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With a flash of my mom’s face, I released the belt that I held trying to cut off my air flow. The belt fell swiftly down beside my bent leg. I starred in the full length mirror, at my blood-shot eyes, red face, and the new, red belt line forming around my neck.
My lungs slowly brought air back into my body; my chest rose and fell in the rhythm of a sleeping child. Swinging my head, I looked down at my weapon of self destruction. The belt laid lifeless, and crumpled. I quickly threw it back into a pile of clothes and crawled into my closet.
Once I reached my ledge, I propped myself up on my knee, and grabbed the strategically placed math compass. I place the metal end at the start of my left wrist. Applying slight pressure, I slid the compass across my wrist. I watched as a line of scarlet formed, it never dripped over or ran down my arm. After a few memorized seconds, I slid the compass again and again across my wrist.
You would think pain would follow each cut, but all I felt was relief. Granted it was short relief from the pain I felt in my life. Slowly, wiping away the blood, I pulled down my dark-colored sleeve, hiding my self-inflicted injuries.
Standing up, a sudden feeling swept through my body, a feeling of pure sadness. I slowly walked out of my closet and crawled into my bed. With my body shaking and teeth clattering, I felt like it was the middle of December, instead of the end of September. Like most days before and after this memorable attempt, I cried until I fell asleep.
At that point, I did not know what was wrong. I felt so sad and alone all the time. It did not matter is 20 people stood around, I still felt like I was standing alone. Nothing I did made me smile, I gave up on everything: friends, grades even family. The only thing I wanted to do was die, just to end my pain.
One day, in English Class, a lady was talking about depression. I was sitting in the back and barely listening. Like I said, I just did not care, that was until she started talking about symptoms. Slowly, I began to actually listen to her. With my ears open and eyes glued on her. I realized I fit almost every symptom she named. However, I did not act on my discovery; I just tried to overdose on aspirin that night.
My life was too far gone; everyday was a struggle for me. Every night was filled with tears. No one noticed or care, well, in my mind they did not. It was not until later that I learned they did, but did not know what to do. It took two people outside of my group of friends, and family to act on their feelings.
I tried so hard to not try at all. I cared for no one and nothing at all. I was especially mean to one teacher. I even told him I hated him, and was never going to do his dumb homework. You would think he would just not care, like everyone else. Instead, he never gave up on me.
I remember one day, I was at the end of my rope. I had decided I was going to hang myself; it was also the day of a big social studies essay test, which of course I failed. The teacher called me up to his desk; I was prepared to be lectured about my poor work. To my surprise, he said, “I know you can do better than this, you’re better than a F.” Just hearing that made me not kill myself that night.
However, this did not end the thought, the aches, or the sadness. It went on for a few more weeks.
Once again I was sitting in social studies class. We were supposed to be working on our study guide. Instead, I was writing I want to die on an index card. The girl behind me, on that was someone I never really talked to, said, she had enough of me writing that.” She then told the teacher. The teacher pulled me into the hallway, and asked if it was true, and if I really wanted to. I told him it was true, and that I was planning on ending my life soon.
He immediately took me down to the counselor. After hours of questions, with my mom and the counselor, then just the counselor, they decide they needed to bring in a specialist. After more hours with the specialist, they all came to the conclusion that I was a danger to myself. I was sent to hospital immediately.
I spent five days there, and was diagnosed with Clinical Depression. Finding this out, gave me hope that I would be okay. After leaving the hospital, I realized that now I had to fight my demons on my own. There would be no doctor there watching my every move.
As of October 5, 2011, it has been four years since a suicide thought has crossed my mind. However, it has only been four months since I have harmed myself. Every day is a struggle not to harm myself, especially when I feel sad or hurt. Today, I have my future planned out and amazing grades. My life is good, but on a daily basis I am still fighting demons.