Tw: self-harm, suicidal thoughts

I am twenty-one years old woman and have been struggling with depression and social anxiety since I was about 14. Growing up, I cut myself with dull scissors, just enough to hurt but not to cut. One day, I cut too deep and left cuts. That day, my mother grabbed my hand and said, "stop pretending, people in the world have real problems." From that moment on, I stopped confiding in her and closed myself off from the world and others. When I turned eighteen, I started drinking vodka before bed so I could fall asleep, or I would stay up for 3/4 nights just to get one night of sleep. Nobody knew, nobody cared.

I couldn't sleep, I couldn't leave the four walls of my room, I slept for weeks or not even once for several days. My mother thought I was just lazy, my sisters bullied me. My younger sister always said, 'Stop pretending you're depressed. You're always talking about killing yourself or getting yourself hurt. But you're still here" My mother told me not to upset her with my words about suicide, otherwise I would make her have an epileptic seizure.

I was bullied at school from the time I was about 8 years old. I've always been chubby, so I've been bullied because of it. I've been ridiculed, insulted, and humiliated. No one will ever stand up for me. I locked myself in books, which over time became my only escape. I stopped feeling anything. I started smoking. One day I took more than three times the dose of sedatives.

My mother only just woke up to the fact that I was having panic attacks and breakdowns at school. I would start crying or hyperventilating in the middle of class. Only then did she refer me to a therapist who said I needed psychiatric help.

During our first meetings I didn't say anything at all, which made me feel even more guilty that my family was wasting money on me. When I first started talking to my psychiatrist about the fact that I was hurting myself, that I was drinking to calm myself down and to stop 'seeing, hearing and feeling a presence behind me', my mother was terrified. I openly said that I didn't care whether I lived or died. I said I'm only alive because I'm a coward who can't kill herself. I was hoping to join my father and uncle (my father died in a work accident when I was a few months old, my uncle committed suicide after two previous unsuccessful attempts). I was hoping something would happen to me.

When I started taking medication everything improved, but over time I went back to hurting myself. Now I live with my boyfriend in a different country than my family. I still hurt myself. Most often I pour candle wax on myself because I know the blade will leave wounds that my boyfriend will notice and I'm afraid of what I might hear then.

I feel like I'm going back to frequent nervous breakdowns, anxiety attacks and total depression.

Sometimes I just want to take all the medication I have at once and wash it down with a whole bottle of alcohol.

I just need to vent. I want someone to understand me and not tell me that 'people have more important problems than yours' and for me to stop feeling sorry for myself.