"Depression is living in a body that tries to survive with a mind that tries to die," said anonymously. Dying seemed cynical to me, so horrifying. At 14, I started thinking of all the ways a person could take their life; overdose, drowning, cutting, and shooting. All truly horrifying ways to go, but with a lack of serotonin it was convincing. Maybe those ways were the only way to accomplish peace. At age 15, I was attempting all the horrifying ways to go. Overdose and cutting caught my attention the most. I guess in my mind stood the easiest ways; the painless ways. It was easier to think of a way out; wether than a way through life. My mind corrupted with thoughts dangering my life at the will of my mind. Meanwhile, I knew I was changing into a person I never recognized before. I could remember going to school every day and wanting to get A's and being that perfectionist, but my whole views had changed; I didn't care about school, or getting out of bed, or eating. By the time I turned 16, I hated both my parents; my relationships were falling apart along with myself; I was degenerating. I was 110 pounds in an abusive relationship with a narcissist who didn't know how to love me and friends who wanted nothing to do with me. I was a person I couldn't identify with anymore. I was living with a body covered in markings. Deep gashes and skinny white lines covered my arms and legs. I was ashamed of the body that I formed into my art project. I hated every inch of my newly made canvas; it made me cringe to stare at it for too long. I was waking up every day to a life and body I hated and a mind that wanted to die to top it off. At age 17, I doubled those marks and took a drastic measure to attempt to accomplish peace I attempted to take my life. It was the middle of May on a Monday morning around 10. My emotions attacked me while my mind filled with repulsing thoughts screaming, "Do it!" and "No one will care!" So, I consumed 94 pills of my prescription and waited. I began to feel sick and rushed to the bathroom to throw up my body physically couldn't handle all of the medication. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the children's hospital in Saint Louis with doctors surrounding me. They were telling me what my next steps were. I couldn't even believe what I did, what had happened, or how my family would feel. I spent four days in the children's hospital with my parents waiting to get better, so they could transfer me to another mental hospital. This was the fourth hospitalization in two years I was completely distraught at the idea that I had to go back to the mental hospital again. I am now 17 and taking my medication every day. I don't cut anymore; I'm four months sober from self-harm. I take pride in knowing I fought to get better. Now, I want to fight to help others get better with the same issues as me. I want to further a career in mental health services so I can children a voice that I felt was never given. He took that away from me but I'm taking it back by writing this. Depression has not beat me because now I am living in a body that wants to live with a mind that wants to survive!

"Depression is living in a body that tries to survive with a mind that tries to die," said anonymously. Dying seemed cynical to me, so horrifying. At 14, I started thinking of all the ways a person could take their life; overdose, drowning, cutting, and shooting. All truly horrifying ways to go, but with a lack of serotonin it was convincing. Maybe those ways were the only way to accomplish peace. At age 15, I was attempting all the horrifying ways to go. Overdose and cutting caught my attention the most. I guess in my mind stood the easiest ways; the painless ways. It was easier to think of a way out; wether than a way through life. My mind corrupted with thoughts dangering my life at the will of my mind. Meanwhile, I knew I was changing into a person I never recognized before. I could remember going to school every day and wanting to get A's and being that perfectionist, but my whole views had changed; I didn't care about school, or getting out of bed, or eating. By the time I turned 16, I hated both my parents; my relationships were falling apart along with myself; I was degenerating. I was 110 pounds in an abusive relationship with a narcissist who didn't know how to love me and friends who wanted nothing to do with me. I was a person I couldn't identify with anymore. I was living with a body covered in markings. Deep gashes and skinny white lines covered my arms and legs. I was ashamed of the body that I formed into my art project. I hated every inch of my newly made canvas; it made me cringe to stare at it for too long. I was waking up every day to a life and body I hated and a mind that wanted to die to top it off. At age 17, I doubled those marks and took a drastic measure to attempt to accomplish peace I attempted to take my life. It was the middle of May on a Monday morning around 10. My emotions attacked me while my mind filled with repulsing thoughts screaming, "Do it!" and "No one will care!" So, I consumed 94 pills of my prescription and waited. I began to feel sick and rushed to the bathroom to throw up my body physically couldn't handle all of the medication. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the children's hospital in Saint Louis with doctors surrounding me. They were telling me what my next steps were. I couldn't even believe what I did, what had happened, or how my family would feel. I spent four days in the children's hospital with my parents waiting to get better, so they could transfer me to another mental hospital. This was the fourth hospitalization in two years I was completely distraught at the idea that I had to go back to the mental hospital again. I am now 17 and taking my medication every day. I don't cut anymore; I'm four months sober from self-harm. I take pride in knowing I fought to get better. Now, I want to fight to help others get better with the same issues as me. I want to further a career in mental health services so I can children a voice that I felt was never given. He took that away from me but I'm taking it back by writing this. Depression has not beat me because now I am living in a body that wants to live with a mind that wants to survive!

