Four years ago, I was ready to kill myself. Fifth grade was finishing up, and I was wracked with anxiety and plagued with grief for my friend that had been slaughtered in his home. My immaturity and fears stopped me.
Three years ago, I was ready to kill myself. I was drinking, cutting myself again for the first time in years, lying in bed all the day and severely depressed. The sexual abuse I had suffered from between my preschool year to fourth grade year had started again, and stopped for good after had I told. I was ready. I truly was. My Chemical Romance, a band I used to hate, stopped me just as I was about to finish myself. I thought that would be the end of it - I truly did.
Two years ago, I did not want to kill myself; but I was depressed and acting out. I was failing school. The school referred me to a psychiatrist. I refused to tell him anything.
A year ago, I was severely alternating between depression and mixed states. I was hearing voices, delusional and paranoid. I was cutting myself. I had a plan. My psychiatrist and the hospital saved me. They would do so again in a few months.
I’m suicidal again. I’m afraid to tell him/my psychiatrist. I have to, though. I have to believe it will get better. Again.
-Anonymous
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