Getting Help Was the Hardest Part

Getting help was the hardest part.

I was suicidal for about four months, and for a large part of it, I was coping. I managed to go through my life with very little change, because if my trash was suddenly filled with torn-up scraps of half written notes, no one else noticed. I somehow fooled myself into believing that I could manage it, that I was fine.

Until, one day, I realized that I wasn't, and that I had to get help.
After much indecision and fear, I went to see my school's social worker. She gave me the address of the local mental hospital. When my parents and I arrived to check me in, I got out of the car, saw the building, and stopped.

My mom turned around to look at me. “You know, you don't have to. You're almost an adult. This is your choice.” And I almost turned around. But I remembered – sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night and staring into the medicine cabinet, my fingers tightening around the bridge railing – and I set my shoulders and soldiered forward.

It was, in short, the best decision of my life.

When you're dealing with depression, it's often difficult to remember that you are not alone, that there are people who can and want to help you. But these people are everywhere, if you can find the courage to reach out to them. I won't lie, it is extremely difficult to be able to get help for yourself. However, doing so will be a decision you will never regret. 

I am a survivor. And I hope everyone else who is struggling with depression will find the strength to become one too.


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