Writings of a not so typical teenage girl

8

Just a couple days after my birthday, my family and I took a trip to visit Reed and his parents. Like I said earlier, I grew up with Reed, but when we were six, his family moved four hours away. Despite the distance, his family and mine are still as close as can be.

The trip was going fine... until my stutter got worse very suddenly. Now I was used to my stutter getting better and worse at times, but it was nothing like this. It was almost impossible to get through a single word. Eventually, it became so exhausting that I used an app on my phone to talk for me. My depression had put a lot on me, and I guess my stutter showed that. I remember laying in bed that night, sobbing and praying to God to just let me die.

Once we got home, my parents immediately took me to see the psychiatrist. With my phone, I told her how my suicidal thoughts have increased. She then recommended either an outpatient program, or inpatient (the hospital).

I didn't know much about what an outpatient program was, but I knew it sounded less scary than the hospital.

With my anxiety very high, my parents drove us to an outpatient center. Eventually, a lady took us to her office to do an assessment of me. She asked me a lot of questions, but there was one I was dreading the most,

"Have you ever self harmed?"

As I talk about this, I don't want anyone mistaking my explanation as encouraging it. I'm not proud of it, if anything I'm ashamed. There's not a simple reason as to why I started hurting myself. A part of it was the self hatred my depression had planted in me, the rest of it is a little harder to explain.

I was in so much pain; I felt so numb. It got to the point that physical pain gave me just a second of relief, like I could breathe again. The feeling is extremely temporary, but the scar, not so much.

My first scar is on my right forearm. My family saw it and eventually realized I did it intentionally. They made me promise not to again and I intended to stop... I really did.

With tremendous anxiety, I admitted to the lady and my parents I kept hurting myself.

"Well because she is having suicidal thoughts and has been self harming I'm going to recommend inpatient care."

So, having just turned sixteen a week earlier, I get admitted to a mental hospital. What every sixteen year old dreams of, right?

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