Numerous teachers told me I wasn’t smart enough to achieve success in life and shouldn’t even bother trying to get into college.
In my senior year, on the last day of high school, a chemistry teacher pulled me out of class, got on his knees, and literally begged me to forgive him for all of the awful things he’d said to me when school was in session.
My family never spoke outwardly about my illness, because they didn’t want others to treat me differently. Unfortunately, I didn’t understand why there was secrecy around my illness and this made me feel ashamed and isolated for not being “normal,” like my peers.
When it came time to find a boyfriend, I often entered relationships with guys who mirrored the contempt I had for myself. One beat me up so badly that my mom called the police to arrest him.
There have been plenty of times when I’ve wanted to end my own life. I’d fight exhaustive battles with obsessive, self-sabotaging thoughts. In my late teens, the only tool I had to stop my excessive self-hate was binge drinking.
My rock-bottom came at the age of 29, when I got a divorce and realized that I had no idea who I was or what my purpose in life was.