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The Making of an Extroverted Introvert

I am something of a paradox, an outgoing introvert, meaning that while I am outgoing


and sociable I also enjoy being by myself for the majority of my time. Like all introverts, my
energy is drained from social interactions, as opposed to extroverts who thrive on those
interactions. For most of my life I wasn't the paradox I am now - I was a short, shy, skinny,
depressed little kid, a complete one-eighty to the taller than average, friendly, overweight,
jocular, and immature man I am now. The greatest cause of my original state was deep
depression. It stopped me from socializing, which I was fine with at the time but that,
compounded with my introverted mind set, social anxiety, and a habit of over thinking
everything, prevented me from developing many social skills. Those skills which most people
don't even realize they have, I lack, but am currently developing with the help of actual friends,
instead of those that only hang around me out of pity. My troubles are far from the worse
possible, but they are common enough where I can hope to help others in my position.
Not all the names or details are completely accurate, either because of my desire for some
discretion or my horrid memory.
--I was a happy enough kid in kindergarten and through most of lower school. Had plenty
of friends and was quite sociable. No matter where I went or who I talked to it seemed like I had
always made a new friend. Occasionally small bouts of depression haunted me but nothing truly
serious. If anything I was too happy, perpetually energetic and talkative. This proved a
detrimental to my fledgling academic career however.

During class I was always talking or doing something else that got me in trouble. In
kindergarten and lower school we had a 'color change' system. When a student acted up they got
a 'color change,' going from green to yellow to red and finally black. If you were bad enough to
hit black you were sent to the principle's office. While I never made it to black my usual color
was yellow or red. It was a big deal when I finally kept green the entire day, though that only
happened once.
The constant color changes got my second grade teacher to call my parents in for a
meeting. My grades were fine, some of the best in the class, but I was a constant nuisance. She
insisted that I go to a psychologist and get tested.
My parent agreed. I was actually kinda excited, though there were few times I wasn't. We
went into downtown Charlotte to one of the offices. They sat me down in a large, white room
with only a small desk and two chairs and did some written, visual, and verbal tests and
exercises. These tests included spacial puzzles, math problems, word problems, reading, etc.
They ultimately diagnosed me with ADHD. A prescription for Concerta later and we were out the
door.
One thing I still wonder about is how my life could have been different if I was never
diagnosed with a condition I did not have at such a young age or was prescribed that horrendous
drug. Something about Concerta, it works great if you need it with only minor side effects, if you
don't need it you only get the side effects with greater strength. The most common side effect?
Depression.
--God I hate school. I hate it and everyone here.

This was one of my middle school years, during the pinnacle of my self exile. I was still
taking Concerta, still thinking I had ADHD. My parents were all to willing to accept the
diagnoses, my 'color change' streak had ended and my grades improved even more, though my
attitude and mood suffered.
My old friends avoided me, I had burnt those bridges long ago. I was content with being
a loner, I had discovered video games and books, having accepted those as my friends instead of
actual humans satisfied my human need for socialization. Not wanting to interact with anyone I
kept to myself, head down, only speaking when spoken to and only in short answers. Though my
sentiment of live and let live was not shared by many. As anyone can tell you children are cruel,
especially to their own, and middle school is where they are at their worst.
The bell had just rung and I was heading to lunch.
Where you going Woodie the Woodpecker? Tyler, the main bully, yelled. They weren't
all that creative with nicknames, but that one was the cleanest of them all.
Leave me alone I murmured under my breath.
What was that? I couldn't hear ya?
I said leave me alone or else! I announced, a sudden feeling of courage exploding from
my chest.
Ooo, whatcha gonna do, use your karate on me? He and his cronies began to laugh.
Looking up at them I realized how small I really was. By this time all the boys were
around 5'2 and weighed over 100 pounds. I was a measly 4'8 and weighed 70, and that weight

