Here's a little story about the truth beneath my smiles.

You see the girl I want you to see. What you don't know is the years I was in pain, the years I felt hopeless. Through all of this, I was in therapy. What I am about to share can be tough to read, so stop reading now if you don't want to hear it.

November 26, 2011:

At this point in my life, I had been depressed for over a year. I felt trapped in my mind. I hated every inch of myself. I felt like people had it worse than me so there was no reason for me to feel this way. I didn't feel like there was a way out. On this particular night, all of my aunts and uncles went out. My grandparents watched me and my cousins, three of whom were my age. As everyone was getting ready for bed, I picked up my mom's bag of Advil and told two of them, "Tonight's the night."

I was going to wait until everyone was asleep before I'd swallow all the Advil, never to wake up again. Little did I know, the two cousins I had just told, alerted the one my age who lives down the road.

The next thing I knew, my grandma wanted to talk to me. I was scared s***less. None of my cousins wanted to come with me. I begged and pleaded until finally one came with me to talk to my grandma.

The next day driving home, my parents wanted to talk and of course I didn't. The other three cousins my age also were forced into talking about what they knew. I felt betrayed. I was adamant I would never tell them anything again.

This was just the beginning.

March 6, 2015:

The week before my service trip to the Dominican Republic over February break, I told two of my best friends that I had written a suicide letter. I promised them I wouldn't do anything before the trip, but after that, there were no guarantees.

I came back and knew, June was it. After junior year was over, I'd be gone. I gave up. I was just done. This particular night, the three of us had been talking about my plan. I can still remember everything about the next few moments vividly.

I went into my mom's room to say goodnight. As I did, the phone rang and I saw my best friend's mom's name on the phone. I ran into my room, turned off my lights, turned on the flashlight on my phone and was steps from my bed, when the door opened.

My mom knew. I could see it on her face. She wanted me to go to the hospital. I refused, using my math test the next day as an excuse as to why I couldn't. She refused to leave me alone even when my dad came up to see what was going on.

I texted my best friends, hating them for telling my mom. My dad didn't want them to come over, but they came anyway, spending the next hour trying to convince me to go to the hospital. Before I left, I gave my dad a hug, told him it was going to be okay, gave him a note I had written for my sister and walked away with tears in my eyes. I saw him cry and it killed me.

I piled into a car with my mom, my two best friends and their moms somewhere around 1 A.M. My best friends and their moms stayed until early afternoon that Friday. Anyone who has been in my room would see the caption hospital squad on some of my pictures. We named ourselves that, taking pictures all day long to document the experience.

I was admitted to Boston Children's Hospital and started on medication. During my residence in Bader 5 (the psych ward), my parents heard everything. The suicidal thoughts, the cutting, the plan, everything.

I cried when I had to say goodbye. For the first time, I would be waking up in a place where I knew no one. I stayed in the hospital for a week and a half. My parents and friends visited me everyday.

On my sister's birthday, they let me eat dinner with her in the lobby of BCH. I had never not been there on my sister's birthday. I was devastated that I couldn't text her or give her a birthday hug when she woke up. Instead of going to P.F. Changs like she wanted, we had Bertucci's takeout in the lobby.

September 4, 2015:

At this point, I didn't feel like the medication and therapy were helping. My psychiatrist suggested a Dialectical Behavioral Therapy program through McLean Hospital.

There was no way in hell that I was going. It was my senior year. I wasn't about to do an hour of individual therapy, an hour of family therapy and two hours of learning skills every week for twenty weeks. Hell no.

Little did I know, my mom already planned a meeting with them. That Friday, my mom brought me with my sister and neighbor. I refused to talk and made my mom answer all the questions about my personal history. I had four intake appointments, if you'd call them that, and I was a b**** to the lady who would later become my therapist. I spent my senior year in that program, despite my protests.

To my three cousins: Thank you for saving my life that night. I know I became distant and resented you all. I'm so sorry for that. Know that I love you with all my heart and I am so unbelievably thankful for all three of you.

To my best friends: Thank you for saving my life. I know I resented you for a long time, and I'm so sorry for that. I honestly wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for you guys. Words can't describe how thankful I am for you both. I love you always.

I didn't plan on being here today, but I am so thankful I am. If you know anyone suffering from depression, please please say something. They might hate you, but please do it anyway.