This is where it all began. On and off depression and selfharm behaviors since the sixth grade in 2014. I started eating less, isolating more, and hiding what I was doing most of the time. I was often in my room, in my own head listening to sad music that related to whatever mood I was in. When I finally broke down and started crying, the blades would come out. My friends at school would notice the next day, but they wouldn’t care to say anything. They would go home to tell their parents what they saw, and next thing I know my dad is getting a phone call from them. He would just yell at me because he never really did believe in mental health. Around this time, I was passing out since I was 10 every 3 months, and nobody knew what it was. I would go to the hospital a lot, but they would just send me home so it was really frustrating on my dad and I. The doctors would notice my selfharm and I would try to play it off like an accident for a while. When we got home, my dad would yell at me for lying, so I did start lying. I started lying to my friends and my parents about where I was and who I was with. It wasn’t until the beginning of 7th grade year, I started doing really good because my mom got me into therapy, but then I started being admitted in and out of hospitals. I had a seizure on my friends lap in church one night and my dad took me back to the hospital. This time we didn’t go home until they admitted me and did brain testing. They then ruled out I was epileptic on April 22 2016. I started out on one pill for my seizures, and then it went up to 13. I had to switch on and off of medications because I went bald or got sick. Depression was a big side effect of these medications, and that’s where I began to go downhill again. I wasn’t going to therapy for a while, and I have no idea what triggered it, but I sliced my wrists really bad on July 27, 2017. This was my first time getting put on physiatric medication and being in the mental hospital. I met some of the best people there. I got discharged after 6 days. Instead of going back to my regular school, I was going to start at a partial school on August 24 2017. I was in there for 4 months seeing a therapist once a day and a physiatrist once a week. I ended up going back to the mental hospital on October 29 2017. I was smoking marijuana with my best friend and I started having a seizure. Long story short, she lied to the cops to save herself. The next day I overdosed on prescribed medication. I was only away for a few days because I got in multiple fights, so they let me go. I got out on November 2nd, and went back to partial until they kicked me out the next day because I was having too many seizures. I started cyber school and went to a different outpatient therapy. I was a high risk for suicide. On December 13 2017, I overdosed on ambian. I barely remember anything. I was hallucinating, vomiting and passed out for 3 days. After 4 days of observation, they sent me to a different mental hospital 2 hours away from home. The therapy was bad, and they sent me home when I was still a high risk. I was home for Christmas, but then I freaked out. I told my dad I was going to run away, and then when he left I cut myself badly. I got admitted back to the mental hospital near home, and met some pretty great people. I starved myself the whole time though, and I got my bed, blankets, pillow, and clothes taken away for being unsafe. I was in there until January 6th. Febuarary 22nd I was back to the mental hospital, I overdosed on Ativan, but I wasn’t admitted yet. My mom left me so she could go park her car. This kid helped me through everything that night. Even though, I tried to kill myself they still sent me home that night and I was back the next day because my little sister found me dead in the bathroom. I hung myself. EMTs got there in time to save me, and I was in the hospital for 5 days, and then the mental hospital for 2 weeks. Since I got out in March, I’m 100 days selfharm free, and I will fight this battle in my head until it’s over.