It all started in the beginning of my 6th grade year. I developed severe depression and anxiety. It literally got to the point where I just didn't go to school. It was hard. The funny thing is that most people go into depression because they get bullied. That's not my case but God I wish it was. My life would be so much easier.
My thoughts were (and still are) extremely fucked up. I had have a horrible home life. My parents are divorced, both of their houses extremely broken, and me and my mom Hate eachother.
I actually don't act like myself when I'm around people. It's like everyone knows who I am but at the same time they don't. Yes, I laugh and joke around just as if I was fine. But I can hide my emotions very well. Actually some of my friends actually can tell when I'm sad just because of the way my eyes are.
That's when I decided to start keeping my journal of poetry and thoughts. I've always have been passionate about language art, reading, poetry, and junk like that. For some reason when I write it makes me feel so important and makes me think my opinion actually matters.
6th grade was HELL. I used to cry myself , sleep because it stressed me out so badly. Keep in mind I was 11 at the time. 11!! That's like fetus age.
I remember trying to tell people about my problems but no one ever listened. Then after many attempts to reach out I stopped trying to find help. It was sorta like I was drowning and everyone saw me but they ignored it. So eventually I stopped fighting and let go.
Then that's when I found someone who cared, my friend Madison. I mean I was still kinda new to that school district and me and her used to occasionally talk. But not like this. She made me feel wanted. Like I actually had a reason to live.
Then for a few months it was fine. I didn't have these thoughts as much any more.
