High school is often referred to as the best years of people's lives. Not to disagree, but these past four years were not my favorites. On the last day of freshman year, I attempted suicide. I had tried, unsuccessfully, to reach out before hand, but I lacked the resources I needed. Being in the hospital gave me the opportunity to get this needed support, but I was also drastically let down over and over by professionals I trusted. During my treatment, I remember being told by my assigned psychiatrist, “Some people just don’t get better." I was crushed, as I think any 14-year-old would be. I took these six words to heart and decided that because a doctor had said this, it must be true that I had nothing to live for and that I was destined to be miserable until the day I died. When I was 16, I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. I struggle with maintaining relationships, calming my impulsivity and emotions, and struggling with suicidal ideation and self-harm. People with this disorder make up the majority of the patients in psychiatric hospitals, and many therapists refuse to treat us because we are a “lost cause." I’ve been on eight different medications and met with countless therapists; the names of both have become a blur. It got to the point that during one of my hospitalizations, they brought up ECT, or electroconvulsive therapy. I was terrified and hurt and decided I no longer trusted these people to improve my mental health; it was up to me. If anyone in my life were to name one of my personality traits, it would be stubborn. After researching my diagnosis, I decided that if no professional would help me in the way I needed, I would do it myself. And I did. In the past two years, I’ve treated myself. I’ve bought workbooks, talked in online support groups, learned healthy coping skills, and overall become a stronger yet more gentle person. I’ve managed to stay out of the hospital for a year and a half and don’t plan on going back. Through reflection, I realized that I wanted to become a psychologist, specifically in inpatient settings, with people who are like me and who need care I feel they otherwise won’t get. What I’ve learned from all of this is that the current mental health system is lacking in resources and well-equipped professionals. I know I can’t just remake a system that’s been set for so long, but I can at least make some patients' experiences better than mine were, and that’s what counts. Even making a small positive impact means that I’ve accomplished my goal.

High school is often referred to as the best years of people's lives. Not to disagree, but these past four years were not my favorites. On the last day of freshman year, I attempted suicide. I had tried, unsuccessfully, to reach out before hand, but I lacked the resources I needed. Being in the hospital gave me the opportunity to get this needed support, but I was also drastically let down over and over by professionals I trusted. During my treatment, I remember being told by my assigned psychiatrist, “Some people just don’t get better." I was crushed, as I think any 14-year-old would be. I took these six words to heart and decided that because a doctor had said this, it must be true that I had nothing to live for and that I was destined to be miserable until the day I died. When I was 16, I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. I struggle with maintaining relationships, calming my impulsivity and emotions, and struggling with suicidal ideation and self-harm. People with this disorder make up the majority of the patients in psychiatric hospitals, and many therapists refuse to treat us because we are a “lost cause." I’ve been on eight different medications and met with countless therapists; the names of both have become a blur. It got to the point that during one of my hospitalizations, they brought up ECT, or electroconvulsive therapy. I was terrified and hurt and decided I no longer trusted these people to improve my mental health; it was up to me. If anyone in my life were to name one of my personality traits, it would be stubborn. After researching my diagnosis, I decided that if no professional would help me in the way I needed, I would do it myself. And I did. In the past two years, I’ve treated myself. I’ve bought workbooks, talked in online support groups, learned healthy coping skills, and overall become a stronger yet more gentle person. I’ve managed to stay out of the hospital for a year and a half and don’t plan on going back. Through reflection, I realized that I wanted to become a psychologist, specifically in inpatient settings, with people who are like me and who need care I feel they otherwise won’t get. What I’ve learned from all of this is that the current mental health system is lacking in resources and well-equipped professionals. I know I can’t just remake a system that’s been set for so long, but I can at least make some patients' experiences better than mine were, and that’s what counts. Even making a small positive impact means that I’ve accomplished my goal.

High school is often referred to as the best years of people's lives. Not to disagree, but these past four years were not my favorites. On the last day of freshman year, I attempted suicide. I had tried, unsuccessfully, to reach out before hand, but I lacked the resources I needed. Being in the hospital gave me the opportunity to get this needed support, but I was also drastically let down over and over by professionals I trusted. During my treatment, I remember being told by my assigned psychiatrist, “Some people just don’t get better." I was crushed, as I think any 14-year-old would be. I took these six words to heart and decided that because a doctor had said this, it must be true that I had nothing to live for and that I was destined to be miserable until the day I died. When I was 16, I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. I struggle with maintaining relationships, calming my impulsivity and emotions, and struggling with suicidal ideation and self-harm. People with this disorder make up the majority of the patients in psychiatric hospitals, and many therapists refuse to treat us because we are a “lost cause." I’ve been on eight different medications and met with countless therapists; the names of both have become a blur. It got to the point that during one of my hospitalizations, they brought up ECT, or electroconvulsive therapy. I was terrified and hurt and decided I no longer trusted these people to improve my mental health; it was up to me. If anyone in my life were to name one of my personality traits, it would be stubborn. After researching my diagnosis, I decided that if no professional would help me in the way I needed, I would do it myself. And I did. In the past two years, I’ve treated myself. I’ve bought workbooks, talked in online support groups, learned healthy coping skills, and overall become a stronger yet more gentle person. I’ve managed to stay out of the hospital for a year and a half and don’t plan on going back. Through reflection, I realized that I wanted to become a psychologist, specifically in inpatient settings, with people who are like me and who need care I feel they otherwise won’t get. What I’ve learned from all of this is that the current mental health system is lacking in resources and well-equipped professionals. I know I can’t just remake a system that’s been set for so long, but I can at least make some patients' experiences better than mine were, and that’s what counts. Even making a small positive impact means that I’ve accomplished my goal.