It was completely unexpected. I had an older brother, Josh, who I completely adored, and two parents, who wanted nothing but the best for me. My name is Emilee and I started self-injuring myself at the age of 12 in 6th grade. I guess on the surface everything seemed fine. I was the little brunette who made everyone laugh, the one everyone came to if they were having problems. One day, when I was 11, I couldn't take everyone always depending on me and nobody ever thinking that something could be wrong with me. I knew it was. I was really sad when I was by myself, only 'happy' when I had to be. It was expected of me. People expected me to cheer them up, I never needed the cheering. People expected me to make them laugh, I never needed it. People expected me to make them smile, but nobody ever thought I might need a smile. I just got so sick of everyone expecting that I was always okay. If they even saw the slightest bit of sadness in my eyes, it wasn't questioned because I 'could never be that sad. I was always laughing.'. What nobody knew was really, I could be that sad. And I was.

So this one day, I sat down and cried and cried, wondering if anyone would ever understand me. I felt like I would always be pretending, the girl with the plastic smile, I didn't want to pretend anymore. I sat in my closet, drowning in my tears, and stared at a bottle of pills for two hours, contemplating what I should do. I wanted to kill myself...and I was eleven. I thought and I finally came to the conclusion that maybe things will be alright. Maybe one day I'll be understood. Maybe I should just let someone know that I feel pain too. That I cry. That I hurt. Deep down I must of wanted to live and deep down I must have known there was something more that I had to wait for. And there was. I dug myself halfway out of a hole after the incident but fell further as I turned 12.

When I was in 6th grade, I started feeling sad even more intensely. I'd get in fits of depression and eventually, one day, after a little 6th grade boyfriend breakup, I started feeling really insecure, completely sure that something was completely wrong with me. I felt the emotional pain so strongly, I just couldn't handle it. The pain was like some kind of weight pressing against my chest. All I wanted to do was ease the pain, numb it, someone feel something worse that would distract me from the horrible emotional pain. So, I walked in my bathroom, found a razor, and I cut myself. I was hesitant at first, a little afraid, but then, not so afraid at all. The pain relieved me and made me feel better. It was so comforting to feel such an intense pain over my other pain. It made my emotional pain feel smaller and comforted me in a way I didn't know. Needless to say, It became a habit. I'd cut myself whenever I felt pain. It somehow made me feel better. I did this for 2 more years, up until 8th grade. It all halted when my dad discovered my journal and read every secret thought. He drove me to the bookstore, stopped the car, locked the doors and said, (words ill never forget) "I have two requests. One, you tell me about suicide (I had been thinking of such things, and written thoughts in my journal) and two, you tell me about cutting. Right now. We're not leaving until this is settled. I will do whatever I can do get you help and I will do anything to see you happy. Josh, Mom, and I love you and we're gonna see to it that you'll be okay." I immediately broke down. I felt so revealed. It was a feeling nobody can even imagine. Every single secret thought you've ever had is poured out in front of you on table. You must answer every question asked and you must say things you've never had to say to anyone. When you cut, It's a thing so personal and so within yourself, it's the most crazy feeling when you're completely revealed. Thoughts started racing through my blurred mind, I couldn't focus, and I couldn't say anything. I was shocked. I honestly never thought my parents or my brother would ever know. I thought it would be one of those secrets I kept from my family and I'd think about as I was older. About how "Mum still doesn't know what I did in my bathroom for hours at a time." I was wrong. They all knew. Josh, I couldn't even imagine what he could of been thinking when he found out, his kid sister aching to die. I cried for him. Then my parents, a human they had raised from a little tiny girl to a growing woman, wanted to die, erasing all of their hard work. I cried for them. I cried for myself. I cried for my wasted years spent in complete misery. I cried until I couldn't cry any longer.

My dad got me an appointment downtown at the Bellevue Hospital at S.T.A.R. (struggling teens at risk) clinic. I went for 4 hours until some therapists decided that I was, in fact, clinically depressed. I was subscribed to Zoloft and I had an appointment every month.

Fast forward, I am now in 9th grade, I'm 15 and my dark days are over. I have never been happier in my entire life. I have some of the best friends in the world who care about me and I know I have great things to look forward to. I can honestly say that everyone, no matter how big their problems are, has a chance. No matter what you're going through, there is always that glimmer of hope. Sometimes its clearer for others, but it is always there. You just have to look. If you look deep enough, you will find it. I know I did.