"Depression is living in a body that tries to survive with a mind that tries to die," said anonymously. Dying seemed cynical to me, so horrifying. At 14, I started thinking of all the ways a person could take their life; overdose, drowning, cutting, and shooting. All truly horrifying ways to go, but with a lack of serotonin it was convincing. Maybe those ways were the only way to accomplish peace. At age 15, I was attempting all the horrifying ways to go. Overdose and cutting caught my attention the most. I guess in my mind stood the easiest ways; the painless ways. It was easier to think of a way out; wether than a way through life. My mind corrupted with thoughts dangering my life at the will of my mind. Meanwhile, I knew I was changing into a person I never recognized before. I could remember going to school every day and wanting to get A's and being that perfectionist, but my whole views had changed; I didn't care about school, or getting out of bed, or eating. By the time I turned 16, I hated both my parents; my relationships were falling apart along with myself; I was degenerating. I was 110 pounds in an abusive relationship with a narcissist who didn't know how to love me and friends who wanted nothing to do with me. I was a person I couldn't identify with anymore. I was living with a body covered in markings. Deep gashes and skinny white lines covered my arms and legs. I was ashamed of the body that I formed into my art project. I hated every inch of my newly made canvas; it made me cringe to stare at it for too long. I was waking up every day to a life and body I hated and a mind that wanted to die to top it off. At age 17, I doubled those marks and took a drastic measure to attempt to accomplish peace I attempted to take my life. It was the middle of May on a Monday morning around 10. My emotions attacked me while my mind filled with repulsing thoughts screaming, "Do it!" and "No one will care!" So, I consumed 94 pills of my prescription and waited. I began to feel sick and rushed to the bathroom to throw up my body physically couldn't handle all of the medication. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the children's hospital in Saint Louis with doctors surrounding me. They were telling me what my next steps were. I couldn't even believe what I did, what had happened, or how my family would feel. I spent four days in the children's hospital with my parents waiting to get better, so they could transfer me to another mental hospital. This was the fourth hospitalization in two years I was completely distraught at the idea that I had to go back to the mental hospital again. I am now 17 and taking my medication every day. I don't cut anymore; I'm four months sober from self-harm. I take pride in knowing I fought to get better. Now, I want to fight to help others get better with the same issues as me. I want to further a career in mental health services so I can children a voice that I felt was never given. He took that away from me but I'm taking it back by writing this. Depression has not beat me because now I am living in a body that wants to live with a mind that wants to survive!