was with a lot of effort, forcing myself to eat more than my already stomach could fit. It didn't
help that my stomach was akin to a black hole.
--I got home from school and rushed to my room, per usual, and played video games. It
was an uneventful afternoon, just me, myself, and I. My mother eventually called me down to
dinner, which I ate in silence apart from a few yes' and no's to my dad's questions about my day.
Inhaling my food I finished first again, put my plate up and ran back to my sanctuary.
Dusk fell and I was alone, physically and metaphorically. I still had no friends, true
friends, I had plenty of 'pity' friends, and I was filled with false thoughts of doom, self esteem at
a new low, pressure from over thinking about the future, and images of my father never being
proud of me. Tears welled in my eyes as my brain refused to calm down.
My life is worthless and has no point to it, I am just a disappointment to everyone, no one
likes me, I will never make anything of myself, I am a waste of flesh and air. I should kill myself.
Kill myself. Those simple words echoed in my head. As I was lying on my bed, staring at
the ceiling, those words seemed like the answer to a grand riddle. If I killed myself all my
problems, and the problems of everyone around me, would vanish. Hours past as I contemplated
those words and my problems. My brain doing me no favors by thinking of the worst futures for
me if I remained alive. Finally, at midnight, I decided on my course of action. I stood up and
grabbed the dagger my brother had gifted me, apparently I had quiet the dramatic flair.
No note, no reason behind my actions, just a metal dagger through my chest, that was my
plan. I began to cry, but the tears wouldn't prevent me from doing this noble deed. I raised my
dagger high, aiming it towards my chest, taking deep breaths, preparing to end my life, when it

happened. The one thing all young boys are terrified about. The most embarrassing event
possible. A scene that has been played out many times in many ways. My mother walked in on
me.
She screamed, I dropped the dagger. My plans of suicide shattered with her mighty
shriek.
--After the 'incident,' my mom told me we were going to see a psychologist. We drove for
about an hour before we arrived at a small brick building. It was a modest little structure, two
floors and surrounded by trees. My mother and I walked across the rain dampened pavement.
Inside the structure was a staircase and a small waiting room filled with children toys. We
checked in at the receptionist and sat down. The minutes ticked by as we sat in silence, I didn't
want to be there and my mom was too anxious. Those toys scattered around made me agitated.
Why am I at a place for little kids? I'm old enough to be at an adult doctor! Not that I
even need to go to one of these crazy guys.
Before long the receptionist told us that the doctor was waiting for us and to follow her.
We walked up the stairs and entered the doctors office. There were books everywhere, both for
small children and older kids, and a few toys like those in the waiting room.
We discussed the usual, what I was diagnosed with, what medicine am I on, etc. And then
we started talking about my depression and anxiety. He took out a piece of paper and colored
pencils from his desk and placed them on the small table in the center of the room, and then
started to talk about my dreams and nightmares.

The doctor started to say a whole bunch of nonsense, how a certain recurring aspect of
my dreams is the root of my anxiety, how I needed to draw it so I can face it.
Daniel, this will help you. Drawing it, making it real, will allow you to over come it!
He said, trying to get me to create some kind of dream demon. Mine was this weird spider
creature, it always appeared in my nightmares. Trust me, this will help.
This doctor's crazy. I thought repeatedly throughout the meeting.
There is no recurring creature in my dreams or nightmares. I said.
I know there is. There always is. Can't you think of something in them that scares you.
Just draw it and then we can focus on helping you.
After several minutes of him repeatedly goading me to 'draw my fears' I ended up
doodling something I saw on a Yu-Gi-Oh card.
Good, now we can start to deal with it.
I'm sorry sir. My mom intervened. But we have to get going, thank you for your help.
Mom took my by my arm and dragged me out of the office. She finally let go of me when
we got back onto the damp pavement.
That guy was crazy. I remarked.
Yes he was. She sighed.
--After the crazy dream guy we found a legitimate psychologist. He was a cold,
professional man, I didn't care for him too much.

Alright Daniel, we're gonna take some of your blood.


