Two summers ago I was having suicidal thoughts. I wrote that in my journal and my dad went through it and found it. He threatened me with it so I was afraid to say anything. Nobody offered me help. So, I kept everything inside. I hid everything. I smiled a fake smile, lied about everything. My parents eventually started limiting me on everything. I wasn’t allowed to sit in my room. Wasn’t allowed to write. Wasn’t allow to sit on the couch and watch tv. Nothing. I had to socialize which I suck at. I didn’t though. I sat back and listened. I was always awake at night, looking up suicidal quotes and planning. I blew up one day on a family member. I exploded. I’ve never screamed at someone in the way that I did. I was furious and ended up calling someone to come get me. After that my parents put me in therapy. I went in for an intake and the therapist performing the intake caught me on a lie.

She asked if I had ever had suicidal thoughts. I made the mistake of hesitating and devastatingly my voice broke when I said no. She bit her lip and asked me again. I started crying. She asked me a bunch of questions like when was the last thought and have I tried. I told her I was having the thought right then cause I was and yes I had tried. Twice. They put me impatient. I cried, the whole time. I hated it and I was miserable. I was caught cutting while I was there. I was plotting a plan to escape through a roof tile and hide anywhere I could. Once I got out I was happy. I was continuously doing therapy and was helped all the time. My dad looked at me in a different way though. Anyways, a few weeks later I relapsed and was sent back again. My dad pulled me from there and we moved out.

I still have thoughts. I had an incident the other day but am working through it. I always keep in mind what it would do to my family if I did do it and that stops me and I continue to hope it does.