"No one would care if you died."

I remember so clearly the day my brother went with me to the bus stop, five years ago. He had been upset that morning, and he took it out on me. We got into a fist fight, and when I finally hit back, he lost it. 

He told me to put a plastic bag on my head and go play in the street. He said, "No one would care if you died. They'd be better off without you." 

The events of that one morning led to my years of depression and anxiety. And finally my suicide attempt. 

To this day, when I get sad, I remember what he said. That everyone is better off without me.
 

"I'd throw a party the next day."

Last year a guy from school told me to hang myself. I asked him if he'd feel bad if I actually did it, and he said, "No. I'd throw a party the next day."

I told him that if I had been depressed that day and if I were a different person, it would have happened. He said, "It would have been worth it."

People need to be careful about what they say. 
 

"You're not depressed."

One night last year, after I had been self harming for months, I came out of the shower to find my mum staring at my arms and legs. 

She hit me and shouted, "You're not depressed. You're an attention seeking wee bitch." 

That hurt so much, because I really needed professional help at that point in my life. 

"Get a life!"

In the past I've struggled a lot with anxiety, depression, PTSD, and bipolar. Lately I've been struggling with agoraphobia, or the fear of going outside. I've been indoors 90% of the time for a number of years, and I'm trying to work through it now.

I stopped going to public school sophomore year. I can't handle the environment, with timed expectations and feeling like people have their eyes on me when I mess up, so I take classes at home through the school. Every so often I have to go to the high school to do paperwork or something. My anxiety gets to me pretty often, but I try my hardest to relax and keep my head up. Keeping happy is my way of getting back at all the misfortune in my life, even if it's difficult. 

One day as I was getting ready to go to the high school to do some errands, I decided for the first time in forever that I wanted to dress up a little. Feeling confident makes it easier for me to go outside. It makes me feel like if people look at me, they won't judge what they see. 

As I was getting ready to cross the street to go home, someone sped by in a car and screamed at me, "GET A LIFE!" 

I stood and stared at the street for a moment. I felt like a paper thin glass bottle getting dropped on the ground. I wanted to sit down and cry, but I wanted even more desperately to just go back home and be inside. Indoors, nobody would call me names or tell me what to do with my life. 

I wanted to stop that car and shriek into his ears, "Do you know what you've just done to me? Do you know what I am going through? It took every single ounce of my energy to get out of bed today, and you have the audacity to tell me to get a life. I'm trying. I'm TRYING to get a life and I'm TRYING to maintain it. You don't know what it's like to get up with the intentions of going outside, look at the front door for fifteen minutes, undo the deadbolt, and then start crying and go back to bed because people like you make me wish I had never been born. I hope you're happy with yourself. I worked up every last bit of courage I had to walk out the front door today and you shattered it. You took it and threw it in a trash compactor." 

The three words he screamed at me made me feel empty and alone. It kept me wondering what I did wrong. What did I do to deserve that scream? What did I do to make you hate me? Just exist? 

Since then I've been working on going outside more. It isn't as scary now as it was then. I went out all on my own today and applied for a number of jobs. It feels good to smile and look people in the eyes, shake their hands and introduce myself. Even if I don't get the job(s), I'm happy with myself because I tried. 

I have a life. I'm doing all I can with it. With what I've been through in my life, trying and succeeding even at little tasks is more than just "enough." 

I'm excelling in places I never thought I would, and that is what makes me happy.

"You're not the same."

My daughter was born premature. Extremely premature. She weighed 1lb, 3oz, and was not supposed to survive. On top of that, I almost didn't survive either. I was hospitalized for months, I had an emergency C section, and I faced losing my daughter every day after that for months until she was stable enough.

And I went through it all without a comforting hand beside me. 

Throughout it all, I was being abused by my (now ex) husband. 

One day, while waiting for our daughter to be released from surgery, I confronted him. Why was he so cruel to me? Why did I deserve the pain? 

He looked me in the eyes and told me this one thing: "You're not the girl I fell in love with. You're not the same. You were so sweet and happy. And now you're bitter and hateful. The world darkened you, and you're not the same." 

That was why I deserved his abuse, which was the very thing that made me bitter. 

That was why I deserved being left alone to go through this ordeal, which was the very thing that darkened me.

It's been five years, and I now have depression and anxiety. I have a hard time with my relationships. I never know if I can trust the man I'm with, for numerous reasons. 

I'm the girl who apologizes for existing. 

He was right. I'm not the same.

"Incessant piece of crap."

When I was a sophomore I had a horrible, horrible breakup with a guy I dated for a little over a year. He ended up leaving me for the girl he had told me for months was "just a friend". 

After he left, I tried to at least salvage my friendship with him since we had once been very close friends, only to get a reply from his new girlfriend telling me I was an "incessant piece of crap" and that, the universe would be better off if trash like me killed themselves. 