No, no thanks. I whimpered, my chronic fear of needles getting the better out of me
again.
Come on sweetie, my mom said, it'll help him figure out what's actually wrong.
After some coaxing, and plenty of crying, a nurse stuck a needle in my arm and drew out
my blood. He ran a few more tests, both physical and psychological and announced I didn't have
ADHD, but a learning disability, chronic depression, and anger management issues. He quickly
took me off of Concerta and onto some mood stabilizing medication. With that my personality
got a lot better, but I had already created a massive shell around myself that couldn't be taken
down by myself, and those at CCS sure weren't going to help.
--By the beginning of high school, my life had started to get significant worse. Those that were
once my pity friends had either become more bullies or, even worse, started to ignore me.
Freshman year at CCS, Charlotte Christian School, was one of the worse I've ever had. And the
odd thing is, I wish I had that kind of year sooner. It made me decide to finally switch schools.
Originally I didn't want to change schools. What if they hate me worse there than here?
But after the horribleness of that year my mind had been made up. The School I had decided on
was the Fletcher Academy. It's claim to fame was it's incredibly small size and it's alternate
learning approach. My original ADHD diagnoses had long been discovered to have been false, I
actually had a learning disability, one that Fletcher excelled at teaching to.

I didn't want to go to Fletcher though, rumors about the place were common at CCS.
People said it was only for retards, they couldn't drive, everyone there is special needs, etc. That
word, retard, also hit a cord with me. This was during the time period were the R word was used
like seasoning on any sentence. I have grown to loath that word, however as it is what was said
back when I was in high school I'm going to use it. These rumors of Fletcher scared me from
going somewhere that could really help me. I did finally decide to start my enrollment there
about mid way through my second semester of freshman year.
We sent in an application and soon got a reply, they wanted me to come and visit. About a
week after that letter I took two days off from CCS to visit Fletcher. The class size was
extraordinarily small, the largest one I visited was eight, the smallest was three. And to my
amazement, no one there was retarded, eccentric but not retarded. I made up my mind and
decided to throw my hat in.
A little while after my visits they asked me to come in for testing. During lower to middle
school years you only had to have a diagnosed learning disability to be accepted. High school
students looking to enroll needed to pass a entrance test, a secondary learning disability
screening, and had to have a higher than average IQ level. The fact that these tests were
necessary alongside the IQ requirement made me feel more at ease with my fledgling decision.
We had to go to a special facility for the IQ test, some psychiatric office, while the other
two tests were at Fletcher. I passed the base line IQ by a decent margin and went in for my
entrance exam a few days later.
Nervousness got a hold of me when I went into that little room in the Fletcher offices. I
got to get in! I can't be at CCS any longer! I'll kill myself if I have to deal with them anymore! So

I decided to do something that I believed would ensure I get accepted into Fletcher, I decided to
try and do badly on the test. I knew that the kids there weren't really stupid, but for some reason I
thought I had to do badly on the test so the administration would believe I truly needed to go
there.
Even trying to do badly I ended up passing and being accepted into Fletcher. Back at
CCS I made sure everyone knew I was leaving, trying to make each and everyone of them feel
bad. That was another first for me, trying to hurt others. Though my bullying apparently had
been found wanting, no one really felt bad about it.
My final year at CCS wrapped up quickly after that. During the summer my excitement
for Fletcher started to fluctuate. Oh god, why did I decide to go to that retard daycare! People at
CCS think I'm absolutely stupid now! Were my main thoughts, though my positive outlook at
Fletcher did return occasionally. I can reinvent myself there! I can be whatever, no whoever I
want! I can be popular!
By the time the new school year started my excitement and dread of Fletcher made a
compromise and left me apathetic. The halfway point between excitement and dread is probably
not apathy, but those two great forces collided within me, eventually destroying all strong
emotion I had towards the change, leaving only apathy. I thought I could use this new apathy to
become the cool quiet kid. Apparently in a class of six, the quiet one is the weirdest one.
For the first week I barely talked to anyone, and sat by myself at lunch. Back at CCS I sat
with a large group, partially because there was little places else to sit and partially because if I sat
by myself the teachers would start harassing me with questions.
Are you okay? Classes going well? How's your home life.

