My Story

February 1st, 2010by WantingToShare

I am 16 years old, and alive. I came close to ending my own life a year ago. Practically out of nowhere, I went through a severe depression, and felt hopeless, worthless, and apatetic about my own existence. There were days where I couldn’t even make myself get out of bed. I would cry myself to sleep, and whenever I did wake up, I would go right back to sleep so I didn’t have to feel the pain. I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone about what I was going through because I was embarassed, felt crazy, and still believed that I wanted to end my life, which wouldn’t be possible if anyone discovered my intentions. I planned to overdose in one of my school’s rarely used bathrooms, where no one would be able to find me in time to keep me alive. I had the pills in my backpack, and came extremely close to carrying through with it. But despite the pain that overwhelmed me, and how much of a struggle the simple act of waking up was for me, I didn’t do it. I silently endured the depression and its repercussions, which were visible in my drastically dropping school grades and overall apathy about life. My parents became aware of my depression, but I never let them suspect that it had gone as far as me almost killing myself, because I didn’t want anyone to know that. I had convinced myself that being suicidal was my personal problem, and that I had to get through it on my own. I told myself that everyone felt this way, and that wanting to kill myself was normal. I lied to myself. A part of me knew that I had to get help. The suicidal thoughts faded, but didn’t leave me alone. Sometimes they would come back stronger than they were before, and almost push me over the edge. So one day, at a sleepover with my friends, it came out. We were drunk, and everyone was sharing truths about themselves. I said, “I want to kill myself”. My friends had heard me say this many times before, because one of my sick ways of dealing with my pain was making jokes about killing myself. This time was different though. They stared at me, and I knew they could tell I meant it. There was no way for me to play this off as a joke, and I regretted saying it in the first place. My eyes filled up with tears and several people left the room. My recollection of the rest of the night gets blurry from here on out, but I told the few friends that stayed with me everything. I sobbed and my body shook as I said the things I had never told anyone before, but after it was done it felt good to have let it out. At the same time, I regretted putting the weight of my problem on their shoulders, and to this day, wish I had not done it when I was completely wasted. I thought that my friends’ reassurance and understanding looks were all the help I was going to get from what I said that night, but I was wrong. One of my friends told my dad, essentially bringing my worst nightmare to life. My dad tried to talk to me about it but eventually made me go see a therapist. The interesting thing is that I have never told my therapist that I was/am suicidal. I acknowledge the fact that my friend was trying to help me, but I don’t want to deal with anyone else finding out about my dark thoughts. In the end, I am helping myself, just as I was before this entire ordeal. The suicidal thoughts still come back every once in a while, but I am teaching myself to be strong enough to combat them. Today was a hard day for me. But I am still alive. And I promise to myself that I will never take my own life, no matter how much I want to. And neither should you.

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