** Please bear in mind this story contains mention of crime, self-harm, sexual harassment, abuse, and suicidal thoughts so if these trigger you, please skip this chapter.

I don't think I remember when things actually started getting bad. I'm sure there were signs that I didn't recognise then. And I probably don't even now.

I was 7th grade when I made a new friend. It was a relief to have her because my best one then was shifting schools and honestly at the age of 12, how much could I keep in touch? (We are kinda in touch though). She was a new kid and we became friends really fast. Now that I look back, it was way too fast. I started getting onto the wrong path. It wasn't her fault. It was completely mine. I got a false sense of pride from doing the things I was. A lot of the I don't feel guilty about now but regret. I was stealing without realising I was actually STEALING. If that makes sense. I knew stealing was bad but I wasn't quite aware that it was what I was doing. I got caught one day and my parents were distraught and my mom kept saying- 'Where did I go wrong' and I took an oath to never talk about it or repeat it (I haven't). Even my family for reasons I don't know made me understand that it's wrong and never spoke of it again. I started cheating in exams around that time as well. I bunked a class.

Bunking class was a normal thing for some but I felt so bad later. I never bunked any class after that. And as fast as the friend was there, she was not. She started getting distant next year after we got separated into different sections. It was hard at first because I was used to being her only friend. In all honesty, I was jealous. But I made a new friend (who bears with me no matter how much of a sucky person I am) and things got better.

I started going back to how things were before 7th grade.

It was 9th grade and the ex-friend was in my class again. We have a system of the same set of students being there in the 9th and 10th grade. I slowly saw the girl change into this doll. I no more recognised her. But the thing was, we still mildly talked. It just wasn't the same. She became this doll I loathed. But I couldn't stop being amused by her. I had seen a version of her that nobody will ever see again. And that is probably where it started. Jealousy took over me and started slowly retreating from her and that made me stand alone. I no more wanted to do things she wanted to do so I always refused. All of a sudden, I was alone. Everyone would be happy eating lunch and talking while I awkwardly hoped not to be seen alone. I thought I'd make new friends and although I did, the loneliness never went away. And it only grew stronger. I didn't want to be with anything anymore. And with the growing loneliness, I started becoming aware of the fact that I was scared now. I was scared of things I had never been beforehand. Some things in the past had never scared me but all of a sudden, they were all I could think of. I couldn't even stand on stage without being scared. I started talking to my closest and most trustworthy friend because talking makes it better right? But it never did. Even then, I felt lonely. I felt dead. Little did I know that was the start.

I only got worse from there. I barely remember much. But I remember having summer break and losing the interest to do anything and staying in my room all day. I slept for almost 12 hours a day. I started crying for no reason and it frustrated me so much that I didn't know why I was crying.

I started scratching my hand. I started with my own nails and the moved to this plastic thing which was broken. I had told myself I could control how bad it got. It eventually got blunt and the day I realised that, I went into a frenzy. And I shifted to scissors and when I didn't have that, I used staple pins or glass from broken glass bangles. It was a small thing. Barely visible.

And then I got in contact with this person online who I met through a mental health post. She was helping me to figure out how I was feeling. She was no professional but it helped. And my mom found out. She flipped out and wanted to know why. So I told her. I actually had looked up the signs of depression multiple times by then and it angered me that I wasn't able to stop. My mom kept saying that she was unable to understand me. In all honesty, she doesn't. She is the person that thinks that I shouldn't be sad without a reason. She compared my sadness and scratching to my sister's temper tantrums. They were very different things. I got in contact with my school therapist and she couldn't understand either.

My mom told me how I was feeling was normal for every teenager. So that's what I believed. I kept going down self-destructive behaviour telling myself it was normal until I realised it was not. I told my friend actually and realised. And I started to actually control it then. And I started making up how I was feeling and I know this makes me sound like a freak but I don't know why I ever did it. I would increase the intensity of how I was feeling when I told somebody and I was unable to stop. Again, until I realised I was doing it. And I am aware of it and controlling it now. I'm quite the terrible person like that lol.

Over time, certain thoughts from the past grew on me. I started noticing things from a more mature point of view and realised that some things that happened weren't normal and were never supposed to be. My mom used to touch me. Don't get me wrong. I love her very much. She never did anything intentionally and I never thought of it as something that would've objected me. But over the years, I developed anxiety surrounding it. And every time her hands got close to where they shouldn't be, I would immediately panic. And it took me a while to understand that this would've been considered as sexual harassment. Actually, only one other person knows this story but I guess it was time. I still love my mom very much but if I could sue her, I would. When I'm with her, I'm so so happy. But when I'm alone and start thinking about it, it's just so dark and cold. One day, I made up my mind and told my mom that it made me uncomfortable but she said it was just for 'fun'. She stopped. But it never stopped bothering me. She never meant to hurt me. I know that she didn't and she has apologized multiple times. But I couldn't stop thinking of how uncomfortable I was. And every once in awhile, she would say something that would throw me off. It would probably just be a joke but it affected me.