They treated me as if I was going to be the kid that came to school with a gun. I hated
CCS and 99% of the people there, but not enough to ruin my own life over.
After about a week being my same old self a skinny, energetic, crazy blond kid
approached me during lunch.
Hey, how about you sit with us? The kid said.
Sure. I mumbled in reply.
He led me to a table with four other people sitting there. I sat down and focused on my
lunch again. Then the blond kid started to shoot off random questions, as if he was trying to get
to know me.
So what do you do for fun? What made you come to Fletcher? Do anything over
summer? He asked in rapid succession, barely giving me time to respond, though I wasn't really
trying to anyways.
After a few more random questions I asked one of my own.
Who are you anyways?
Really? You don't remember me? I'm in a couple of your classes. Hell, we met last year
during your visits.
Thinking back I did recall an annoying blond kid during my visits, which had made me
question my resolve to go to Fletcher.
Well whatever. My names Jef, only one f. The rail thin blond answered.

He proceeded to introduce the other four. Phillip; tall, skinny, quiet but funny; Robert;
short, average build, curly blond hair, cynical, dark sense of humor; Sam; another quiet but kind
kid, average height but on the hefty side of the weight spectrum; and finally Max; slightly below
average height, buzzed hair, ultra conservative, nutcase.
You know what? We should hang out soon guys! We could go bowling, oh, or the laser
tag, or... Jef proceeded to name just about every activity that was available in Charlotte, and a
couple not. The odd part was, he was including me in his plans.
Why is he doing that? He just met me! Great, another damn pity friend.
So you have a cell phone? Jef finally asked close to the end of the lunch period. Here,
let's swap numbers.
I did as he suggested, more to make him stop talking than to actually be friendly.
You have a Facebook right?
No. I quickly uttered.
What? You got to make one man! Jef exclaimed.
I don't want one. Don't have a use for it.
I knew I had no friends, I didn't want a site to reinforce that statement.
You got to though! How else are you gonna keep in contact with your friends?
Don't have those either.
Well then you really should get a facebook, make some friends.
Dude, Robert interjected, just make one. He won't shut up other wise.

Realizing the wisdom of that statement I reluctantly agreed. The group continued to talk
for the remainder of lunch period and then we went to our classes. Sure enough Jef and the
others were actually in a couple of my classes, though our grade was only 16 people so that
wasn't a massive feat.
After my mom picked me up we swung by my brother's school, grabbed him, then
headed home. As usual I did my homework then started playing video games, mom called me
down for dinner, I inhaled it then right back up to my room, a typical day for me.
But after dinner, while I was playing video games, my flip phone suddenly became
possessed. It quickly played this annoying tune, the front screen lit up, and then it went black
again. Worried, I reached for my phone, but then the Devil took control of it again. It took me an
embarrassingly long time to realize I received two text messages, a cross was not necessary.
Before then my cell had been used to counterbalance the items in my other pocket and to
occasionally call my family.
The text messages read:
Hey its Jef
Have u made Fb acct yet?
The horrible grammar irritated me, causing me to start to dislike this Jef character.
No, Jef, I have not made a Facebook account yet. I replied, making sure I used correct
grammar and spelling, though the flip phones keyboard made that no small feat.
Well man, hurry up!!1

