I have been battling depression for such a long time now. I can’t even remember the last time I was really happy. The kind of happy where your whole body vibrates and you can’t do anything but laugh. That’s the thing I miss the most, laughing. They say laughter is the cure to sadness, well how do you laugh if you’re so sad? The answer is you don’t. I thought things were bad when I couldn’t feel content with my self. I was wrong, things got bad when I lost all my best friends.

I sat there next to my mom surveying her face, she looked nervous, and I would be to if I was her. She probably thought I was pregnant, even that was better then what I was about to tell her. My palms were sweating, and I felt the energy start to climb up my throat, threatening to come out. “What ever it is, we’ll get through it,” she whispered looking into my eyes. I didn’t believe her. Nothing would be okay anymore. I never slept, and when I did I would toss and turn and wake up covered in sweat. I never ate, and when I did, I almost always felt the need to throw it back up. And when things went wrong, I’d go straight to the razor or the pain meds locked in the bathroom closet. I always wondered how people could do it; hurt them selves on purpose. And that’s probably what you’re wondering to. Well the answer is, I don’t know. I can’t say I enjoy, or that I like the feeling of pain. Its like I can focus on something else for that minute. I can just watch it, like all my troubles are bleeding away. I know it makes no sense, and I don’t think you’ll understand but it was worth a shot explaining. “Scarlett, honey, what is it?” she prompted me again. “Mom, I tried to kill my self.” I said, slurring out every syllabal the words they hung in the air, like a suspension bridge ready to break. And then the tears came, but surprisingly not from her, from me. I don’t cry, I couldn’t cry, it was like my tears wouldn’t come, I was too emotionally dead inside. And everything that had happened just came flooding back up and I gasped between sobs, trying to breath. My mom stood up calm and collected, like the lady she tried to be and called my physiatrist. Dr. Lucky I know what your thinking, an ironic name for a doctor with mental patients. But he almost made fun of himself for it, so I didn’t mind him.

As I was sitting on the couch, with my tear stained cheeks, just trying to get my bearings, I vaguely over heard their conversation. “Mmhmm, yes I see, St. Villard’s has an opening in the children’s ward, you can bring her there” “alright thanks so much Dr. Lucky,” “its no problem,” he replied and the line went dead. “So what did he say?’ I asked quietly, looking up from my hands. “Go pack your stuff for a few days time, were leaving for a hospital,” my mom responded nodding her head toward the stairs. I would end up referring to the hospital as a phsyc ward, which I tended to use often while being held inpatient.
In life I had never found the place I belonged. Finally, I did. I had a group of my best friends and even my therapist had told me that friends you would make in high school would stay with you forever. Well she was wrong, after the incident my life turned up side down. I didn’t belong again; it was like some outside force existed just to make sure I wasn’t happy. If I think about it, I was never really happy. Even when I was little I never actually fun, it was like I was going through the motions. The ones I knew were expected of me.

But if we’re to be honest with ourselves, everyone is in it for himself or herself. And when I say it I mean life. They put one foot forward at a time so they can be happy. Your happiness means nothing to them. “Scarlett lets go!” my mom yelled, stopping in the doorway of my room. “What the hell are you thinking? Putting on makeup? It’s a mental hospital, not a fashion show.” She glared and me and clicked her heals down the hallway. She was long gone when I could think of something to say. “Just because I want to die, doesn’t mean I’m a different person,” I whispered to my reflection in the mirror. And it was true, I was still the same person who cared about what everyone thought, and whether or not I looked pretty or skinny, who my friends were and what I should be doing. And I realize now that the image of the perfect girl was put in my head long ago by society. A society where everyone is perfect and everyone knows exactly where they belong. You’ve seen the typical high school movies. You have the cheerleaders with their jock boyfriends, the band nerds, the ghetto kids, the drama geeks, the stoners, the quire, the Goth’s, the sluts, and the popular's. Well id probably tried every one. I’d played the flute for 3 years, I’d gone to acting camp, I cheerleader, I smoked everyday for a while, I hooked up with half the school, and I even managed to push my way into the popular group on rare occasion. Was it worth it? Was it really everything people said? The answers no. Its not, so stay with the friends who actually care about you and the ones who will have your back till the sun goes down.
I slipped into the car and leaned back against the seat, sighing. I knew it would be a long car ride, long and awkward. It was like I had some kind of disease, that someone could catch. The irony about that is that I would never wish this on anyone else. There are enough people suffering for the entire universe and more.