Every morning when I wake up, the first thing that goes through my mind are the faces of my parents when they sat with me in the hospital as I answered the ER doctor's questions about being suicidal. I watched my mom cry as she listened to me tell the doctor, in a numb, monotone voice, about wanting to kill myself every day since the 4th grade.

I watched my dad shift uncomfortably in his chair as he viewed the security guard stand watch outside my hospital room. I remember having never felt more helpless or empty as they asked my parents to leave the room so they could privately ask me questions about being suicidal. I remember shaking as they had me sign over on no longer having the right to leave a psychiatric ward without a doctor's approval. I remember trying not to cry as I said goodbye to my parents, not knowing when I would be allowed to see them again.

I remember being up until 6 am having tests run on me and having the same questions asked over and over until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. I remember being taken into a room with a nurse, who asked me to remove all my clothing so she could check for self-inflicted wounds, I remember her asking me to hand over my jewelry and clothing, and being given a hospital gown and a blanket made of a fabric that I can't even be around today without feeling sick.

I remember sitting in a group therapy sessions with 5 or 6 other girls and boys, all there for being suicidal and abusing drugs. We talked about our favorite shows, our families, our friends, why we felt so alone. I remember the first time my family came to visit me, and the look on their faces when they saw how truly emaciated I was from drug abuse. I remember playing games with them and making jokes, only to go to my room when they left and cry.

I remember calling my best friend during supervised phone time to tell her where I was, how sorry I was for everything I had done and for picking drugs over her; I had never felt so desperate while leaving a voicemail.

I remember sitting in a room with my parents and a substance abuse counselor, admitting to them all the drugs I had been using; all the lies I had told them, all the things I had stolen, I was so scared, but they just told me they loved me. I remember coming home and my little brother not fully understanding what had happened, but telling me he loved me so much. I remember being scared, tired and sick.

Today, I remember how far I've come. How I no longer weigh 120 pounds at 5' 9" when I'm supposed to weigh at least 145. How my personality has come back and how excited I am to spend time with my family. How happy I am to have good friends and healthy relationships.

Depression is not cute, addiction is not funny. It ruins lives, not just your own, but everyone who loves you as well. It steals your innocence for years, even after you stop. I will never forget the faces of everyone I love the night they had to save me from myself. I will never allow myself to be that, and if you find yourself in the same place I was, please get help.

You have people who love you.