Remembering Robert's warning I googled Facebook and started the process of making an
account. It was all bare bones, nothing too personal in the information section, not even a profile
picture.
Okay, I made one. I texted Jef.
A few seconds later I received a friend request from none other than Jef. I accepted and
immediately received a message on the site.
Hy man Welcome to Facebook!!11!
Thanks. I would stay and chat but I got to finish my homework. I lied in reply.
Okay, good night!
I logged off and continued with my video games, playing late into the night before finally
falling asleep. When I woke up I decided to humor myself and checked my new Facebook
account. I didn't know why, I just wanted to, but what I saw surprised me.
The icon for friend requests had a red number underneath, 52. What the hell? Who in the
world friended me?! Next to the friends icon was the messages icon, with a red 1 underneath. I
clicked it and there was a message from the only friend I had accepted, Jef.
Hey, hpe u dont mind I told some ppl 2 frnd u!
Jef's grammar had magically become worse. I ended up not even checking the friend
requests, even if I did look I wouldn't have recognized anyone. So I went about my normal
morning routine and got ready for school.
At Fletcher I walked into my homeroom and lo and behold Jef was sitting there,
apparently it was his homeroom as well. We exchanged greetings. This kid, maybe he can

actually help me become popular. With that I started to eat with Jef, Robert, Sam, Phillip, and
Max. For whatever reason I could tell they didn't pity me, they legitimately wanted to be my
friend.
Because my personality was more or less a blank slate from being self exiled for so long I
began to adopt theirs. I gained my cynicism from Robert, my (occasional) kindness from Phillip,
and my energy, craziness, and humor from Jef. While I didn't gain much of anything from Max
he did increase my ability to handle others.
This group, my group, hung out a lot. Sometime the whole group, sometimes just a
couple. I had hung out with others before, but I had always pretty much invited myself. These
guys were the ones who invited me, it was the oddest thing.
Jef was the one I spent the most time with. His insanity brought me fun while my residual
shyness and reserve kept him from hurting himself, we created a good balance to one another.
Though he did manage to total his Prius by drifting... somehow. What might have started as a
pity friendship changed into my first true friendship.
The year progressed and my personality began to take form. I was actually becoming
happy again. True, I did suffer the occasional depression episode, but that is something I will
have to deal with my entire life.
Then, near the end of sophomore year Jef made an announcement to the group. He was
transferring to a larger school. My first friend was leaving, the guy that began the process of
breaking my shell that took 12 years to build was leaving.

But the oddest thing happened. I was happy. Not that he was leaving, but that he was
doing something he wanted to do. I was actually happy for another human being, something that
had truly never happened before.
The year ended and he transferred, but the damage to my shell had been done, it was
coming down no matter what. My persona took shape by the people around me, even without
Jef. We tried to stay in touch, but mid way through junior year we stopped talking sans the
occasional short conversation. But I wasn't mad or sad about that, I was still glad he was doing
something to make himself happy. I was proud of myself for that, I believed I had overcome my
former self, that I had become a true, normal person. Then, senior year, my second attempt
occurred.
--From junior-kindergarten, also called Pre-K, to high school, I was the short, skinny shrimp of a
human. But all that changed during my junior year of high school, my second year at Fletcher, I
finally hit puberty and began to grow, in both directions. For the first time in my life I was taller
than others, growing to a height slightly above average, 6' even, gave me a great view over
people's heads. But unfortunate I also began to develop fat for the first time, too.
At first I was excited to gain weight, again because I was so skinny when I was younger.
But after I kept gaining weight and more weight I saw the predicament I was in. Some of my
medication I took in the past my metabolism worked like a furnace, anything that went into my
body was destroyed without a trace.
Because of my metabolism I was used to eating extremely unhealthy and in large
portions. But after my I got off those medications, and puberty finally came, my normal diet

caused me to quickly become over weight. My increased weight negated my elation over my
height, causing me to become increasingly self conscious. I began to hate my body, thinking no
one would ever like me with my ever expanding gut. It also didn't help when I found out my
biological maternal family, since I was adopted at birth, was filled with the over weight and the
obese.
Dinner time! Mom yelled up to me.
I'm not hungry. I lied.
Would you at least come and sit with us?
No thanks.
Daniel, get your ass down here! Dad yelled, causing me to rethink my decision.
I had attempted to diet, even extreme and unhealthy diets, but my self control wasn't
strong enough. Either I quit the diet because I wanted tasty food or because I was just too lazy.
After some significant work and self motivation I was able to halt my weight gain around 240lbs.
Self loathing penetrated my being until I noticed a fortunate side effect of my weight, people
started to become afraid of me.
Not the he's going to become a school shooter type of fear, but holy crap he can kick my
ass type of fear. I honestly loved being feared, it was much better than being hated or pitied.
Besides friendly teasing no one even attempted to make fun of me, at least to my face. Not even
my disgraphia brought ridicule.
Disgraphia is another affliction I had been fighting for my entire life and will probably
continue to for the rest of it. It refers to the muscles in the hands being underdeveloped leading to

