Days before my 15th birthday, I swallowed a handful of pills, locked my bedroom door and wrote a note.
Today, as I'm writing this, I am days away from my 18 birthday.
I'm here to tell you earnestly, it gets better.
I spent my 15th birthday in a meeting room with my family in a psychiatric hospital. The kind staff made an exception, I was able to eat a cupcake! There were no presents, yet, of course. I could use those to harm myself in some way. It's definitely not how a little girl would imagine her 15h birthday, but yet, it's the most memorable one for me. I was oddly happy to be alive. I saw the smiles of my family's faces on a day that could have been only tears and grief.
Recovery didn't happen overnight. I struggled with severe clinical depression for over a year and a failed suicide attempt didn't magically make me realize the beautiful life I almost left behind. I was still depressed. Months later, sometimes I would still spend days in bed, staring at the ceiling without the energy to get up and take care of myself. Sometimes I would spend hours on the bathroom floor, practically begging myself to get it together. I am not writing these things for anyone to take pity on me. But that was real life for me. And that is real life for thousands of teenagers and young adults.
Suicide is the second leading cause of death for the ages 10-24, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Yet, for some reason, no one wants to talk about it.
In a few short weeks, I will be walking across a stage to receive my high school diploma. I will be graduating with a 4.0 GPA, something I never even imagined within my cloud of depression. I have a job within my major waiting for me as soon as I receive my diploma. I will be attending Auburn University's nursing program with thousands of dollars in scholarship money helping me along the way. These aren't the kind of things you think about when you want to take your life.
Time after time, I belittled myself for attention from some guy, who ultimately made me feel worse in the end. Now, I'm about to celebrate a year and a half with my boyfriend who never fails to show me patience and grace. I love him and his family like they are my own.
Before I was diagnosed with depression, it showed itself in outbursts of anger, especially against my parents. Depression, we quickly learned, isn't just sadness and despair. It takes shape in many forms, from anger to lack of concentration to insomnia, and more. Everyone is different. My lack of coping with how I felt inside resulted in constant arguments and bitterness towards my parents. I told my parents I was counting down the days until I could move out.
My move-in date for college is August 10th and as much as I am looking forward to it, I'll long for the days of being under my parent's roof, being able to crawl in their bed when I'm sad or scared, or having a shoulder to cry on. Besides the fact that they created me, I would not be on this earth without the continuous help and encouragement from my parents.
This is not to brag about my life or show off the things I have going for me. I'm just here to say that it really and truly does get better. You just have to stay alive to see it.
If you are having suicidal thoughts, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. You are so worth it.