A blaring white light, all of my belongings in a bag, my pink Pusheen plush in my hands, and my dad being annoyed at the people behind the curtain. I was in the hospital. I had another attempt on my life.

     Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be dead. I was the fourth grader who made jokes about “killing themself.” The one who would seem the happiest she’s ever been, then go home, and draw her cat beside her grave. I’ve always had my suicidal thoughts in check; I’ve always had them a little under control, until my senior year.

     Two months till I graduate, and I lost half of my friends for a reason that I believed was stupid. This action killed me mentally and almost physically. The people I was the closest to, I was no longer friends with. Classes were terrible, and walking in the halls by myself was even worse. I would see them in the halls and in classes being closer than I have ever seen them, and it made me think if I ever mattered to them in the first place. I cried for days at a time and would hate to come to school because that would mean I would see them. It would mean it wasn’t a dream.

     So I did the only thing I thought would fix this mess I was in and take my own life. Unfortunately, I yet again failed.

     The days after being in the hospital were life-changing for me. I learned that I love journaling. I learned that saying what I was feeling was really hard for me. However, I didn’t learn that I loved being alive.

     One month till I graduate, and I still don’t have many friends. I still love journaling. I still have a hard time saying how I’m feeling. I still don’t know how much I would like to be alive. 

    I am still learning that there is more outside of the cloud of depression. I’m still in the thick of it, and I’m not sure how life is going to turn out for me. But I do know that there is more to life than what suicide shows you. It’ll take time, but eventually I will be able to see through the clouds;