a multitude of issues, but the biggest, and most obvious effect my disgraphia had on me was
absolutely horrendous handwriting.
For a good while my handwriting never bothered me, even when I was fairly young and it
was completely illegible. It was a common point for my bullies to harp on, but it was one that I
actually didn't care about. I was happy when they started to make fun of my handwriting,
because it was the only thing that didn't affect me.
But after my height and weight growth I realized how embarrassing it actually was to be
close to adult age and still have handwriting akin to a elementary schooler. This proved to be a
major blow to my already low to negative self esteem.
Despite how bad I viewed myself, I still didn't consider suicide for too long. I would
think about it for a few hours and then drop the subject. No matter how bad I viewed myself. I
still had friends to rely on, my group helped to keep me from the edge of the abyss.
But then the rumors started.
A senior girl, one whom I despised more than others, even more than I despised myself,
was a walking one-dimensional, self-centered, self-righteous, preppy stereotype. I had the
misfortune of having her in some of my classes where she would always sit in the second to
middle row of seat, I always sat at the front.
Hey, lean over more, your giant fucking head won't let me see the board. She would
whine.
My utter hatred of her was the only thing that eclipsed my depression.
How about you just move seats? More commanded than asked.

Why don't you? I cleverly rebutted. There is literally two empty seats right next to
you.
But I like this seat! Just sit in the back so I don't have to look at you.
Her constant whining finally broke me down and I shuffled to the darkness of the back.
The only reason why I made sure to pay attention when she spoke was because she was also as
dumb as rocks.
Ohmygod! She exclaimed during the middle of trig class (no idea how she got into that
class) The reason they call it fall is because the leaves fall off the trees! She said as if she had
made the discovery of the century. She also told everyone that her plans in life were to become a
famous actress, with no contingency plans to account for her complete lack of acting talent.
I let my disgust of the self entitled moron be known to all, frequently making jokes about
her that others laughed at, which backfired on me tremendously. She turned out to be so full of
herself that she couldn't think of a single reason why someone wouldn't like her, except that she
was of Jewish decent. I, and most others, had no idea she was Jewish, religious beliefs was a
taboo subject to talk about at Fletcher, primarily to cut down on arguments.
This girl, thinking she had found the reason for my hatred, started to spread the rumor
that I was an anti-Semite. When I first learned the rumors I scoffed, thinking no one would
actually believe them, but it turns out that for whatever reason people believed that I was a ultra
conservative, ultra religious type, despite actually being an non-religious libertarian.
So the rumors spread and spread and spread, my hard earned friends started to drift from
me. All of them except for the group Jef had introduced me to. With my small group I was happy,

content, I didn't really care what others thought, even though it ruined my chances at getting a
date.
I continued my time at Fletcher, content enough to avoid doing anything harmful to
myself besides the occasional fast in a vain attempt to lose weight. But then that's when the girl
started to fabricate stories about me, causing me to be frequently called to the counselors office.
Luckily for me the counselor actually liked me and knew I wasn't a neo-nazi and how much of a
drama queen the girl was, but my reputation with the rest of the school went down the drain.
The kids started to make fun of me again, thinking they were doing a public service. This,
alongside my highly negative self esteem, caused my depression to flare up with an intensity I
had never experienced before. That was when I attempted suicide for the second time.
--It was a warm spring Saturday night at three o'clock in the morning when my alarm rang.
After bashing the alarm button I slowly opened my eyes. Wishing to prevent another
embarrassing episode like last time I had made certain preparations. Acting happy at dinner,
going to sleep early, and waking up so early in the morning. I reached over to the sharp knife I
had placed next to my alarm clock. Grabbing it I made my way to my shower, turning the water
on I unsheathed my knife.
I planned to kill myself in the shower so my mom wouldn't have to clean up my blood, so
at least I was considerate. After hoping into the shower I placed the sharp edge to my wrist and
sliced, the hot water from the shower head stinging my now open wrist. I mimicked the motion
on the other wrist.
Lying down the shower I closed my eyes and awaited death.

