I’m the last person anyone would think to be like this. People think I’m everyone’s weird, wild, funny friend…and that’s what hurts the most. And it’s so hard to tell someone you’re depressed. I told some of my friends and they thought I was crazy or stupid. I remember getting really, really hurt by what someone said to me… Try being depressed when you start at the age of eleven.
There used to be a feeling that I could not describe, but it happened to me daily. It wasn’t normal, I knew that. I don’t know, it felt like someone was sitting on my chest. And everytime I breathed out everything hurt more.
At school, some people would wonder why I rushed to the bathroom to (almost) throw up. It was hard to find someone to relate to. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to live either.
So my whole life I’ve just been making up stories. The main point of them was ‘What if…?’ Stories that could make me forget about my surroundings as I made it up. I always tried to write them down, but the words didn’t seem to capture what I felt.
Suicide seemed distant in my mind. On my first attempt, I truly didn’t know I was killing myself. My second time wasn’t even anything, just something to remind me that I was alive. Currently, I’m afraid of what will happen next. I want to ask for help. What will they say?
“Hey… just letting you know… I think I’m depressed.”
“That just means your selfish.”
And that’s pretty much how the conversation goes in my mind.
I just want to get better. That’s all. I’m starting to stop eating. Stop smiling. Stop sleeping. It won’t be long until someone can’t find out if I’m dead or not.