This I Believe

Suzanne - mount laurel, New Jersey
Entered on January 25, 2008

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.