On  a very ordinary afternoon, nothing especially difficult happened. I started crying and I didn't know why. I felt like a knife was stabbed into my heart again and again. Tears streamed down my face like it was  raining cats and dogs. I didn’t know why but I was just so sad. I hid under the blanket and tried not to cry out loud. I felt like I couldn’t  tell anyone that I was sad because I have always been a sunny and optimistic person. This depression feeling almost killed me then I remember I learned in the health class that I needed to ask for help when necessary. I talked to Mrs. Park.

I told her everything and how I felt. She sent me to the hospital, which is when my real nightmare began. The hospital was like a jail, dark and freezing. People screamed every day. I  am terrified. The other patients keep telling me how bad this hospital is and how unprofessional the nurse and the doctor is. Everyone hates this place; we thought we would get help here, but they only make our condition worse. I completely lost the meaning of life. I started to have more symptoms of bipolar disorder. I felt like my existence would only cause more problems. I felt like I didn't even deserve to be sad. After leaving the hospital I tried to kill myself again and again, and I was sent to the hospital again and again. I was counting how many medications I have so I can successfully kill myself. The pain of the depressive attacks were unbearable. I didn't give up asking for help until there was no one left that I could trust. 

After being sent to the hospital for over a month the last time, I made up my mind that I would never go back to this place, no matter what. After I was discharged from the hospital, two ways to keep me out of the hospital came to my mind. Either die completely or insist on treatment to improve my condition. Dying was not as easy as I thought, and I was terrified, terrified that if I failed again, I would go back to that hellish place. So I feel like trying to recover for the time being and waiting until the day I'm able is ending my life.

 When I have panic attacks I do breathing exercises to calm myself down. Now I can control myself when I am facing panic attacks which I couldn't do before. After two months school started again. Teachers told me I changed a lot. I know my effort is worth it.  I started going to school every day again and was able to participate in classes and clubs. I started to hangout with friends once in a while. I feel a lot calmer than before, now that I have my mind clear, I started to organize my room, desk and closet more. I feel very different now. My life gradually became more and more like a “normal“ person. I can finally stabilize my emotions. I changed myself in exchange for growth. The process of growing up is always cruel, and you always have to lose something. And I lost the self who used to be able to feel happy unrestrainedly.