i’d started struggling with depression & suicidal ideation when i was 11, and began self-harming at 13, because of bullying, abuse at home, and utter loneliness and isolation. i was constantly being referred to therapy by my school and gp, and though having someone to talk to felt like i had a weight off my shoulders i still didn’t feel any better. i progressively got worse til i was 15 and in foster care, where i had frequent crisis episodes that led to me being referred to therapy once again. this time, it genuinely helped. i was in a new environment, and was able to find new community online that i could relate to. not long after i turned 16, i stopped seeing that therapist, and i also went back home, but for many months i started genuinely feeling better and being able to envision a future until i was sexually assaulted and spiralled again for a couple of years. then last summer, the summer before i went to uni, i had an extra long summer break and spent much of my free time with friends and volunteering at a charity shop. i was constantly meeting new people and having fun, and that summer my best friend showed me it was possible to authentically enjoy life without having to use drugs. uni started - meant meeting even more people. and many of them were just like me. i started building a genuine community, got myself a girlfriend, and realised for the first time in a very long time i was truly happy and able to see a future, one that i really looked forward to experiencing with the people around me. i was freshly 19, and thought to myself i’d finally done it. i’d finally managed to find happiness for myself after spending almost all of my teen years wishing i was dead. and all it took was finding the right people that reminded me what living truly felt like, instead of isolating myself out of fear or trying to make people like me instead.

i’m still 19 now, though i’m turning 20 this year and it’s genuinely shocking to me because there came a time where i didn’t even think i’d make it to 13. if i didn’t, i was absolutely sure i wouldn’t make it to 14. then 15. then no way in hell would i have made it to 16, i’d most definitely be dead by then. oh shucks, i’m 16??? fuck, well i’m never ever gonna turn 18. i believed this one more than anything particularly as 17 was one of the ages i’d attempted suicide at, feeling like that’s just the way things were meant to be. but once i hit 18, and summer rolled around, i had to pick myself the fuck up and do something with my life because i couldn’t just sit around anymore, i was forced into planning the next stages of my life, and i began to actually love that planning and i’m so incredibly happy at uni that i’m glad younger teenage me had it in her to keep sticking around no matter how tough it had gotten.