Mom always called me a guinea pig growing up. At first I thought it was a term of endearment, but that was before she told me it was because she could “mess up” with me (by being a parent) and hopefully get the next one right. Being the oldest is difficult. There’s a lot of responsibility and I was always the one to make an example out of. Growing up in my house was hard. It got to the point where I didn’t want to be anywhere near my family and isolated myself to school and home. I was kind of a loner and I remember always being angry because it was easy for people to look over me. I moved far away from my hometown and made a life for myself in my college town. The first time I used the word suicidal was last year. I admitted to a counselor that I had tried multiple times to kill myself, something my parents didn’t even know about. I have come to terms with the fact that I am suicidal, but it’s hard to get my friends and boyfriend to understand. They always tell me to “get over it” and “just be happy, please,” like I was choosing to stay in bed all day and stay away from fun summer activities. I wish I could tell them how much it hurts me when they say that, but they won’t try to understand. That is why I have chosen to sleep in my car than in our joint house. It’s going to be difficult, but my depression has dragged me into this hole that is telling me that there’s something better than where I am… and all I have to do is pull the trigger.