The waves crash down against the delicate white grains of sand, but I can’t see it. I am buried in the depths of the black frigid monster without any relief. Despair’s icy chains have gripped my mind and soul and this treacherous life has me begging for a breath. I just need one gasp. I just need one gulp of oxygen to surge through my lungs. I know I’m in agony and I want it to stop, but why try when I know I’ll fail? I’m so enveloped in this consuming fear, there seems to be no way out. When I’m so close to the ocean’s floor, I’ve decided it is easier to just swim deeper. Besides, I know I’m going to lose. I’ve been losing for three months now. This monster that has me pleading for a break isn’t the ocean, it is my anxiety and depression.

It all started a few months ago, when I was fresh out of the school play. My acting abilities were still fresh off the grill, so I decided to use them for something more than the musical. I strolled through November laughing through tears, faking a smile, and pretending to be fine. People didn’t seem to notice that behind the smile and the generous compliments I was dying to be heard. I was dying for someone to understand that my head pounded with thoughts and feelings that I had no intention of ever knowing. I wasn’t fine. It wasn’t cool and this whole acting game was beginning to get old. Everything was so confusing, but I was too exhausted to address the problem, so somehow I kept it up. I know it will sound stupid, but I felt so alone. It was like I was waving a red flag and shouting ‘HELP!’ but no one seemed to care.

I stumbled through December praying that some “Christmas miracle” would take away the emptiness and hopelessness that consumed my mind. It didn’t work. My depression persisted and the anxiety kicked in. I can remember it clearly. It was another terrible day (because when you have depression there are no good ones.)
Chambers singers was performing at the Hemet Valley Mall and barely anyone was there. I was about to cry because I just couldn’t take it anymore and I really wanted a friend. I was surrounded by all these people who had no idea and probably didn’t even care about what I was going through. No one cares you are in pain until you’re gone. Hopelessness enveloped my entire being, but I started singing anyways.

Suddenly, I was aware of every person around me. They were all too close and I was getting very hot. My face was on fire and I was certain that everyone must be watching my red skin glimmer with sweat. My thoughts started racing to how I was going to sing my solo. What if I messed up like that one time? What if all the eyes turn to me, but I can’t sing because I’m vomiting in the trash can? Oh gosh, what the heck is happening to my brain? Everything was dizzy and my heart was pounding in my throat. I was certain I was going to pass out so I staggered over to some chairs. My hands shook and everything was so sweaty. Everything was too much and I wanted it to end. People were trying to console me, but if there is one thing I have learned it is that I hate people trying to touch me when I’m having a panic attack. I sat there with my head in my hands as the tears rolled down my cheeks. Everyone was watching me make a total fool of myself, but I couldn’t do anything to make it stop.

After an eternity, it ended, but I was too afraid of another attack to sing again. I didn’t want this, but it still had to be done. Somehow, I pushed aside all my fear and despair long enough to sing my solo. My voice was shaking and my head was pounding, but I finished the song and nearly cried when it was over. I was doing a lot of crying these days, but never in public. This time, I choked back the tears and tried my best to keep up the act for December.

December was hell. Observers of my life might say that it was a blast and that I was super happy, but I wasn’t. I didn’t want to be a killjoy so I had to keep up the act. After weeks of being alone and seemingly friendless, Christmas break finally rolled around to save me. At home I wallowed in depression, but at least my social anxiety was better because I didn’t have to talk to anyone. December came and when it left, I was feeling something close to hope. My favorite person in the world was back for Christmas break and we had had a blast. Emily understood what I was going through so I knew I could tell her. My mouth was about to spill all the secrets that I had been dying to share, when all of a sudden she was gone. Emily was driving off to college and I was back at high school a.k.a. Hell.

Surprisingly things didn’t get better. They got so much worse. Halfway through January I gave up. I gave up on the acting. I gave up on the trying. I gave up on life. I will never forget the day on January 16 when I decided to take my life. Words and conversations clambered around in my head that day, but I didn’t care. I was lost in my own thoughts. I was lost in the hatred for myself. I was lost in depression and since I couldn’t find another way out this seemed like the best option. The past three months had been enough to make me forget every happy memory I had ever had and I was not spending the rest of my life like this.

I came home from school that day and though my stomach growled from not eating for 24 hours, I told my dad to eat without me. When he loaded my little siblings into the car to head to dinner, I seized my opportunity. Just to get ready for the big attempt, I headed out to our 15 foot jungle gym and jumped off trying to will my body to die. To my much dismay, I landed on my feet. I rushed inside to grab the pills, but before I could overdose I read that overdosing on advil kills you slowly and painfully since it melts away your liver. Instead of melting away my liver I seized a kitchen knife and carved my anquish into my wrists. The dull pain distracted my mind for a brief moment and I dug deeper. With yet another stupid secret that I would now have to hide, I decided sleep was my last option. Wishing I were dead, I trudged off to bed and cried myself to sleep. The next morning the waves still crashed.

The waves still crashed against the tiny white beads of sand. The cruel icy ocean still dragged me to its depths, and I was still swimming deeper. The crash of water roared in my ears as I tried to will the ocean to stop. I tried to escape it by swimming deeper, but now I would have to face the consequences. Now I would have to tell the truth.

One month later, the truth still hurts. The storm still rages and the thoughts still exist. The truth had to come out, but it didn’t magically solve all my problems. Life still sucks, but now I’m not turning to death as an answer for my pain. High school is still hell. Friends are still fake. Panic attacks still happen. I am still labeled insane. I am still called and accused of things no one wants to be accused of. I was still put under hospitalization for “being a danger to myself.” Things are still scary, but the point of it all is that now I’m not swimming deeper. The ocean pounds me and it can leave me only half alive, but I am not going to let it kill me.

I am going to try.