Amanda Cleveland
Bio
Just a 22 year old girl dealing with a 5 year battle with depression, and the biggest test of strength the last year than ever imaginable.
Stories (3/0)
What Is Depression?
What is depression? You’re really low for a long time, maybe talk to a counselor a couple of times, get some medication, and then you feel okay again. Medication is a joke. I don’t need medicine to feel better, I need happiness. It’s that simple, right? It’s comical that after multiple suicide attempts and hospitalizations I still believe this is true. If I’m happy my depression can’t touch me.
By Amanda Cleveland5 years ago in Psyche
Here's to You, 2017
New year, new me, right? That’s the most cliché statement in the world, but I can tell you, this year has taught me so much about love, life, heartbreak, and strength. Ironically, January 1 is the start of a new year, and also marks five months since the worst day of my life. Those five months were also the most significant months of my entire life. I’ve learned that if I made it out of August alive, I could basically make it out of anything. My story doesn’t end at me being shot, losing the love of my life and having to move home. My recovery wasn’t an easy one. I couldn’t drive, I was in immense pain every day, and even taking a shower or getting dressed was traumatic because of how hard it was. It just ended up being a constant reminder that my life turned completely awful faster than a speeding bullet. Literally. I cried just about all day, everyday for weeks. I would text him at least a couple times a day when everything in my mind was too much for me to deal with. I needed to know how he could just stop caring after loving me so much. I needed to know how he was okay, because I wanted so bad to be. After a couple weeks of this I told him that I was bringing our dog down and coming to see him, knowing I wouldn’t, but desperately hoping for a response. He texted my mom to let her know I had said that, in hopes she wouldn’t allow it to happen. About three hours later I texted him again, as I lied in bed with all the medicine I had left the hospital with. I asked him to please take care of our dog when I was gone, because he was the greatest blessing in the world, and he deserved to grow up with one of his parents. This time he didn’t text my mom a warning. I took about 25 opioid pain killers, 800 mg of seroquil, and an entire bottle of Prozac. About 20 minutes later it turned scary. My vision was blurred; the world was spinning. My heart started beating so fast, and so hard that all I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears. I remember trying to sit up and holding my heart, terrified that I was going to die from it exploding, and wondering if that would be a painful way to go. After a few minutes I lied down and closed my eyes, hoping to just fall asleep. I vaguely remember hearing my brother screaming. I remember hearing the EMTs. I remember randomly hearing nurses ask me questions that I thought I was responding to, but it was like my whole body was paralyzed besides my ears. I remember that I was forced to drink liquid charcoal, and then I remember waking up in the ICU. When I woke up, it was 14 hours and three rounds of narcan later. When I found out how close I was to succeeding I wasn’t relieved I hadn’t, but cried because I wished so much that it would have worked. After a few days in the hospital that changed. I was grateful for the people I met, and grateful I was living. I’d be lying if I said that there hasn’t been many times since that I’ve lied in bed wishing I had been successful, or thinking about suicide. But I realize how far I’ve come, and it’s only going to get better from here. I learned how little my life meant to the man I loved, but how much it meant to all those around me, even people I barely knew. I learned that I can feel happiness again, even if it’s not the same way I felt it before. And even more importantly, I learned it’s okay to not be okay, and that so many other people are capable of understanding how you feel, even if it’s not those closest to you. So, 2017, thank you. Thank you for kicking my ass, making me hit rock bottom, and slowly starting to build me back up. You’ve given me wisdom, strength and most importantly, determination. This year is about me, and being better than I ever was before, and building a life for myself, not someone else.
By Amanda Cleveland6 years ago in Psyche
Breakup With a Bang
On August 1st 2017 my life changed forever. It’s a date that will never leave my head. I was living out my dream. Woke up every morning next to the love of my life, spent the day with our puppy, cooked him dinner every night that we sat at the table to eat, and snuggling before bed. I was nine hours away from my family and friends, but I had everything I needed. Until August 1st. Two days prior we were hanging out on the beach with a bunch of his friends. He sat next to me and told me he couldn’t love me anymore than he already did, why he loved me so much, and that he would never be okay if he were to lose me. Fast forward to a little while later. I went into the freezing cold ocean, got out and hugged him. He was so mad, but it was in a playful way. At first. Right after that I laid on his friend who was laying face down. At that moment I became a whore, and he wouldn’t talk to me or touch me. Three miles from home I had tears rolling down my face as he got nastier and nastier. I stopped the truck in the middle of the road and got out. No shoes, no phone and no clothes. He got into the drivers seat and drove home. When I was about halfway home a stranger let me use their phone. One of his friends came and got me, and brought me home. The next day he had duty, and I received a text saying he wanted me to pack my things and move back home. I couldn’t wrap my head around how my fairytale turned into a nightmare. I went to the store and bought sleeping pills, and ended up taking the entire box that night, waking up every hour or so and taking more. August 1st. I woke up for good around 5am. As soon as I opened my eyes I was looking at the 45 on the bedside table. I picked it up and held it up to my head, with tears streaming down my face, barely able to breathe. The metal felt cold against my temple. I tried to pull the trigger, but I couldn’t. I went to the kitchen and grabbed my bottle of sangria, brought it back to my room and drank the whole thing. Then I drank a bottle of wine. At 830 AM I left the house to go to the gas station for another bottle of wine. At this point his friend that I talked to every day knew I wasn’t doing well emotionally, and came to the house. He sat on the ground next to me while I drank my wine out of the bottle and cried. He asked me for the gun, but I couldn’t give it to him. I told him if I was going to pull the trigger, I would have by now. Every time I put the gun to my head I would cry even harder, thinking about how it was our dog, Bubba’s, first birthday, and how he didn’t deserve that. Almost immediately after his friend left, I started getting calls from the man I loved. I ignored them all and he texted me freaking out, telling me not to touch the guns, and that he was on the way. I don’t remember much more after this, because I had drank so much. I remember him showing up, walking into our room, and trying to forcefully grab the gun out of my hand. I remember the sound it made as it went off. I remember the fear that overcame my body, and when I turned my head to see the damage, I looked right through my hand, that was missing a chunk. I remember him screaming for his friend to call 911. I remember him grabbing a towel, wrapping my hand tightly, and holding it above my head while I just screamed. I remember begging him to come with me to the hospital and the fact that he didn’t. I remember laying in bed with more morphine than you can imagine being pumped into my body with a hole in my hand, a broken heart, and the regret of not pulling the trigger earlier. While I was in the hospital he packed all of my things, and my best friend, mother and aunt went and got it all, as well as picking up Bubba. After surgery I came right back home to Rhode Island, and haven’t heard from him since. He may have “saved my life” but in reality, he took it.
By Amanda Cleveland6 years ago in Humans
