“Kill me, just kill me already.” I begged to some higher power. I constantly was begging for something, someone, anything to end it already, end the pain, the hate I had for myself. My depression had gotten so bad I had tried to take matters into my own hands, more than once.
I was 12 the first time I tried to kill myself. I didn’t tell anyone. I was terrified to, so scared to tell my parents or friends. So I stayed quiet, for years and years, as my anxiety got worse as well as my depression. It almost lead to my death, more than once. Until one day I broke down.
I finally told my parents, my mom cried, my dad didn’t say anything. Friends yelled at me for not saying something sooner. A majority of people asked me, “why didn’t you say anything sooner?” I didn’t know what to say. I had a million answers for that question, but the biggest one was, “because I was terrified of how you would see me.”
I was so scared of how people would perceive, of the people I could lose that I ended up almost losing myself in the process.
I finally told people though. I’m a long way from getting completely better, but I finally spoke out. I’m finally going to get help. I may have been terrified but now I should be able to get the help I need. Therapy isn’t exactly an option for my family right now, as my parents look into trying to get me help without it being so stupidly expensive, it’s hard still.
It’s still hard to wake up and try and be happy, but I’m doing better. I’m starting to get up and shower, brush my teeth, and make myself meals. Something I had stopped doing, something that was starting to make me sick. I’m scared but I feel like I can get better. That is because I asked for help. I asked for help and was given a hand by those who care about me.
This is why I want to become a psychiatrist. I want to be able to help people, without forcing medication down their throat or making them feel bad. I want to show them that they matter, especially those who are suffering.
I’m 16 now, I know I need to help people. When I tutored third graders for a scholarship, I fell in love with helping these kids. How their faces would light up when you told them they mattered. This just showed me how bad mental health has continued to got and grow. A third grader should never not feel enough yet kids younger than 8 are already severely depressed and traumatized. Then we ignore adults mental health because apparently they’re “too grown.”
I believe that we need to continue to speak about mental health and stop just focusing on one path or one person’s mental health. We need to speak up about anyone’s, everyone’s. People who are suppressed as well as those who aren’t.
Mental health is serious. A mental illness can kill just like a physical one. I hate how people act as if suicide is not itself a sad disease that kills millions. I hate how people act as if mental health is a joke, especially because everyone suffers from it, some more than others.
So many struggle and that’s why I want to help them, as I am currently getting the help I need and searching for my own happiness, I want to help people find theirs.
Depression can be just as serious as cancer. Happiness can be just as important as life saving medication. Love is always supposed to be there, helping and supporting people. I want to give people that love, something that’s so hard to find.
If we continue to let depression kill, then how can we call ourselves a people? A nation?