiund out I have bipolar disorder. I got on a few stable meds until 2015 rolls around I attempted suicide again, but I ended up throw in everything up. Thank god. Well tgrought 2015 I started to become manic(which I hadnt ever felt that before, I mostly went through the depression part of bipolar disorder. So I ended up getting into a very unhealthy relationship where we just smoke math constantly. I got clean for a few months then I ended up in another mental health hospital and made friends with a heroin addict, which I started shooting up after we got out. Then may 26,2016 rolled around I was coming down from both drugs and it was also my one year anniversary of my abortion that I still haven't grieved properly, so o took my entire bottle of ambien cr and woke up in the hospital. I still have my issues I need to work on but I'm finally starting to get stable and it feels great.
I was first abused by a parent at the age of 2. It's not a great first memory of course.All because I wouldn't go & pick up my roys ahich were outside in the rain. I was kicked in the head by a huge healed shoe ( this was 1974 ) it had a white sole & black & white buckled straps. My next memory is of being x-rayed. My Grandma was there holding my baby sister whilst this was going on.
In yr 1 I had to change schools & I remember drawing an escape plan to our new family home I hated it so much. I made friends in primary school & made my best friend in grade 3 ( or so I rhought but more on that later )
My dad inherited the family buisness after my grandpa passed away when I was 10 & I felt an awful emptiness I never knew existed.
Going back to before I was born my Grandparents asked my mum to have an abortion & they would pay for it!! My mum stood her ground & walked down the aisle 4 months pregnant with me. When I was born my Grandparents couldn't do enough to help my parents & loved me unconditionally.
I grew up to fast being surrounded by adults most of my young life & at the age of 8 started that time of the month. Also at the age of 8 I started being abused phsically, mentally, sexually by a relative. This didn't stop until I said ENOUGH when I was 40!!
I believed ALL men were only after one thing so in seeking what I thought was love was actually NOT!!
I was raped in High School by 2 boys ( that also went to the same school at my parents then home.
I told my best friend from Primary School who told someone else & before I knew it the entire school knew.
Students would go around saying ' I've been raped someone save me ' laughing as they did so. It cut my heart to shreds. After what happened I went to the bus stop filled with dread & the longing to stay home where I was greated with graffiti all over the bus stop saying 'Karen Jesser is a Root Rat' for ALL the world to see. I was speechless!!
2 older students who had taken me under their wings scribbled it out & told me to hang out with their group. I was relieved & frightened as I was stepping into a world I knew nothing about. I had nothing to worry about at all & was welcomed into the group for who I was. For the first time in my life it wasn't due to the fact my family had money ( then ) or whom I'd slept with or because I'd been raped it was because of ME!!
In this same year ( 1986 ) the school hottie asked me out & the other girls couldn't work out why. It was a beautiful 1 & 1/ 2 relationship that I will ALWAYS remember with fondness.
Also at this same time I was a professional swimmer & training for the Commonwealth Games. I would travel across the country for meets & in the end in the prime of my career it all came to a crashing halt. I kept contracting bronchitis & it NEVER went away for years!
Once again my heart broke.
When I was 15 I enetered into another long term relationship hat lasted nearly 2years. He was the ugliest guy in school ( according to others ) but I NEVER look at the outside of people as it's whats inside that matters. I ended up getting pregnant just before my 16th birthday & told my mum whom I thought would support me after what she had to endure with me but no! My mum instantly called my boyfriends parents & his mum & my boyfriend came over. It was awful!!
My mum rang my Grandma & she said I needed to have an abortion all to protect the family name! I was devastated. When I told my mum my dad was the one who surprised me the most by saying ' You got yourself in a bit of a pickle love '( I'll never forget those words) That just made everythimg worse as it hadn't happened in my head this way.
My boyfriend didn't want me to have the baby either so I was completely & utterly alone AGAIN!! I went to see the gynecologist & I was asked if I wanted to go ahead with the abortion to whicn I said 'No, but I don't have a choice.'
I had to deal with loss again on my own. I was broken & I made a decision with my best friends help to leave my boyfriend who had become clingy & it wasn't what I needed.
I started going clubbing with my best friend & life started to spiral out of control. As I have previously typed I thought men only wanted 1 thing & lets just say, in a way I was extremely lucky not to have caught anything!
At the age of 17 I met the first real love I have ever truly had & felt & I'm the one who messed it up just shy of a year. It's one of my biggest regrets.
I fell into my apprenticeship that I had gained at 16 as a hairdresser & loved it. It helped me come out of my shell & start to be me!
Tragedy almost struck again when I was going to work from my boyfriends parents home in the country to work in the city of Adelaide Australia when I was coming down the notorious then freeways ( which have been changed for the better since my accident ) where I hit an oil slick on a road that had a light sprinkle of rain on it. My car flipped onto the driver's side & slid then doing a complete 360 to end up facing oncoming traffic in peak hour! A hill saved my life. If I had rolled just 2ks prior I would have gone rolling down the mountainside.
I remember trying to start my car & then opening my drivers side door. I put my face in my hands & crouched on the ground when members of the public stopped to help & the first man to stop ( who was as tall as Jared Padalecki) was wearing a blue shirt & I just crumpled into him bawling uncontrollably hurting & going into shock.
The police arrived & took me to the patrol car where I was worried I would be arrested but of course I wasn't I was just so scared. I was lucky...Many are not! I had severe whiplash which has left me with my left shoulder higher than the other which I wouldn't know about until years later at the age of 21 when I was having problems hearing in my left ear. I saw a top Chraniofacial Surgeon who made the discovery & I was also told that my Transmandicular Joint on my left side of my jaw had disintegrated. I could have had an operation to fix it but it would have left a huge scar on my face as a result so I chose not to. I'm now slightly deaf in my left ear.