The next thing I knew I heard birds chirping. Guess I actually made it to heaven, and that
there is a heaven. Why is everything black? The the distinct whine of a shower filled my ears.
Oookay, are they just screwing with me? Replaying how I killed myself. Then a wave of freezing
cold covered my body.
What the hell? I exclaimed as I opened my eyes.
I was still in my bathroom under the shower that had long since run out of hot water. It
was fairly early in the morning, around six or seven, still too early for anyone in the house to be
awake. Looking at my wrists I saw that they had scabs where I cut them, turns out that not only
did I cut too shallow but I missed the artery entirely. I actually felt embarrassed.
--The following Monday I walked into the school counselors on my own accord.
I'm sorry to disturb you ma'am but I needed to talk to you.
Of course Daniel, what's the matter?
I've been thinking of committing suicide.
What happened after that was so fast. After my admission, leaving out the part where I
had actually attempted suicide, I was sent to the nurses office and my parents were called in.
They gathered me and we went into the conference room where we quickly talked about my
suicidal thoughts and different ways to treat it. I was then told that I was going to the hospital.
We left school and quickly made our way to uptown Charlotte.
Checking into the hospital we went into a small exam room, after a short wait a nurse
came in and started to ask some questions.

Do you take regular showers?


Yes. I was bleeding in one.
Do you take care of your body?
I try. Being fat count as not taking care of it?
Brush your teeth daily?
Yes. I actually do do that.
Do you cut?
No Besides my wrists, no, not at all.
Have you attempted suicide in the past.
Yes. A few days ago is still the past.
After a few more questions, both regarding my mental state and physical well being, they
decided to admit me to the child psychological and suicide ward's day program. My family went
home, trying not to think and definitely not talk about what had happened.
The next day started like any day, except mom drove me in a different direction. We
headed back to the hospital where I was admitted into the suicide ward as a part of the day
program. Because of the confidentiality agreement I signed I cannot talk about what happened
there, who I met, what their problems were, etc. But what I can say is that it scared the living day
lights out of me.
From a quick strip search of me, to check for scars on my body (my wrists had healed
extremely quickly. The nurses that looked over my body were actually impressed of my lack of

self inflicted scars.) or weapons on my person, to the padded cell for those who act up, the entire
ward and program scared me. I quickly told my mom and the head of the program I didn't want
to be there.
This program looks great, but I just don't think it's for me. I said diplomatically.
Well I'm sorry but that's up to your parents. Besides, you'll only be here for a few hours
a day, not overnight like some of them.
Mom, please get me out of here!
My mother eventually agreed, but that wasn't enough. She had to get a written note from
both my school counselor and my doctor. While she was doing that I was stuck in the ward. Five
hours past before my mom rescued me.
The next day I was so happy and excited to go back to school. Despite how horrifying the
experience was I'm glad it happened. Listening to other kids problems showed me how silly
mine actually were, even the anti-Semitic rumors. With my new found out look I started to talk
to others about the rumors. It turned out that no one but the people who already hated me
believed the rumors in the first place.
From that point forward I have been able to deal with my depression. When I do become
depressed I realize that it is just an episode, I don't have any true reason to be depressed. I pretty
much just suck it up and endure it. Playing video games, hanging out with friends, doing
homework, or even just sleeping helps to deal with it. But just deal with it, not prevent it or stop
it completely.

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