I'm so incredibly sorry. I neglected the warning signs and cries for help that my body and mind yearned for me to listen to.

I didn't know how to face my problems so I just ignored them. I didn't want to be the girl with mental health issues, I didn't want to be looked at differently so I just kept all my emotions inside until I had so many breakdowns in one classroom that it became enough.

I finally snapped and almost ended my own life.

My parents didn't know, I didn't want them too. How do you tell the people that gave you life that you tried to end it? How did I put on a smile and walk across a stage and receive my high school diploma the next day?

All these questions still roam around in my head to this day. However, the question that is stuck in my mind, is when did all of this start? I mean, I went to therapy in sixth grade because I couldn't handle the stress of middle school.

No, it began in elementary school with those timed tests because I had so much anxiety that I wouldn't finish that I would just sit there and stare at the paper.

Maybe it finally started when my Grampy passed away my freshman year of high school. I can't truly remember when it started, but I know that I bottled it up for too long.

I'm sorry to myself and the people that I hurt around me. I let so many people drift away from me and it was a good and bad thing at the moment.

I needed a support system, but my mind wasn't ready to confide in someone like that.

College is better, not great, but better. It's all about stepping stones, as soon as I take one step forward, I take five back, but at least I had the courage to take one forward.

I think about it every day. How easy it would be to take those pills, slip underwater in the bath and take one breath in, but truth is, I don't want to die.

When I have my breakdowns, I say I want to or that I'm going to, but I only 50% mean it. There are some days that I 85% or even 99% mean it, but I haven't gotten to that 100% point yet.

It hurts to get out of bed in the morning, it hurts to get dressed, brush my hair and my teeth, hell, even looking in the mirror hurts. The feeling of my feet hitting the floor in the morning puts a burning sensation through my body, but I have to ignore it. I put on that mask, take my meds and head out for the day.

One year ago I didn't think I would be in this position. I didn't think that I would still be here at this point in my life.

Truth is, in high school, every time I said, "I'm going to kill myself," I meant it.

No one noticed, no teacher, no students, it was just 'Sarah being Sarah'. I had a hard-ass personality, I tried to joke around but it hurt too much at times. I would wait to have my breakdowns during passing period or study hall because I knew then that no one would pay attention to me.

I forced smiles in pictures, at home especially so my parents didn't suspect anything. My junior year was one of the hardest times of my life. The game that I originally loved was being tainted by a person that I couldn't stand. The backhanded comments to me, in private and in public were pushing me to an edge that I didn't think I was going to come back from. That was the first real time I admitted out loud that I was going to hurt myself if I didn't quit the game.

Fast forward to now, I still put on that mask, it's part of my daily routine. I sleep more than I should, but it's to save myself the pain of being awake. It physically hurts to do some tasks, but nothing that I'm not used to at this point, I've been doing it all my life. As I continue to go to therapy and stay on my meds as I said, I take steps forward and more backward, but it's the forward steps that matter the most.