Alot happened in between the ages of 21 -44 but that's for a book I hope to write & have published in an aim to help others.
I've survived 16yrs of a Domestic Violence Relationship & Abuse in every single way possible.
People are of the misconception that abuse is only physical & mental....It's NOT!!
Abuse can also be: Medical, Financial, Spiritual ( I'm sure I've missed one or two ss)
He was served with a Domestic Violence Restraining Order in October of '09. I started the process in Febuary & he was served on the 21st of October.
( He has NO RIGHTS to my child who was 5yrs old when we managed to escape )
I'm now disabled as a result of a work related accident in '98.
I was raped again in the worst way possible in December of '13 & decided to fight back using the law which was hopeless!
It has impacted on my life so, so much & in so many ways I can't ven begin to describe.
My child & I are alone & it's been that way for 8 long years in '17. I'm depressed, with high anxiety, hyper vigilant, scared but I am also strong & with the strength I have I hope to help others in our wonderful #SPNFAMILY & beyond.
I have Jared Padalecki to thank with my heart for launching the #ALWAYSKEEPFIGHTING campaign as it saved my life when I was going to end it.
Mental health is a battle I face alone every second of every day but #IAMENOUGH!!
I hope to help others & give back & to meet Jared Padalecki in '18 to say 'THANKYOU'
The #SPNFAMILY won't come to ADELAIDE AUSTRALIA as it's not cost effective so if the mountain can't come to Muhammad we'll save like mad ( on a disability pension) to go to the mountain!!
It started when I was about twelve in 6th grade. I don't remember it too clearly, but I'll try. So I met a few guys on a game, and they are super cool and kind. We ended up being best friends, and it was pretty awesome. But one day, some of the close ones got into a fight, and it was pretty bad. Not going into details but it left 3(including me) and 1. We didn't nessesarily like him but it wasn't like we hated him. The three of us got into a call, with me muted because I hated fighting so I started crying. Let's call them Martin and Joey. So Martin was the main one who had fought with that one person. Me and Joey talked it out with him and I really don't know why but I had decided to "lie" (you'll understand why they're in " later) to them about having depression.
That's really when it came over me. I told them stories about thoughts of suicide attempts, that I realized were things that actually happened. I started cutting. I told a few of my friends. I realized that I was pretty sad for a kid when I was younger. I wanted perfection when I was younger and I was incredibly shy. I absolutely hate socializing with people I don't know. The depression and anxiety really just came crashing down when I was 12 because it was the first time I said it out loud.
It's been a few years now and I struggle. It's becoming worse and worse. I honestly don't know what to do. My parents don't know. My sister doesn't know I cut. Suicide attempt after suicide attempt, it never worked and I just woke up sick. The cutting has gotten way worse and I just cry at the most random things. I cry too easily. I'm too scared to do anything and I just want to do nothing but stay in my room. I don't know what to do anymore.
If I end up staying alive, I want to become a therapist or someone that helps people because I don't want them to become like me.
My 16 year old daughter has been battling depression for two years now. She has been hospitalized five times in those two years. Four of those were for a suicide attempt. It all started with her Dad leaving and being bullied in middle school. She is now in recovery , she is 143 days clean of self harm. Through a very intensive therapy program and finally the correct medication combo, she is really looking at life different. I am so proud of how far she has come and how she wakes up everyday ready to do it again. It's not always easy, I know, I deal with depression and anxiety. But you have to keep fighting. It will get better.
This will be a long story so I will make it short...just as famous as once upon a time but unlike the latter the former usually has a bad beginning and ending..my story starts 14 years ago I met the love of my life..I had 3 kids he had 3 it was a match made in heaven or so I thought..as time went by his true nature started to show..a nature he hid from me and his family..as time went by we had 2 children together..so a grand total of 8! We opened a photography studio and we were a hit..but he started wanting to photograph models..and he wanted to do nude photos..I hated every single moment that he left the house to photograph a 20 something while I was getting older and was home with the kids..one thanksgiving my stepdaughter who was 26 at the time told me she noticed unusual behavior with her dad around my daughters..she felt like she had seen him take pics of them swimming and was being a peeping Tom...well needless to say we found photos of my oldest who was now 18 but the photos were when she was 13-18..I called the cops and he was arrested and convicted of 26 days..that's it..5 years after his conviction he became ill and moved to a nursing home..but during those 5 years I tried to divorce him ..he would steal the car show up at my work I lost 2 jobs cuz of him..he called my bosses..he hit me he hired a lawyer to take away our two kids..he manipulated me verbally abused me and our daughters..it was a living nightmare..he was the one who abused my 2 girls from a previous relationship, he was the one who broke the family apart!!! Today I have been divorced from him for 6 months, I have a 3 bedroom home..my older kids are ok..but not me..I was going through his stuff and found a photo of my 21 year old when she was 11..he had saved all the photos and kept them at his home!! I have ptsd and for the first time in my life I thought of killing my self I don't want to live..why didn't I see it? Why didn't I protect them? I am alone with no one to talk to, no one is there to hold me..I feel so horrible and so sick to my stomach..I gave the photos to the cops..and still no justice for my girls none..he deserves prison he deserves hell..yet I feel like I am in prison and I am living in hell..I work non stop barely make ends meet..my younger ones live with me I have 100% physical and legal custody of them..he hasn't seen them in more than 4 months I won't allow it anymore..I don't care he has hurt way too many..the verbal abuse has scared my younger ones so badly that my 11 has to go to a private school because a public one is too much for her to handle..she falls apart..my 14 year old with him has stress seizures..where because of her ptsd she stresses out and it causes her to go into a full on seizure...we make it by living each day..keep us in your thoughts and prayers and thank you for providing a place to vent..