Everyone could use someone to talk to. Yes, it’s true, we all have our problems or just something we need to get off our chest. In my case, it was a therapist I needed to talk to. My entire life I have fought with two main things: depression and ADD. Of course, ADD seems to be more and more common, as the definition of it becomes less and less specific.
Growing up, I was always the child that couldn’t sit still, wouldn’t listen, and would talk to myself. I didn’t like to interact with the other children or the teachers. My parents never thought twice about it until I entered fifth grade. Going from fourth to fifth grade, the size of the school changed dramatically, but I didn’t change with it. I stayed that shy, keep to herself girl. My parents saw that I never really paid attention, and my teachers noticed it too. It was then that I went to see a doctor and take tests to see if I had ADD (attention deficit disorder). I was diagnosed with a severe case of it, but that didn’t fully explain why I was so distant, and kept mostly to myself.
I was not diagnosed with depression until my freshman year in high school, but my shyness and lack of social skills have been with me since I was young. I had very few friends, and I felt like I was being left out of the world, as if I were invisible. To escape this feeling I would stay quiet, I wouldn’t let anyone in my world afraid of what they would think of me. All throughout my freshman year of high school, I was in and out of hospitals for threats of suicide. Every now and then I would cry myself to sleep, and then the next day in school my eyes would poof out, and make me look like I had an awful hangover. Before I was in the hospital for the first time I’d begun to see a psychologist. I despised her; she made me feel like I was wasting my life. I remember distinctly her method of making me feel better… the “awful” scale. Everything I would complain about she would put on the awful scale, one to one hundred. One would be something little, like I tripped and fell and one hundred would be something dreadful, something that no one would ever even think of, usually something gory and sick. It was about this time I tried to commit suicide. I was home alone one day, my family either at work or school, and I stood on the banister of my house, staring down at the wooden floor beneath me. “If I just dive off of this, it would kill me,” I remember thinking, “It would give me all the pain I needed and in the end, would end my life. It’s the perfect solution.” I climbed over the banister, and stood, staring down at floor. It wasn’t too high up, and I would have to immediately dive off. I had let go of the banister, and was about to dive when I heard the door open, I freaked out and immediately jumped off. Of course, I was in such a rush to get this over with, that I forgot to dive. I ended up just twisting my ankle, but it was then that I knew, that the help I was getting was not enough. I went to the hospital, where they fixed my ankle and I saw a therapist in the hospital. I spent most of the day there, and realized that there really was something wrong with me; I couldn’t keep living my life like this. I then went to go see a new psychologist, who I’m still seeing to this day, and I’ve had a few incidents since that spring day of my freshman year, but only the thought of suicide crossed my mind, I never went through with it again.
Today I still see a psychologist, whom I don’t mind too much. After my freshman year I moved to a much smaller school, I went from a graduating class of five hundred to a class of twenty one. This change made a huge difference in my life, and sculpted the new and improved me that people see today.
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