This put me in a really dark place, and it just got worse after my emotional support (my dog I had since I was a toddler) died in my arms, and two puppies I adopted after her death died weeks after their adoption. 

After that, I began to believe what she had told me. I began blaming myself for the deaths of my pets and began wishing I was just dead so no other creature would have to suffer my existence. 

It took a long time and a lot of therapy before I was finally pulled out of the dark place her words had sent me to, but even to this day if something goes wrong her words echo in the back of my mind and linger like a shadow following me.
 

"I hope to God I never have a kid like you."

When I was little, I had a lot of emotional problems and developed PTSD. Because of my anxiety disorder, I was very particular about things that literally didn't matter at all. 

One year on Christmas Eve when I was 6, I decided that the ginger bread house I had made with my uncle and cousin wasn't right, so I wanted to do it over again. This upset my uncle because we had spent hours on it and now I was persistent that we had to start over. 

After arguing with him for a while, I finally stormed off in a tantrum about the situation and went to the living room to cry and vent. A few minutes later he came over to me, and I hoped he would comfort me. Instead, he proceeded to tell me words that would stick with me forever. 

He said, "You acted like a brat!" He sighed and continued with, "and I hope to God I never have a kid like you." 

He was about 30 at the time and had his first child 5 years later. While he's never apologized to me for the incident, his son has problems of his own, and I like to think that he now regrets saying that to me all those years ago. 

Regardless, to this day we don't have much of a relationship, and I generally avoid spending Christmas with my extended family to avoid incidents like this.
 

"My heart broke for you."

I was 19 years old, and I had completely broken down. Again. The world around me that I thought I knew was crumbling to pieces. 

"You're worthless. You're good for nothing. You're worthless." 

These words rang over and over through my empty mind. 

I had just begun my third semester in college, and in every class, I found myself writing my suicide letter. The date would be the anniversary of my dad's suicide. Halloween. Might as well make it dramatic. 

The week before Halloween, I showed a therapist my letter. I convinced him that I wasn't serious. That it was all a joke.

He let me walk out in this state. 

When Halloween came, I got drunk. I ran up this street, with no shoes, no jacket, no dignity. Three cops stopped and asked me what I was doing, if I'd come off my meds, if I needed to go to the hospital. I walked away. 

A woman got out of her car and asked me if I was all right, asked if I wanted food. I ran away. I was shaking, sweating, biting back my last tears. In my mind, I wasn't allowed to cry. This was what I deserved. 

I started to walk out in front of a car. 

The car came to a stop, and someone got out. It was the same lady from before. She rushed out of the car, threw her jacket on me, and held me as a cried. 

She said, "When I saw you, my heart broke for you." 

She gave me new life. 

She gave me a seed of hope to plant. 

Today, I am 22 years old. After various hospital stays, various treatments, I am still on the path to recovery.

To this very day, I still hold her words close to my heart. Every time I dream about ending the suffering I endure every day, I envision that angel who saved me. 

I remember her holding me as I cried. 

I remember how truly promising life can be even when the room is dim.
 

It will not define me.

I'm a singer, actress and artist with a passion for theater. I majored in Musical Theater for 3 semesters, all while minoring in Studio Art, being an Honors student, maintaining a 4.0 GPA, and earning a reputation as the most hardworking and respectful student in my class. I was sure I had found my calling in life. 

Imagine my shock when, after confidently performing at Evaluation, I was discreetly taken to my professor's office and told that I didn't pass, and I wouldn't be allowed to continue my major. 

Because of my anxiety issues. 

Because of the bites on my arms from panic attacks. 

Because they thought I was too damaged-goods to survive in the industry. 

Well guess what? 

I just performed in Hamlet, and an expert authority on Shakespeare in the audience said it was, "The best college production of [ANYTHING they] had ever seen," and called it "professional." 

Oh, and don't get get me started on the number of famous actors who suffer every day from anxiety and mental disorder and still kick ass. 

So, yes, as long as I live I will never forget the moment my professor I looked up to told me I couldn't do it. Yes, it will haunt me for years to come.

But with God as my witness, it will not define me.

"Welcome to this life."

My mom has always had mental health issues. I've stopped her multiple times from committing suicide. I was always supportive and caring.

One day when I was around 13, I spilled my heart out to my mom. I told her everything I was feeling. I told her of incidents in the past that really took a toll on me. I told her things that happened to me that I was too ashamed to talk about, and how my world was just falling down around me.

I NEVER cry in front of people. But at that moment I did. I cried in front of my mom because I was at such a loss. 

his time, for the first time, I was the one who needed support. 

She didn't console me. She didn't kiss my booboos. She didn't pat me on the back and tell me everything would be okay. 

She kind of rolled her eyes and said, "Welcome to depression. Welcome to this life. How do you think I feel? Now you know what it's like." And that was it.

I am now the COMPLETE opposite with my child.

Children don't ask to be here. You bring them here. The least you can do is show unconditional love.