My story

My Junior year of high school, i used to perform self harm to myself. I had a lot of boyfriend trouble and my friends had completely stabbed me in the back and I just couldn’t take the humiliation anymore. Cutting became an overwhelming addiction and I couldn’t stop. Eventually my parents caught on to my behavior and one day my father came to me and asked if i wanted to wake up tomorrow and i said no. I was taken to the hospital so that i could immediately talk to psychiatrists about how i was feeling. I figured when i was done I would just be able to go home, but instead i was institutionalized in a medical psychiatric ward for three days. Each day we talked about our depression, thoughts of suicide, etc. and how to get better and realize the world isn’t all that bad. I was beyond furious that I was put there. I had no choice, my parents would not let me go home. Everything was “suicide proof” and even my showers were timed and monitored. There were bars on the windows, no doors to our rooms for privacy, and I wasn’t even allowed to wear my shoes because they had laces. When my parents brought me clothes for the next three days, my bags were searched thoroughly. I felt like I was in prison. In the morning, we were separated, boys and girls, at tables. We were given a strict menu to choose from, then continued with our studies and finally a suicide prevention class. By day three I was beyond ready to go home so I put my best foot forward and passed my final examination so I was clear to go. By the time I got back to school, everyone had known where I was. That just made things worse since I felt like everyone would think I was a crazy freak. I was assigned a psychiatrist to see monthly and a counselor to see weekly. I hated talking to counselors because I feel like they dont really care, they are just there to ask the same open ended questions every time, and evaluate your progress. Over the next month, things got worse between me and my boyfriend and my relationship with my friends. The day of my first psychiatric meeting, I decided to take an over excessive amount of pills before going to the meeting, followed by school. I felt nothing by my fifth period class so I went to the nurse and took two more pills. That did it for me. By the end of the school day, I was beyond lethargic, felt sicker than ever, and couldn’t even walk. My dad came and got me from school and rushed me to the hospital. My heart rate was 140 beats per minute and my blood pressure skyrocketed. I was laying on my death bed. Doctors came and went and I can hardly remember more than asking my doctor if I was going to be okay, before passing out. When i woke up, I was hooked to IVs in both arms, and had heart monitors all on my chest. I still felt completely sick but the IV of water rushing through my veins to clean out my system was starting to help. Early that morning, my intentions were to die. I didn’t want to be here anymore, I have been diagnosed with depression since I was five, grew up having a ton of mental and emotional problems as well as family issues, and I couldnt take it anymore. But laying there, death near my side, was a wake up call. Since then, I have been religiously taking 200 mg of an antidepressant, as well as sleeping pills to help ease my restlessness at night from all the trauma I’ve been through. I have learned to cope with my depression, surround myself with great friends, stay involved, and keep positive motivations in my life. I have realized that nothing is worth losing my life over. No boy, no friend, no problem I’ve ever faced, is worth the pain I would cause my loved ones. Since then, I take suicide very seriously. I help my friends get through tough times because I never want to see them end up where I did. I am always willing to listen because I wish someone important to me had been there to talk to and listen to me. These are the toughest years of our lives, but if you give life a chance, it will get better.