Thirteen

I know I haven't always felt like this, but I don't remember that time. Every day, every week, every month drags on and on. I don't know why I'm still waiting or what I am waiting for. I have changed from the happy girl I used to be and behind my tight smile I feel like I am dying inside. I lost my best friend, pulled out of my school and ruined everything. My therapist prescribed Zoloft to me, and I hate taking it. I want any happiness I have to be real, and not to come from a couple of pills. And it all started because of my 13th birthday...

I was really bummed out about turning 13, because I liked childhood and I was (and am) afraid of the future. My gloom after the big 13 lasted for months before I finally told people I was depressed. First person I told: my parents. They didn't take me seriously at first, so I didn't press the issue. Maybe I was just having a bad couple of months, everything would be fine. I decided to tell my best friend though, just to vent. She didn't even believe me, thought it was a joke. At least I knew, the front I put up was working.

Finally, my parents began paying attention, and got me an appointment with a therapist. You have no idea how much I hated going to that therapist. I won't go into detail of our meetings, only that the last one ended in tears.

Back to other things, I was losing my BFF, struggling with my religion, and drowning in insecurity and self-hate. I didn't think about suicide much though. Suicide. What an ugly word it is.

I finished 7th grade and had a calm, uneventful summer, steadily developing anxieties about 8th grade, which quickly came around the corner. This past year of 8th grade has been miserable for me, to the point where I began homeschooling. I had no real, true friends and for the first time in my life I was failing classes. I didn't care enough to try in school anymore, I don't even care about anything. I was dragging along though, until one day, when an event which I prefer not to write about happened. I went home, and cried into my pillow for what felt like forever.

I have attempted running away, escaping, several times. That's all I want, is to escape, to leave this place. A boy in my town killed himself a few months back. I didn't know him, but I cried so many times for him. After that suicide felt real, and I thought about it a lot. Of how everyone would finally care about me and believe that I was hitting rock bottom. I thought of the note I would write, and of my funeral. I thought of death. Did it hurt? Was it slow? These questions crawled constantly through my mind.

I finally got a new therapist, after having to go to the hospital for my depression+anxiety. She's better than the old one, a little nicer. But I feel like it's too late for my anyway. I say I am feeling better, but I do not feel that at all.
BehindMyHazelEyes BehindMyHazelEyes
13-15, F
May 25, 2012