top of page

Mez, Anonymous (15)

I feel so bad for pitying myself with this writing, but maybe I will be able to let everything go once I finish. It started when I allowed myself to be peer pressured, I got addicted to nicotine. And from there I went to weed and alcohol. I would smoke every day, it was one of the only constants that brought me joy. I don’t remember much before winter, I was falling down a dark hole; but in my eyes the darkness felt right. I was stuck in a fog; lost, hopeless and worthless. But, there was some light in my darkness; I found love, I made real friends. Thinking of happiness, I see their faces. I had never really knew what it was like to love something before, but now I had met my people. The ones I spent hours laughing and smiling with, the ones I couldn’t go a day without. I remember looking forward to seeing them each day. Every practice was worth it, nothing mattered more than them. They made me happy. But, as I got more and more addicted, I became more and more empty. I strayed from what was right and wrong. I had my first encounter with depression. I started sharing how I felt with my 4 closest friends, and received their endless kindness in return. Something I didn’t get from my parents. I feel bad writing negative things about my family, but it hurts me knowing I can't have this "normality" I crave. I felt disgusted by myself, I used my own friends for pity. It still feels so wrong thinking back; I regret telling them about my feelings each day. Not because I didn’t trust them, more so because I don’t want anyone to think of me as some other sob story, just another girl craving attention. My own views of myself deteriorated, I lost worth each day. Two of my friends told the school guidance counselor about their concern for me; I was called in and later that week I got searched for "drugs" and sent to a psych ward. I never want to tell anyone I'm sad again, I never want to end up back in that place. White walls, barred windows, muted purple couch. I scratched paint off the wall for hours. I begged for the doctor so I could leave, but of course the doctor was busy. There was nothing to do, I asked for books. I found a receipt and made a paper airplane. I threw it for hours, it was the only thing I had. But, I finally met the doctor, he asked me questions. And I lied. I hate this day so much, this day makes me wish I was never born. I told 2 people about this day, I've never said this much. And this isn't even everything. It feels like everything and nothing is crashing down on me, I can't breathe as I type this. My parents picked me up from the psych ward, they yelled at me the ride home. I felt the anxiety building up the whole ride home, I just wanted the warmth and compassion my friends had taught me I feel so anxious and "panicky" thinking back on those days, the drugs got me in so much trouble. If I had just... I lost everything in me that day, I felt truly dead inside. Just because I told my friends I was sad. Telling my friends is my second greatest regret. Getting addicted is the first. If my mom knew I was writing this, she would be so mad. I would get in so much trouble. She knows what she is talking about, but she doesn't know how to talk to me. I give up. I'm sorry I'm not what everyone wanted. I wish I could tell my friends everything, how much I love them, how much I miss them. But it would just be another regret. My life is a tv show; and this is the series finale, and I want it to be my happy ending. I want to be happy again.

Recent Posts

See All

Mental health/perception, Anonymous (17)

I’ve dealt with mental illness nearly my whole life - anxiety and depression to be exact. I’ve come to terms with it over the years, yet I’ve found myself lost within it. With acceptance came erasure

Men have feelings too, Anonymous

As a male, we have that sort of stigma that we need to be mentally there or strong. Holding back emotions so that we don’t burden others. And I know it’s easy to say “ well just don’t.” But it’s not t


bottom of page