I've been going through depression ever since I was six. I don't remember much of my childhood, but I remember a number of traumatic events. I remember crying myself to sleep when I was six and I didn't know why, I remember wanting to die at the age of six. I remember being raped through the ages of nine to eleven. What I don't remember is the night my father was arrested, I often wonder, "Where was I that night? They tell me I was home, but I don't remember." I don't remember the day my favorite uncle moved to North Carolina, I don't remember the day my mom had to leave for a while. I remember the day she came back six months later.

Well, most of that doesn't matter anymore, but this part does:
January 22, 2003, I attempted suicide. I had been plotting my death for about 3 months and then when that day in January came, I knew I had to do it. I went into my bedroom, locked the doors, and took out my bottle of sleeping pills (I was diagnosed with insomnia, so I took Ambien to help me sleep) I took the whole bottle there was probably 23 pills in there, I'm not sure though. Then I chased it down with a bottle of vodka. I was sure I was going to die and I got afraid for a minute, I thought of all the people I'd leave behind. But I also thought; When an animal is suffering, we don't want it to. So we put it to sleep, why not do the same with humans? I passed out after a while. But, I obviously didn't die.

My mom came home from work early since it was her bosses birthday and he wanted everyone to go home so he could close the office early. This is what she told me; She came home called my name didn't hear me reply knocked on my bedroom door and I didn't answer. She turned the knob and it was locked, she paniced, went to her room took out the spare key to my bedroom which, I never knew she had. She saw me passed out and the empty bottle of Ambien next to me. She called for an ambulance and they came. I had my stomach pumped, I woke up in the hospital and the doctors asked me why I did it. I wouldn't answer them so, I was put in the psychiatric ward for one month and ninteen days. When I got out I vowed never to go back again, but even then I knew that the inevitable would happen again and I'll be back in the hospital, but not for attempted suicide, but for my eating disorder.

And it happened, two months later in English class I passed out because I hadn't eaten anything for nine days. I stayed in the hospital longer this time for four months. I'm still suffering from my eating disorder, still cutting myself, still depressed, and I still have suicidal thoughts, but I don't think I'll act on them. My diagnosis is: Major depression with acute psychosis, PTSD, Borderline Personality disorder, and anxiety disorder.