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My name is Maggie, and this is my story

I am 15 and I survived Depression

The blaring of my alarm clock was enough to not only wake me up but wake up my thoughts. What if I get called on in class? What if I embarrass myself? What if they say something again?

My thoughts ran consistently and they were almost always negative. I wasn't in control of myself or my mind. Most of the time I felt like I was watching my life play on a movie screen. As much as I fought and yelled, nothing changed.Terrible thoughts and ideas continuously clouded my vision, they only stopped when I was asleep. Therefore, my next thought always was "I can't wait till today is over."

Before going downstairs for breakfast, I was numb myself. I wouldn't let myself feel anything so I was prepared for all the bad that was to come. I was a zombie but there was nothing I could do about it. I didn't understand what was wrong with me. I was a freshman in high school I should be excited about my classes and going to school to see my friends. But I wasn't. I couldn't get excited about anything. Even dance, which I had been competing with for 9 years just wasn't as fun anymore.

My mom would ask me what was wrong. "I'm just tired." Was always my standard answer. And I was tired, but I was tired ALL the time. My favorite part of the day was the ending and I counted the minutes till it came. I was so mentally tired too. By trying to keep my thoughts under control, my mind wore out and on top of schoolwork, I didn't have the mental capacity for anything else. I worried about everything and if one thing went wrong, I couldn't handle it.

The morning everything changed started like any other. Blaring alarm clock, numbing my brain, taking the blade of my scissors and pushing it into my skin, cutting myself. That was the only thing that took the pain away from my mind. Grudgingly I trudged downstairs. As I heated up my breakfast, my mom noticed my even moodier than normal mood. "Are you alright?" She asked. By this point, she was done with my moodiness that I couldn't even control.

"I just want to go back to bed." I said stiffly.

"That's all you want to do now." My mom stated. "Maybe you're depressed." She said angrily.

I know she didn't mean it. She had no idea what I had been going through. No idea that I had been cutting. But in my mind, it made sense. Maybe I was depressed. Not that it mattered anyway. Lately, my mind functioned around the idea that maybe things would be better if I just didn't wake up; if I were dead. I can't tell you the number of times I stood holding a collection of pills from around my house, wanting to take them all. I never did, but today would be the day. Today, all my pain would end.

I went to school already stressing about the amount of homework I was to soon have. I was sitting in my first period science class on the verge of tears, complaining to the girl next to me about how tired I was, about how stressed I was. My science teacher, who I had not had for very long, knew something was wrong. He took me to the science class next door and made some of my friends cheer me up. Surprisingly it work and I knew I could make it through the day. On the walk back to class, my teacher stopped walking. He turned to me and said: "In a world of misery, there is always happiness and if there isn't, then there is hope."

I went home that afternoon and told my mom everything. I started with the bullying and sexual harassment I received in one of my classes. I told her that I was scared that they would beat me up because they had threatened to earlier that week. I told her how uncomfortable they made me feel with their perverted comments directed at me. Then, I told her about the cutting.

Immediately after our conversation, she went to research a therapist. I was against seeing a therapist as my experience with one when my parents got divorced was not good. I don't remember much of the few weeks between my opening up and my first session with my therapist. It all blurred together in a combination of anxious and depressed thoughts. I remember I had a hard time stopping myself harm. It had become regular for me and a way to release the pain, but eventually, I did it. I also filled a report against the boys who bullied and harassed me.

I started seeing my therapist regularly and she did help but I still felt like I wasn't myself. I had been formally diagnosed with depression and anxiety and I just couldn't get over it. I
started medication. I was against it at first but now, I'm glad I did it. I would say that I'm starting to feel like myself again, but at this point I'm not sure who that is anymore. But I can tell you that I am becoming happier. I am recreating myself in a positive way. Sure, I still have bad days. Of course I still have some negative thoughts and anxieties but I don't let them control me.

I'm glad I didn't end my life that day. Later that year, my dance team went on to win a national championship. I saw my sister off to college. I did things I wouldn't be able to do if I were dead.

I have depression. I have anxiety. I self harmed. The battle was hard and it's still continuing, but I refuse to lose.

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