My head has been pounding for years over the thought of leaving this world forever.


It all started when I was younger, when I first realized I was very different from all the kids around me. There was something they had that I didn’t: a care-free attitude. While everyone would run around the playground during lunch, laughing and smiling, I was often faking it and was well aware of this. I knew that every laugh and every smile of mine was a show, and I found out at the age of eleven that my head was broken. Unlike my class-mates, I had cuts on my wrists and thighs and stomach. Cuts that I wouldn’t dare let anyone see because I had put them there myself. But, one day someone noticed and devoted their life to trying to fix me. Her name is Jessica D, and she has been my closest friend since 6th grade. She told me it was my job to never disappoint her, because she knew the fear of disappointing her would stop me from cutting. She was completely right for a week, until I gave up because I felt as though I was letting everyone else down but her.


My family didn’t need me, I abandoned all of my friends, home was always the last place I wanted to be, and I knew I was falling apart. The pain was getting worse, the cuts were getting deeper, and the desire to forever leave was growing in my head. It was close to Christmas when I first tried to take my life. It was the first of four attempts, and with each try, I knew I was closer to taking the right amount of pills and the right mixture of prescriptions. But, even after seventy-two pills on my last try, a mixture of anti-depressants, smoking pills, and whatever else I could find, I still woke up the following morning - sick as a dog and stumbling into the bathroom where I stayed throwing-up for over four straight hours.


Although a failure, my last attempt opened my eyes. It made me feel as though I was here for a reason - even though I had no idea what it could possibly be. But as the weeks went on, more and more strangers started coming to me with their problems. Random classmates would come up to me at lunch, completely unaware of anything besides my name, and ask for my advice while venting to me about every dilemma they had ever faced. It was then, in 8th grade, that I saw I could possibly have potential to be a decent human-being, opposed to the robot I had previously classified myself as. It was in 8th grade that my circle of friends actually formed and when I started finding things that made me truly happy. I started to enjoy playing softball again, for the first time since I was six, because my head was clearing out. But, I knew it was still broken because the cuts were still haunting me for blood.


This battle of staying alive has been a constant one, starting at age seven and continuing on throughout the next ten years. One that I have been fighting on my own and one that not many people know the history of. It’s an everyday struggle, as well as an everyday show. There are countless times where I want to give up, but thanks to the people I tend to meet at my darkest times, I try to hang on for another day. None of these people, aside from Jessie, know how much they have done for me so I felt it was only right to tell the story, as general as possible. Thank you to everyone who has come to me, confided in me, and asked the world of me - although you all apologize for asking for help, thank you, thank you, thank you.