Time For Action.

Hello Angels;

So I've decided that i am going to get this blog rolling. I will be contacting the graphic designer so we can get everything finished. It is 2010 and this thing is long over due to be finished.

Sadly, I have not been able to get a hold of Sarah, after many attempts, Im looking for a temp blogger, in her absence. If you are interested email me with a sample blog post at : angels.for.everyone@gmail.com

My Story By: JakeAlan

   Life was great, I can remember I looked forward to going to school, and learning. I remember the times when everything was so...right. Nothing seemed wrong, and you believed everything. You never doubted anything because that little child in you wouldn't let you. When you were sad all your mother would have to do is hug you. Then when you get older things change.

   It was in 6th grade when my life started down the wrong path. The beginning was great I had made it to the 6th grade, and with the eager to learn child in me I was ready for anything, or so I thought. Within a month I knew something bad was going to happen. The days got longer, I cried more and more everyday. I faked sick so I wouldn't have to go. "Granny let me stay home just this one day, I really dont feel good" when I really wanted to say " Please dont send me to school, so I can be punched and called really awful names" but I didn't. I let them continue the taunts and continue and continue...Then one day I saw a needle. Just a needle, but then I picked it up and with a glare of hatred in my eyes I slowly pressed it to my wrist and slid it across, I couldnt feel anything the pain of life had numbed me. I continued using the needle for many months then I pick up a razor, slowly I broke the blades out. I would come home from a awful day, and I would sit in my room and just cry and cut.Then It got worse. Now remember when I said you believed everything, well I believed in God, up until my 6th grade year. 6th grade had took my life, my God, My happiness everything away from me...It even got to the point where I almost gave up and I was laying there with a knife in my hands ready to end it all...

  Obviously something that night changed my mind. I dont know exactly what time it was but I know that if it wouldnt have been for my mom calling me that night I would not be here, my mother called me minutes before I planned to do it. She didnt know anything about what I was thinking. She just told me how much she loved me. With her saying that I just started feeling so selfish, how could I end something that meant so little to me but meant so much more to others. So that night suicide planning was abandoned, now I'm not saying that was the night that I became happy, but it was the night that saved my life. For the next few years i continued to cut. Crying myself to sleep and it wasnt until about September of 07 did I decide to quit cutting, It was more emotionally draining on me than the depression at this point. Its been about a year and a half since the last time I cut, Ive replaced cutting with art, weather it be singing, painting, or writing. All these of these things have helped me, and continue to help. 

  Depression is a growing thing, but it can be overcome. To all my readers of the blog, Please contact me or anyone affliated with Angels for Everyone, if you feel like you cant talk to people.

  Like I said I still struggle with it, but life has got so much better since, you just have to stay strong till you reach the end of that dark road, light will come.

My Story By:Anonymous

My story.
All of my life I was taught to overlook the bad things in life and just move on. My family never spoke about emotional problems, we never dealt with them. When I was in 7th grade my mother’s husband decided he wanted to leave. After 8 years the only man who had played the father figure role in my life packed up his clothes and left. The entire time he was carrying things to his car I watched from the couch. He didn’t bother to say bye. Shortly after, my step-mother who has battled with diabetes since birth, died from kidney failure. The last time I visited her in the hospital she hugged me and told me to take care of my little sister.
That summer I moved in with my father because I wanted to be there for my 8 year-old sister. I fell into such a deep depression I can’t remember most of that year. I know I lost 30 lbs in about a month. I would come home from school, and help my sister with her homework as my dad left to go to the bar. I’d fix her dinner, make sure she showered and was in bed by a decent time, and then I’d clean the house. This was actually the happier times I lived there. It didn’t get bad until my father began to bring women home. I would walk in from school and find women sitting on the couch who looked somewhat surprised to see me. They stopped coming around when they realized my dad had kids, which he made sure to tell me that was the only flaw in their relationship. Then he started bringing older women home, and told my sister that he was going to find her a new mom. He threw out all of my stepmother’s pictures, clothes, and personal things and pretended she never existed. He would leave us at strange women’s houses and we would spend the night with them. He made us pretend to be a family.
He eventually moved one of the women into our home. Everything changed after that. There was a strict list of rules I had to follow all of a sudden. He expected me to change everything because he wanted this woman to stay with him. When they would argue, he would tell my sister and I it was our fault.
I began to come home from school and go to bed, which my father found completely unacceptable. He would yell and threaten me by saying if I didn’t contribute to the family I couldn’t live there. So I would clean, sit silent at the table, do the dishes and go to sleep. On the weekends I would sleep until he forced me to get up.
Eventually they decided to take me to a therapist to see why I was so defiant, which my father made perfectly clear that it was a complete nuisance that he would have to take me to a doctor. The entire time I didn’t speak to the therapist. I listened while my dad fed her stories about how I steal money and take his car. He told her about how I was either depressed or angry for no apparent reason. The only question the doctor asked me was how I would kill myself. I had given up trying to rationalize any of it by that point, so I laughed and told her I’d slit my wrists. I was put on an anti-depressant which pretty much just got me high. I was ridiculously hyper and unlike myself until it wore off, then I’d cry myself to sleep and feel more depressed than I did in the first place.
Once the summer came they decided that I couldn’t stay at the house by myself. At 14 I didn’t want to be babysat, so I decided I wanted to move back home with my mom. As my father drove me home he spent the entire 2 hours telling me about how I’ve ruined his life. I didn’t talk to him for a year after that.
I can’t remember how it started, but I began cutting. It wasn’t anything much, just tiny cuts on my forearm. This went on the same way for about 5 years. I never thought much of it. People saw the marks but they never said anything to me. Of course there was the occasional ‘emo kid’ remark, but no one addressed me about it. Last spring I had an accident. I was upset and was trying to get rid of the emotions without crying about it, so I took out a new razor and I went too deep. My arm split open and all I could see was yellow tissue, then the blood started to seep out. I grabbed a washcloth and wrapped it around my arm, thinking that would somehow stop it. My mom and her boyfriend drove me to the hospital and I had to get 10 stitches in my arm. That night in the E.R. was the lowest point of my life. My mom was holding my hand, crying and telling me she loved me. Across the room there was an old man who didn’t know where he was begging people to help him. A bald woman with cancer was carried to a bed as she vomited. And there I was, lying on a bed with a self-inflicted wound. I felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world. I haven’t even thought about cutting since then.
I still suffer from depression. I still have the thoughts, but I deal with them in other ways. I write and I try to talk about it. I still have a lot of difficulty dealing with it, but I’m making progress. I’ve never had much experience with talking about emotional problems, but I’m finding out that it really does make me feel better. It’s embarrassing to feel so weak and vulnerable, but dealing with it makes me stronger. That night in the E.R., I found out that I have hypothyroidism which can apparently attribute to depression. So I’ve been taking medication for that and this fall I’m going to start seeing a new therapist. It’s a very slow process, but this is what I have to do.
I want to share my story because I know how it feels to think you are completely alone. I know how it is when you feel completely helpless and like it doesn’t even matter. I want people to understand that they are not alone and that there is always hope.

Welcome

On April 29 Sarah Persinger and Jake Alan decided to set up a site so that people that struggle with depression and/or self mutilation can come to for support.Both of them know a lot of people keep their problems to themselves because they don’t feel that have anyone to talk to or because they don’t feel that their problems are important. Angels for Everyone is here to share their stories stories and to listen to your guy's. If you are feeling overwhelmed by a situation in your life please do not hesitate to talk to Them. You are never alone.

The owners of Angels for Everyone are not trained professionals, just people that have been there and have come back.