"A little over a year ago, my friend took my depressed body to the local ER at our school, fearing that I was going to take my own life. I did not have a name for what I was struggling with, I just knew that my world seemed to be coming apart at the seams. I had severely self-harmed, screamed at my roommates, and locked myself in my room. Surely, I felt like I was falling to pieces.

 

I had been depressed ever since I was six years old. Suicide was a constant thought that I had at an early age, and I began to experiment with self-harm because I thought I deserved it. Of course no one knew; I barely knew what was going wrong.

 

Soon, the voices started in my head- a weird jumbled mix of sounds and syllables tumbling around inside my head and through my ears. Strange phrases that formulated their own thoughts. 'Die' they would say. But, not in so many words, it was implied.

 

The paranoia was a different beast altogether. I would sit in class, from kindergarten to senior year of high school, and wonder if everyone knew what I was thinking.

 

Did they know my deepest thoughts? Were they plotting to use them against me? Quick, quick, change what your thinking about, did they notice? They looked! For sure they can hear what I’m thinking.

 

I couldn’t tell my parents because I thought they were trying to kill me. Fear vibrated through my body when I entered my home- my mind was telling me that every action was in preparation for my death.

 

After entering the ER, I was diagnosed with depression and spent a week in a psychiatric unit. I was later re-diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. But, that might change.

 

My mind is fluid, and so is my recovery. One step at a time, one row of the oar of my boat. Hopefully I’ll hit land at some point, where I’ll find stable ground."