So, I'm gonna start off by saying I will talk about my suicide attempt, if you do not like that subject, this is your warning to continue doing what you do. Godbless those who leave.

Okay, so I'm 16, and before you go "you're too young", ima stop you at that. I can't speak for other younger kids per say, but I'm being deadass when I say that I am 6'6. I wear 4XL shirts and hoodies as well as 18 size shoes (U.S.) and my weight is 363 LBS so you get the picture.

All this said, let us begin. Depression has been silently worsening throughout my adolescence until it had reached its peak both last year and this year. 2020-2022 is the peak of my depression.

I remember in 7th grade when I was bullied everyday. Yes, even tall and big people like me get bullied. Ik what you're thinking "you could stomp on them", see, that is the thing, I'm too "nice" to do anything about it.

I simply do not want to do anything unless my life is in danger or when someone attacks first. That is just how I am. I often got taken advantage of, I still did up until a few weeks ago when I had an epiphany and decided to cut off the only friend I had because he was using me.

Thing is, I've always shared. Always wanted to help people and I've never really cared if I didn't have anything for myself, as long as the people I cared about were fine. Saddens me to say, but in this world, I don't believe you can do that anymore.

I often wonder why everyone is so selfish and greedy, and why I am so selfless and giving. There isn't a doubt in my mind that everyone was respectful at one point in time and nice, and the world turned them dark.

Not a chance that someone is born that way, right? Born into sin and die in sin? Is that what the saying is?

Anyways, February 14th, 2022 at night, I decided to attempt suicide. Merely depression got the best of me. I wont blame it on the antidepressant I was on, Prozac, because I cut myself only once prior to this.

It may have played a part, I don't completely understand how medicine works. So, I've cut myself about 70+ times and I put my jacket on to cover it up and then I go outside and smoke about 5 small cigars.

I end up somehow taking off the jacket and forgetting to put it back on, probably from the blood loss, but I end up falling asleep. Somehow, I woke up. I was fairly suprised, not only because I wasn't dead, but because my mother saw the cuts the next morning on February 15th.

What happens is my mother pours alcohol over my cuts, and I have to admit, it did burn, but then again, so did the 70+ cuts, so it didn't really bother me too much.

Deserved it anyways for doing that to myself, I guess. So, my mother calls the ambulance and I just absolutely hate my life at that point because I had no control over where I was going after that 911 call was made.

So, the ambulance arrives, they check the cuts and all that, then I ride with them to the hospital and they call it in and stuff. Whenever I get there, I'm then put on suicide watch. I had to take my clothes off and put a gown on and stuff and a dude comes up in there and mentions a facility or something.

He asks me if it's okay, and I didn't really respond because I didn't really have an option, so. They get a ambulance to transport me from the actual hospital to the psychiatric hospital.

I forgot to mention that I at the Time had an herniated disc that was close to rupture, so I was very uncomfortable in the back of both those ambulance's, as well as the fact I didn't really fit in the ambulance, but at least on the way to the psychiatric hospital, I got to tell the paramedic about my life.

He was definitely a legend. Anyways tho, so I haven't told y'all my whole life story, but I'd be willing to if you ask me. This story could go on forever if I added my whole life story to it.

I get there, and the nurses ask me stuff and I'm respectful and kind as I always am. They were suprised at my height and I bet they thought that I was sent to the wrong floor. It actually wasn't all too bad, I do have to admit.

I mean, aside from being homesick and not feeling at home. They had a PS4 at least, so that kept me occupied, as well as a TV to watch stuff, so ykno, can't really complain a whole lot.

What I can complain about it the couches and the beds. Even in a regular bed, I still felt extreme pain and discomfort along with prolonged suffering basically, no different with the beds at the Psychiatric Hospital.

As far as the couches? They really got people sitting on RUBBER COUCHES. I didn't even know that shit existed. Anyways, that was extremely uncomfortable, not to mention how many times my Hospital Scrubs ripped.

Since I wear 4XL, I believe they deadass had me in a XL or a Large. Worst thing tho? I didn't have any underwear on, so, I had to hide my lower extremities with my hands basically. Fairly embarrassing, considering my lower extremity is more of an eyesore than anything, to say it like that.

So, I eventually get my clothes my mother sent me, and that solves that problem. Big problem? Me not being able to shower. I couldn't shower due to me not being able to stand up for long due to my Herniated disc and stuff. At home, I took bath's and stuff.

I met very interesting people in their tho. One I really respected was a kid who had autism. Only one in there with it. I defended him when the other kids would talk shit because of him being Autistic.

Most of the kids in there were disrespectful little brats to say the least, but I can't blame them. They probably been in and out of psychiatric hospital's their whole life. As well as the parents not teaching them properly, probably.

The nurses remarked that I was the best kid in there. I was the only respectful and kind one besides the kid with Autism and one other, but he just didn't talk really. It was excruciating because of my pain, and a little awkward, but I survived. Been through worse tbh.

Fast foward to now, I have Manic depression and my mind is basically a warzone. It is truly crazy how the blessed ones have the most curses. Truly crazy how me, the silent, but nice and respectful person that I am, hide all these scars and Noone would ever know about it if I didn't say anything.

As for my plans for friends and a girlfriend? Tbh with you? I'm an introvert, and I plan on rejecting everyone and just focusing on my family. What happens when my family dies? Well, I'll just deal with it. Been dealing with it 16 years, I can deal with it 60 more years, or however long it may be.

Sure, its depressing and lonely, but I rather it be peaceful than to be lied to and just deal with people in general. Like that slipknot song, "people=shit".