"Dear whoever,
I know you think that you aren't worth it, that you're just a waste of space and that all the people who spend time with you are wasting their time. I know how that feels, I felt like that for most of my life, trust me. You will think that I'm lying, that I don't understand what you're going through – and I will just admit that I don't.
Because everybody suffers their own kind of pain, their own kind of depression, their own hell – but still, with this letter I will show you that you can do it. Just like I did. And I will tell you my story to show how much someone can go through and still come out as a new person, a stronger one.
Well, it all started when I was 12. I just came home from school when we got a call. I didn't think much about it, we got calls all the time, it probably was my big brother – that was only my half brother but I still loved him unconditionally – calling from England where he stayed when we moved over to America. But when my Mom started crying I started to worry – she never cried, she was the strongest person I knew. I wanted to comfort her, wanted to tell her everything was alright but my dad just sent me to my room.
I was only 12 when I lost my brother, the person that meant the most to me.
The following years where horrible – I suffered from severe panic and anxiety attacks, I couldn't visit a public school. At first my Mom homeschooled me but then she sent me to a private school. The bullying started there. The kids were horrible they made fun of my British accent, stole my stuff, punched me, chased me.
I was only 13 when I started to get scared to leave the house.
Soon I realized that I was depressed – nothing more, nothing less. I would hide in my room, think about killing myself, think about dying. I meant nothing to anyone, my parents were still too focused on my brother's death. They didn't notice that I started to cut, didn't notice the little things that changed. That I ate less until I stopped eating. That I only wore sweaters, even when it was hot outside and I was risking a heatstroke in doing so – but could I let anyone see my scars? I already was the emo, the freak at my school, I couldn't risk giving them another reason to bully me.
I was only 14 as I sat on the bathroom floor with pills and a razor, thinking about killing myself.
My parents moved in an attempt to leave every memory behind – the bullying (they finally noticed), my attempt to kill myself. They were hesitant at first but they followed my pleas and let me visit a public school – finally. I was happy I could wear whatever I wanted. The others looked at me and probably judged me but they didn't bully me – an improvement. I was a loner but I was okay with that. I could wear band shirts and express myself a little bit. The downside was that I was forced to visit a therapist, but I did it – I didn't want to let my parents down. I wanted them to be happy but I felt like I couldn't ever make them happy.
I was only 15 when I started acting to please all the people I loved.
When I was wearing my favourite Green Day shirt a boy with blue hair approached me. He started to talk to me, probably wanted to be friends. I was hesitant at first, I hadn't made any good experiences with people, especially not with teenagers. But he didn't give up until I started talking to him. He was different from all those other kids, was interested in me and my story. I started trusting him and I have to say, I wasn't proved that I was wrong for trusting him. He made me feel good, helped me through my attacks, showed me another way to cope with my feelings instead of slicing my skin.
I was 16 when I met the best friend I would ever get.
The thought about killing myself hadn't occurred me in a long time, all thanks to that friend. Instead of cutting I wrote songs and started playing the guitar again, a skill that my brother had taught me. I didn't think about him as much any more but I didn't feel bad, I felt like that was what he wanted – he probably wanted me to move on with my life and start accepting the things I couldn't change anyways. The boy convinced me that we should start a band – he would play the guitar, I could sing and soon we had found a drummer and a bassist.