"Depression is living in a body that tries to survive with a mind that tries to die," said anonymously. Dying seemed cynical to me, so horrifying. At 14, I started thinking of all the ways a person could take their life; overdose, drowning, cutting, and shooting. All truly horrifying ways to go, but with a lack of serotonin it was convincing. Maybe those ways were the only way to accomplish peace. At age 15, I was attempting all the horrifying ways to go. Overdose and cutting caught my attention the most. I guess in my mind stood the easiest ways; the painless ways. It was easier to think of a way out; wether than a way through life. My mind corrupted with thoughts dangering my life at the will of my mind. Meanwhile, I knew I was changing into a person I never recognized before. I could remember going to school every day and wanting to get A's and being that perfectionist, but my whole views had changed; I didn't care about school, or getting out of bed, or eating. By the time I turned 16, I hated both my parents; my relationships were falling apart along with myself; I was degenerating. I was 110 pounds in an abusive relationship with a narcissist who didn't know how to love me and friends who wanted nothing to do with me. I was a person I couldn't identify with anymore. I was living with a body covered in markings. Deep gashes and skinny white lines covered my arms and legs. I was ashamed of the body that I formed into my art project. I hated every inch of my newly made canvas; it made me cringe to stare at it for too long. I was waking up every day to a life and body I hated and a mind that wanted to die to top it off. At age 17, I doubled those marks and took a drastic measure to attempt to accomplish peace I attempted to take my life. It was the middle of May on a Monday morning around 10. My emotions attacked me while my mind filled with repulsing thoughts screaming, "Do it!" and "No one will care!" So, I consumed 94 pills of my prescription and waited. I began to feel sick and rushed to the bathroom to throw up my body physically couldn't handle all of the medication. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the children's hospital in Saint Louis with doctors surrounding me. They were telling me what my next steps were. I couldn't even believe what I did, what had happened, or how my family would feel. I spent four days in the children's hospital with my parents waiting to get better, so they could transfer me to another mental hospital. This was the fourth hospitalization in two years I was completely distraught at the idea that I had to go back to the mental hospital again. I am now 17 and taking my medication every day. I don't cut anymore; I'm four months sober from self-harm. I take pride in knowing I fought to get better. Now, I want to fight to help others get better with the same issues as me. I want to further a career in mental health services so I can children a voice that I felt was never given. He took that away from me but I'm taking it back by writing this. Depression has not beat me because now I am living in a body that wants to live with a mind that wants to survive!

"Depression is living in a body that tries to survive with a mind that tries to die," said anonymously. Dying seemed cynical to me, so horrifying. At 14, I started thinking of all the ways a person could take their life; overdose, drowning, cutting, and shooting. All truly horrifying ways to go, but with a lack of serotonin it was convincing. Maybe those ways were the only way to accomplish peace. At age 15, I was attempting all the horrifying ways to go. Overdose and cutting caught my attention the most. I guess in my mind stood the easiest ways; the painless ways. It was easier to think of a way out; wether than a way through life. My mind is corrupted with thoughts dangering my life at the will of my mind. Meanwhile, I knew I was changing into a person I never recognized before. I could remember going to school every day and wanting to get A's and being that perfectionist, but my whole views had changed; I didn't care about school, getting out of bed or eating. By the time I turned 16, I hated both my parents; my relationships were falling apart along with myself; I was degenerating. I was 110 pounds in an abusive relationship with a narcissist who didn't know how to love me and friends who wanted nothing to do with me. I was a person I couldn't identify with anymore. I was living with a body covered in markings. Deep gashes and skinny white lines covered my arms and legs. I was ashamed of the body that I formed into my art project. I hated every inch of my newly made canvas; it made me cringe to stare at it for too long. I was waking up every day to a life and body I hated and a mind that wanted to die to top it off. At age 17, I doubled those marks and took a drastic measure to attempt to accomplish peace I attempted to take my life. It was the middle of May on a Monday morning around 10. My emotions attacked me while my mind filled with repulsing thoughts screaming, "Do it!" and "No one will care!" So, I consumed 94 pills of my prescription and waited. I began to feel sick and rushed to the bathroom to throw up my body physically couldn't handle all of the medication. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the children's hospital in Saint Louis with doctors surrounding me. They were telling me what my next steps were. I couldn't even believe what I did, what had happened, or how my family would feel. I spent four days in the children's hospital with my parents waiting to get better, so they could transfer me to another mental hospital. This was the fourth hospitalization in two years I was completely distraught at the idea that I had to go back to the mental hospital again. I am now 17 and taking my medication every day. I don't cut anymore; I'm four months sober from self-harm. I take pride in knowing I fought to get better. Now, I want to fight to help others get better with the same issues as me. I want to further a career in mental health services so I can children a voice that I felt was never given. He took that away from me but I'm taking it back by writing this. Depression has not beat me because now I am living in a body that wants to live with a mind that wants to survive!

@shi._.anna