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.