Then there was the fact that my sister used to have temper tantrums when she was younger. I think I was around 7-9 throughout the time. She and my mom would throw things, wrestle, scratch, threaten, slap, pull hair etc. And I hated seeing it. None of them ever knew why they did it. But they just did. And I would pray for it to stop. It never stopped but my praying did. I was afraid. I was scared to go and look when they were fighting. I only went in when things felt really bad. I was afraid that if I went in, they would hurt me too. It would happen almost every day. I would hear screaming and immediately understand what was going on. I think the worst memory of them at that time is when my sister held a knife and said - I'll kill myself. My mom kept saying - kill me first. I was just standing there. I know now that they weren't being as serious as I thought. But at that age, it felt very real. The thought that I come home from school and never have a family member again was very real. I don't think I have any good memories from that time. My dad would never take part. He would silently be doing something else unless he had to come in between. And since he never took part, I was unable to tell him that it was hurting me and when I did tell my mom years later, it was apparently my issue because 'I never remembered the happy things'. I had no one to be happy with.

Every time I tried to talk to my mom about my mental health, she would create a scene about it. She would almost manipulate me to tell my dad. She would say things like - I can't sleep at night because I'm keeping this from him. There isn't anything for her to keep when the secret was mine. She would randomly bring it up with my friends saying things like - do you scratch too? Or ask are you still sad in the middle of dinner. And it angered me so so much.

Around the same time as my 10th grade, among the self-isolation and scratching, I started questioning my sexuality. I was struggling with coming to terms with anything at all. My friends (quite a few of them) came out to me and it irked me. I was mad that they figured it out first. I wasn't mad at them. I was mad at me. I was mad that I was being so useless in this situation and I was very afraid. My mother is somewhat of a homophobe even though she might claim not to be. And it scared me. I'm actually now out as queer to two of my best friends, my sister, and my wattapad family. Anyhow, I figured that out when I saw Harry Styles, a singer recently mentioned how sexuality was not a defined thing. That was mixed with a post I saw about how if I labeled myself once, I could relabel anytime. So I came out as queer to a few people. Sometimes, it feels so unreal that I'm not straight but it is what it is.

I actually had a really close friend who was my childhood friend for as long as I can remember and I told her about my scratching and how I was feeling after a long time and she was going through family issues and I found out she tried to as well. So we both decided to tell each other when we did except she stopped telling me every time. I felt so guilty that I told her and promised myself I wouldn't tell anybody again but here I am lol.

I often had thoughts of death. It wasn't new. I thought of it and pondered about it. I gave it it's time in my mind. I used to make a list of the most effective methods etc. As lucky as I am, those thoughts occur much less now! (:

An online friend helped me with that actually. Every time I was down, she would cheer me up and remind me of my importance in an unusual way. I felt less lonely with her. We were in the same time zone, age, and school year which made communication easy. She was am easy person to talk to. But as she told me more and more about her, I felt bad to talk about me. And I still do. It happened with everybody. I felt bad to put my burdens on them when they were already carrying theirs.

I think the realisation that the loneliness, lack of interest, etc might be depression was when a group of therapists came to my school and let us speak to them privately. The lady therapist kept asking all the symptoms of depression and marking them on her 'list'. She suggested a therapist as soon as possible. She gave me a free number to call when I'm having issues. That's when it hit me that I actually need help.

I got comfortable with the idea of going to therapy through my school principal. She told us a story about when she visited a grief counsellor after her dad passed away and it gave me assurance that in the future if I did go, it was okay to go.

Truth is that even after all this, I used to think that I had no reason to feel the way I was. But it isn't that way. I can be sad. I can be down. I can be gloomy and nobody has the right to tell me that I shouldn't be. And I am doing better although hopefully, I will talk to parents about getting a therapist. After everything, I think I deserve that little gift of being able to receive help and the point is that all of you do too. But the point is that even without a reason, I can be sad. But I can get help to change that. I owe it myself to do it and will do it. Do I have depression? I don't know since I have never got it checked. But hopefully, within a year, I can come back to read this and know that I got help.