⚠️ Warning: Mentions of poor mental health and su!c!dal thoughts ⚠️

I just realized something that scares me. Like a lot. Before I go on I just want to let those of you who know me irl know that I'm completely fine now. This is just a reflection of some things I went through in the past. No need to worry, love you all (irl or no). So anyways, in sixth grade I had a lot to deal with. It seems silly in that one statement but it's true. My sister had just been diagnosed with anxiety and anger issues which was causing a lot of tension in my household and I felt like I was walking on bombshells around my entire family. In school I am a 'gifted' kid which was never something I thought of as pressuring until I got to middle school and my teachers started shoving every competition and academic opportunity in my face and trying to get me to participate. Obviously I felt I had to and so I did. That on top of school work and I was practically drowning in the things that were expected from me academically. If my grades dipped below a ninety-five my mom demanded to know why I wasn't giving my best and made me get it back up. In dance (which I've been doing since I was 3) I had decided to take eight performing classes. That mean eight different sets of choreography had to be memorized and executed perfectly every time on top of  school and my non-preforming classes. The most damaging thing I think though, was how alone I was. I tried to convince myself that I didn't feel alone but I knew then and now that that was a total lie. I sat alone everyday at lunch and I never talked to anyone in dance or school. I communicated little to none with my sisters and parents and the one friends group I had before that year completely shunned me. I'm not sure if these things caused me to fall into such a bad mental state or it was just a combination or what. I know that so many other people go through so so much worse but for some reason this was a really hard time for me. I just didn't realize how hard until recently. 

In ELA, for our end of the year assignment my class has to do a reflection writing. Basically the drafting is just us answering a bunch of questions about how we've changed over the past school year and what not. I just got to the final question today and it was something along the lines of 'how have you grown as a person began middle school'. So I was typing random things that I knew I didn't mean because it's just an ELA assignment and I just didn't care. Then I decided to actually pause and think about the question. When I did I remembered one day in my downstairs bathroom. I can't remember what I was doing there or what my parents were doing. But I do remember what I thought and felt. I had scissors and an exacto knife (I think to open a package) in my hand and I remember stopping and looking at them. I remember taking the flat side of the scissors and pressing it down onto my forearm and thinking about it. I remember wondering if I were to stab a vein, if I would bleed out and die. I remember how the idea didn't scare me, how the prospect of waking up in heaven and finally feeling something, anything other than stress and empty sounded like something I wanted so  badly. I also know that I never drew blood, not once when I considered trying to cut the veins in the crook of my elbow did I ever actually attempt to. I was too scared. However I do know one thing clearly, after that bathroom day I was always thinking of ways I might die. I found myself hoping my school bus would crash or that a shooter would catch me unawares in my neighborhood. Sometimes I went to sleep and I just prayed to not wake up. I thought about how I could die without having to take a blade to my skin. Every time I rode over a bridge my first thought was if there was any way I could survive if I leapt off. At the time it didn't seem like that big of a deal, just wishes that would never be fulfilled. 

Thinking back now though, that terrifies me. Because I don't want to die. Even the thought makes me scared. But I did back then. Even if I never took a blade to my skin, I seriously wanted to. I know I don't have it as bad as others but the fact that for some reason, little sixth grade me felt so alone that I contemplated trying to kill myself, it makes me realize that I probably could have used a lot of help back then. The sad thing is, I don't think my family ever noticed what was wrong. I know my parents knew I had no one around me in sixth grade but I don't think they ever had any clue I felt so empty. Things have improved so much in my family, including my sister's anxiety and I think now if I felt the way I did back then that it would be noticed immediately. Not just by my family but by my friends too. 

I hate to think that there are so many people struggling with the same, even worse feeling than I did. I want you all to know i appreciate you all so much and things will eventually get no matter how bad they seem. I'm sorry for this rant, it's a lot more serious than what this book usually has but I had to get this off my chest and I wasn't comfortable talking face to face with any one. Stay safe and take care of yourselves, I love you all!