September 12, 2007 (age 12):

I’m depressed and tired all the time. My weight is yo-yoing. Everybody at school has dark bags under their eyes (myself included).

I’m only twelve, and I’m already getting lectured about college! If I mess up now, I’m screwed for life!

My social life is a mess. Nobody will ask me out, and people are already doing sexual things. I haven’t even been kissed yet! I’m bullied. I have too many feelings inside me. Too much is going on!

September 28, 2007 (age 12):

I don’t care anymore…If I died right now I wouldn’t care. But I don’t want to die. Where will I go? Will I just stop existing? But I’ll be bored? Is there an afterlife? Will I go to heaven or hell? How can I stay there forever? Does forever end?...

I’m sorry, this topic upsets me very much. The thought of my own mortality scares me.

October 15, 2007 (age 12):

I’ve been thinking about suicide a lot lately. I hate myself for it. I’ve been considering cutting myself. Don’t do it, Megan. It’s a sin. I’m worried that I might have a weight obsession. What would happen…if I gave myself just a bit of pain?

I no longer let myself linger too long in the kitchen. Too close to the knives.

I am fat. Yes, I say it to everyone. But it’s not for their sympathetic clucks.

Why do I hate myself so much?

I’m going to draw. I’d better do it fast before I lose interest in that, too.

October 29, 2007 (age 12):

Committing suicide would be a great way to escape my faux pas.

That’s what it was. Just a faux pas. False step. Everybody makes them. A mistake. Miss-take. Happens all the time. So why do I have this feeling of anxiety? Sometimes I wonder if maybe I have a mental problem. I probably do. Sometimes I hope I do. One source of all my problems. Fixable.

If I’m considering suicide, I should talk to someone. Right? But they’ll probably just ask why. I don’t know why. No, I do. It’s a deep hatred of myself. Depression. No self-esteem. And…a deep itching. I want to go somewhere. This is not the place for me…

I’m having feelings of despair. What’s wrong with me?

November 4, 2007 (age 12):

My life is not happy. It is not easy. I hate when people brush aside your worst problems as absolutely nothing. Depressed? 12 years old? Can’t happen! Because I can’t possibly have any problems. It gives me the same feelings as I have when people are ageist towards young people. It makes me feel like I’m almost not human.



August 22, 2008 (age 13):

I implied that lie is good yesterday, but it’s not. I notice that I only blow up at small things when something big is bothering me.

August 27, 2008 (age 13):

Why am I crying right now? All Dad did was say that one of the questions on my test was easy, and it was! But I was so excited that I had gotten a 98%. It’s the best grade I’ve gotten on a math test in a long while. I guess I felt upset because I interpreted his words as meaning that I only did well because it was an easy test. That hurt my hard work and reminded me that I don’t do as well when the tests are harder.

August 11, 2009 (age 14):

You know, I always go through highs and lows. Whenever I have a great high, I get hit by a deep low. I can’t be happy anymore because I will soon feel low again. At least school’s going well.

November 30, 2009 (age 14):

Will I ever date?...This lack of romance is bringing me down. I can’t see how people like A__ and B__ can get anyone they want while I’m looking on, lonely. That’s the word for me lately, lonely.

December 9, 2009 (age 14):

Everything has been going on and overwhelming me and I take it out on the people who love me most. Academically, finals are coming up and I’m genuinely scared. Romantically, no one has dated me and I’m alone. Socially, if V__ knew…she would stop being my friend. Do I have any real friends? I’ve been a nerd my whole life. Now that I’m “normal”, anyone can friend me on Facebook like they’ve never hurt me in the past. Oh yeah, now that I’m cool, I’m worthy? Stick it up your butt. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder: does everyone still see me as a gross nerd? Are they just humoring me? Do they talk about me behind their backs? Debating, I’ve been disappointed. A__ teases me about my…win and subsequent…loss. B__ does it, too. They all say the same thing—I bet they are talking about me. I can’t look at my medal anymore. It reminds me of their words, those cutting words. I know they’re morons and don’t now what they’re talking about. But that insecure part of me listens. It feeds that part of me that says “I’m no good.”…Next time one of them says something, I’ll probably break down crying. It’s all coming at me at the same time.

January 5, 2010 (age 14):

I’m depressed. I work too hard and it’s taking its toll. I’m paranoid that no one likes me. I don’t think I’m good enough. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. My neck always hurts. I have too much going on. I’m burnt out. I make bad choices. I’m stuck. I’m questioning everything. I can’t do anything else. I’m silent. I need help.

March 11, 2010 (age 15):

Why does everything good have to go bad? I’m scared and upset. What will tomorrow bring?
June 19, 2010 (age 15):

I told myself in January that when everything went wrong at once, then I’d do it. Well, everything is going wrong. The worst is happening; Marcie is dead; Mom hates me; Dad is being told to hate me; I’m being horrible to my family; I’m fat, ugly, and undesirable; I’m bad at everything I do; No one likes me or wants to be around me; I’m completely alone. And all after a nice vacation, too. The only question is: what now?

July 1, 2010 (age 15):

Fine. I’ll do it. She obviously doesn’t want me around anymore. No one does. I’ll stop being a drain on the finances. If I’m dead, I won’t have to go to a good school that I need to go to. I won’t have to drive (yes, apparently my driving will be a drain on the family’s money…). I know the signs of a suicidal person. Mom’s blowing it off or worse: yelling at me. She doesn’t get any of it. I cry. She yells. At this moment, there are only a couple factors holding me back: I’m too angry to be rational, I don’t have anything to do it with, S__’s home, and…tere’s always that chance that things might maybe get better. Although it does seem that my future is f***ed anyway.

September 19, 2010 (age 15):

It’s not normal to be this sad, is it?

Psalm 9:13-14…

Psalm 16:9-10…

Psalm 18:4-6…

September 24, 2010 (age 15):

I got help. I went from crying in the nurse’s office to talking in Ms. H__’s office. Soon I’ll end up in the doctor’s office. Depression is an illness just like anything else, and there’s treatment for it. I still wish I never said anything, though. I had a feeling something like this would happen today. Things will be better once I have a diagnosis. It’s genetic. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.

September 27, 2010 (age 15):

Yep, I’m depressed…Dr. F__ is a very good doctor.

October 23, 2010 (age 15):

On 10/18 I met my psychologist, Dr. H__. On 10/20, Dr. F__ gave me a prescription for Zoloft. Tomorrow will be my first day taking it. I used to almost want to take pills. It would make things legitimate. Like, “Oh, of course it’s an illness! There’s even medicine for it!” Now, though? I don’t know what’s making me hesitant.

Reading this diary/journal kind of freaks me out. It really scares me how close I was to hurting myself, and how often. I hope the drug/talk therapy will help me. Lately I’ve been almost there again. I don’t want to be there again. I feel like I don’t realize how close I was. Something could’ve happened. But I’m getting help. So now I just have to listen to the docs and…who knows?



October 27, 2010 (age 15):

This is getting bad. I need to nip this new problem in the bud. It only started yesterday. Again today. I need to stop it before it’s a problem, but is it already one? Can I stop by myself?

November 2, 2010 (age 15):

I guess I can’t stop by myself. Why am I doing this? And why does it feel so good? Good thing I have a Dr. H__ appointment tomorrow.

February 27, 2011 (age 16):

Forgiveness is Christian, and a way to cope. Jesus told us to turn the other cheek. If someone has taken everything from you, forgiveness is the only thing you have left. It’s the only thing you can do sometimes.