As A Me, I Get It

Before I started school I was a happy child. Sure, I was anxious and everyone knew me as a shy little girl, but at home, where I felt safe, I could relax, laugh and sing and talk and talk and talk until my dad half-jokingly told me to shut up.

I'm not really sure what changed when I started school, but it was around the age of seven that I first started to feel suicidal. I didn't think much of it, and I don't feel like I was so deeply unhappy at the time that I just wanted to end my misery or some deep shit like that: I just didn't see the point of living. I simply felt like I was floating and there was nothing to gain from living. I'm lucky enough to have amazing parents who love me unconditionally and the only reason I didn't jump out of a window then was because I knew how much my death would hurt them.

As the years went by, my social anxiety escalated rapidly. I always had a group of people I hung out with at school, but I never felt that any of them were my real friends. I was never the main target of bullying, and when I did have some uncomfortable social interactions, they were either joking or very subtle. But being the anxious child that I was, I internalised all the jokes and subtle bullying.

In Year 7, the girl I hung out with the most changed schools because of severe bullying. She was strong. Much stronger than me, and she had no problem telling her parents about all her problems. That was probably the turning point for me: I became suicidal - this time for "real" reasons.

I went to ballet class twice a week. I had no friends, not even people to hang out with there. And, to be honest, I was terrible at dancing (side note: I still am). I was also not very good at school - while my sister was very talented and could pass most exams with little or no study, I kept forgetting to do my homework and study, which affected my grades. On top of that, I was going through an awkward phase, both physically and socially. I went from being a cute kid to an awkward, skinny, late teenager with glasses who picked at her skin all the time. All of this really affected my self-esteem.

My days in the last years of primary school were always the same: I woke up, almost cried because I had to go to school, at school I realised I had forgotten my homework, got a bad grade, on the way home I considered whether to step in front of a speeding car, got home and lied to my parents about my bad grade, stressed about it, forgot I had homework, read books all day or went to ballet class, held back my tears there and went to sleep. I don't really remember much from those years.

I wrote about it in my diary and when my sister found it, she gave it to my parents. To be fair, I wrote about wanting to kill myself almost every day. My parents woke me up that night and asked me about it. I lied. I said I was fine. Because - repeat after me - I. Do. Not. Talk. About. Unpleasant. Feelings. Or. Problems. They asked me if I wanted to stop taking ballet classes, but I refused and continued to suffer for another two years. I still don't know why, I guess I was too scared or didn't want to make a big deal out of it (as a social work student, I'm struck by my fourteen-year-old self who didn't want to make a big deal out of being suicidal, but as a me, I get it).

Things got a little better when I finally got into grammar school. I barely had enough points to get into the one I wanted, and I honestly have no idea what would happen if I didn't get in. But I did. And I got a friend to hang out with for the four years, and we kept in touch even after we went to different faculties for a while. I wouldn't say I was happy per se, but at least I wasn't suffering all the time and I had some happy moments. After the first year my grades got a bit better.

In my last year at grammar school, after the epidemic - which, to be honest, didn't affect me very much - I joined a cognitive behavioural therapy group for anxious teenagers. It helped a lot. And as the anxiety levels started to go down, the quality of my life improved. But at the same time I started to worry more about my appearance. I was - and still am - unhappy with my facial features. I've always been proud of my body, it was the only thing that got me a bit of attention and I knew I wanted to keep it that way. But I'm not going down that rabbit hole today.

I was relatively happy for the last year of secondary school and the first year of university. In the first semester of the second year, things started to get worse. I was doing pretty well with my studies - so far, I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the upcoming exams - but I started to feel like I didn't belong here anymore. "Here" as in groups of friends, with my classmates and even my family. That's why the semester abroad in 2024 helped a lot. I felt like I really belonged there and I've never been happier. And here I am again, depressed and suicidal and anorexic and lonely and bored with people and life. Floating just like in primary school.

What happens when I finish the letter?

Just trying to figure out what went wrong again.