me and the events that led me here.

My name is Denise.

I am 17 years old.

I am a junior.

This is my story and the events that led me here.

I was born and raised in Texas. Honestly, I’ve been depressed as far back as I can remember. Sure I laughed and played like anyone else as a child, but there was a darkness I could feel consuming me as I grew up. When I progressed into middle school that’s when I began to let the darkness in. I was bullied.  I met girls who cut. And so I started to cut too. It felt good. I cut when I was angry, stressed, sad. It became an addiction. I knew it wasn’t normal or socially acceptable so I hid it as well as I could. My family is not a bad family. We have financial problems. Nothing we can’t overcome. We fight. Like everyone else.

I didn’t cut regularly. I was scared of dying then. It was just to give me temporary relief. Fast forward a year later, my parent saw my scars and waved them off saying I had no reason to be doing that. That was the end of the discussion. I wish they would’ve comforted me at the least. But they let me be. Letting the darkness and depression pull me deeper into a dark lonely whole.

In the 8th grade, still being bullied, I was fed up. It was afterschool, a boy yelled unforgivable things at me for the last time. I decided I was going to chase him and, excuse my French, kick his fucking ass. But, me being a clumsy dumbass, tripped and fell face first into the empty street. Might seem funny. But not to me. I slid a few inches and might have knocked out for a few seconds. The instant I hit the ground I was afraid to get up. When I did, blood dripped from my upper lip onto the ground. I ended up tearing my the skin above my lip open. No damage to my teeth. A few scrapes and bruises on my legs and arms. I was already fucking self conscious as it was and to add a more visible, permanent imperfection? It ruined me emotionally. I cried non-stop for 2 weeks. I have the dime-sized scar as fresh as ever to this day, 3 years later. It haunts me. It will never allow me to view myself as beautiful or worthy of being loved, because I am ugly. Because I am imperfect. I started cutting again after the incident but not for very long. Nobody understood why I was so depressed. I didn’t even fucking know why I was so depressed. I stopped cutting because I was afraid of the scars. The last few years have been a blur of depression and lonely nights filled with tears.

Freshman year I had a best friend. Long story short, she backstabbed me and ruined my perception of trust. I had trusted her with everything I had. Never will I do that again. The stress of high school and the expectations of being something better and getting into a good college and starting a life on your own and getting a job is started to get to me. Becoming more and more unbearable. On October 21st, 2013, a good friend of mine, an upperclassmen by 2 years, also a very good family friend, died tragically in a car crash. She was troubled. But so very loved. It’s hard for me to write about her because I loved her like a big sister. The woman driving the car called herself her best friend. She was on drugs at the time of the crash. She killed her. And didn’t even turn herself in. She didn’t take responsibility for killing her “best friend”. Instead she let her boyfriend take the blame. And continued to live her life normally. Yesterday she was caught and was charged with intoxicated manslaughter.

The death of my friend was devastating to myself and many others. I’d never lost somebody so close to me, so quickly. I had gotten back from a concert the night before and I remember thinking it was the best day of my life. That I had never had so much fun. The next morning I found out she was in a coma. Everyone told me not to worry so much, and that she was going to be okay. But somewhere deep in my gut I knew something was very wrong. Roughly 4 hours later, I found out she passed away. I was in disbelief. I called my mom and she was crying when she answered. I immediately burst into tears. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it. My sister picked me up and we drove to the hospital where her body was being held. She didn’t look like herself at all. Her piercings taken out, her hair let down, her skin pale and cold. Her jaw was broken in the crash so her face didn’t look like hers. Her family was there. Her close childhood friends where all there. Crying silently and staring at her lifeless body. It’s an image embedded into my mind. One that I will never forget.

The rosary was so packed some people actually had to stand outside. I was so stressed and scared that day. I knew it was the last time I’d ever see her again. It was very hard on me. Her funeral was on my birthday. I watched my beautiful friend get buried six feet under, on my 17th birthday. Since that day, I’ve been in a downward spiral of depression. Not because I’m still grieving, but because her suffering did not end until she died. I feel like there’s no hope for me. 2 days ago, I relapsed. 3 years of being clean, down the drain. I cut about 7 times on my wrists, underneath my old scars. I did not cry. I am tired of crying. I have no more tears left to cry. My depression has gotten this bad. I am stressed out so much by school and grades and trying to find a job. All of it has gotten to me and not I find it extremely difficult to hold myself back from slitting my wrists. And from downing a bottle of painkillers. I hate school. I went to truancy court for missing too much the first semester of junior year, and got probation. I haven’t been to school too much this semester either. I am probably going to fail and go to truancy court again. I may even go to juvenile detention. My grades are shit. I do not want to repeat another year of high school. A place filled with judgmental people. Not excluding the principals and teachers. But I am forced to. See my problem? I am always on the verge on an anxiety attack. I am constantly contemplating suicide. I have never gotten help from anybody. I can hardly sleep anymore. I have even resorted to smoking and drinking away my problems. I want help but I don’t know how to get it. I am not afraid to die. I want to die everyday. But I am not a selfish person. I know my family and friends would be devastated. As my friend’s loved ones were. I would never wish that pain of losing someone. So here I am. At my lowest point. Sitting in my room. Telling whoever will listen. That I want help. I need help. Please help me.