I stared up at the square panel celling while my therapist repeatly asked questions about things I rather chose to ignore. The room was painted a light beige and there was a single window with short white curtains in the center of one of the walls. The therapist had me lying in a cliche black leather loveseat while she sat taking notes on her back notepad on the couch across from me. My fingers were locked into the holes in the leather seat, everything was cheap about this therapy, since it was the only thing my parents could afford. She tried and tried to get any words out of me, but the darkness of what happened still clouded my thoughts.

"Ellie, this abnormal behavior is normal for teens who have lived through a sucidal attempt", the young woman that I was forced to see said.

My body stiffened, how can any of these feelings be normal? I was not even supposed to be alive let alone be talking to someone about my vulnerable state. Ever since I "survived" no one looked at me the same, they looked at me with pity, as if I was a child that can be broken with any simple word. I always found it quite ironic how every teenager claimed to not care about other's opinions, yet we all crave the satisfaction of being accepted. That dangerous craving can turn an innocent child insane, at least that is what my therapist says.

"Can you tell me how you felt before your suicidal attempt?" The therapist asked.

How I felt? I remember that feeling all too well. The feeling of being alone in pure darkness and the never ending feeling of never being good enough. I constantly would drown the feeling in drugs, to the point where I was numb to all emotions. I remembered all the emotions the day of my planned suicide. That dark night I stood in my bathroom, my parents pounding on my bedroom's door begging me to let them in. The blood ran down my wrists as I felt the life slowly drain out of me. Everything became a blurry picture as I sat in the corner of my bathroom. All I heard was a siren before I blacked out and I awoke in the hospital the next morning.

"I just felt depressed." I quietly responded.

The only reason I went to therapy was to make my parents feel like this wasn't all their fault. I've heard my mother sob every day since the incident and my father can't even look at me. My parents picked me up after therapy and no words were spoken in the car on our way home. We passed the hospital where I was a patient not so long ago. The memories of the day at the hospital flashed in my mind. That morning when I woke up in the hospital and realized I wasn't dead will be a moment I will never forget. I looked down at my wrists and noticed the cuts partially faded, but like a scar it will always be there, reminding me. I could feel the tension in my parents as we passed the hospital, it was like we all forgot to breathe at the moment. All of the moments we have spent together lately have been like that. They haven't even spoke of the divorce, one of many reasons I decided to take my own life.

We soon arrived at our home, or at least our home at the moment. There was a red sign that read "FORECLOSURE - HOME FOR SALE", the bank was nice enough to give us another week to leave knowing our situation. My hospital and therapy bills were too much for my parents to handle and it was still oblivious to them. "We will be ok" they would say. I walked upstairs continuing to pack my things. Most teens would be getting ready for school tomorrow but I finished high school online after everyoe found out about my incident.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and saw the room I spent so much time in get teared down all because I failed to take away my life. I walked over to the only thing not in a packed box, my piano. I poured every last emotion I had into the piano, letting my fingers know what note to hold before my brain did. When I finished I stood in amazement, it was as ever pain I ever felt showed in the song. I was interrupted by clappng, I turned around to find my parents recording my small performance and for once in a long time, smiling.

"You are amazing Elizabeth." My father said.

I could feel a smile creep on to my face and it felt so extraordinary. I wish I could keep this one single happy moment forever and replace it with all the bad ones. The week that we had left for packing went by quick and soon it was time for us to go. I helped my parents put all our packed belongings onto the back of the car, watching the house become vacant. My parents oddly had a smile on their face throughout the whole process. When we finished my parents handed me a white sheet with the words "JULLIARD" written on top with bold letters. I looked up to my parents and they shook their heads as if telling me to keep reading. "Congratulations it gives me tremendous pleasure to inform you that the Julliard committee have granted you admission to our music program." I was shocked, this couldn't be. I held my parents in a tight grip before even knowing it. I was on my way to New York City where I would live my dream. Tears filled my eyes, I have found the true meaning of my life. For once since my accident, I was glad my life didn't end on that tragic day.