• It was Thursday April 17, 2008. My best friend Amanda had her arms wrapped tight around me and a sad smile on her face. Pushing away from the gentle hug, I gave her one of my own smiles, assuring her that everything was right with my world.

    "Felecia, are you positive that you're okay?"

    I nodded and quickly hugged her again. Letting my arms fall to my sides, I gave a small wave and replied "Yeah, I'm fine, I just wanted you to know I love ya, you're one of my closest friends, and I hope to meet someone as half as cool as you in Shang-ra La. "With that being said, I walked away from her, and went on the search for my other friends. It was only fair that they heard the exact same thing. It was April 17 and it was the last time I could say anything to them.

    This was the day that I tried to kill myself.

    Up until February 2008, my mood was rather shifty on a daily bases. Some days I would wake up loving life and really happy with everything around me. Others I'd wake up despising the world and every living creature in it. Sometimes I'd wake up crying about every small thing that happened. The moods would often change so fast, no one ever knew how to approach me. This habit drove my friends away.

    By the beginning of March, I had set up a plan. The constant sadness was more then I could handle. My grades were suffering, and slipping out of my reach; my friends were turning agents me, and worse of all, I just didn't want to live any longer. The days dragged by slowly, and each day I was wishing was my last.

    I started getting extremely paranoid and believed everyone was talking about me behind my back. I got into numerous fights with my friends, accusing them of awful things. Even I was paranoid about my parents, who in my eyes were plotting to kill me. At nights, it took me hours to fall asleep, and I wouldn't sleep for long because of constant nightmares that stole my breath away.

    Every day, it seemed like it was getting worse. I felt like I was swimming in jell-o. All the pressure I had to do well in school and to be a great kid was weighing down on me and soon it felt like I couldn't move. I set a date on April 20 to end my life, and make certain that the pain would end.

    However it seemed that day would cease to come. So on April 17 2008, just three days shy of my planned date, I told everyone at school that I loved them, went home, and popped the bottle of Lexapro, an anti-depressant medicine I found in the cabinet.

    It was no more then a moment after I took the last pill I actually considered dying and what it would be like. The thought of not knowing where I was going scared me. Fear and panic quickly engulfed my soul as I looked around for a way out. Thinking quickly I rushed upstairs and spilled everything to my mother.

    Instead of being angry, like I figured she would be, she was frightened. Not even 20 minutes after my confession we were in the emergency room. The doctors gave ma choice: either drink charcoal which would absorb the poison of the pills, or they were going to pump my stomach. Without even thinking twice, I took the charcoal.

    It was nasty, gritty and stained everything from my teeth to my hospital gown. I couldn't hold it in and it felt horrid going down my throat. But the thought of dying scared me so much, that I forced it down anyway.

    The doctors wouldn't let me leave that night. They said I was a danger to myself and those around me. The doctors said because I was a minor who tried to kill herself a social worker had to come speak to me. It was well past midnight when she finally came. She was an older woman, with grey hair and shifted eyebrows. She simply just sat down next to my mom and my Grandpa. Questions such as "Why did you do it," and "Do you feel safe at home?" jumped from her mouth. Groggily, I answered all of them the best I could before she asked me something that caught us all off guard.

    "Are you disappointed you didn't die?"

    My Grandpa and My mother's eyes settled on me for just a moment before dissolving away back to the ground. I looked at everything I could, the IV, the T.V, the blankets, just to avoid answering that question. Up until that moment, I didn't know how to feel. Was I mad I wasn't dead? Did I whish I hadn't told? I wanted to die, I deserved to die…and yet, I didn't die. Thoughts raced in my mind as I choked out, "No, I'm so glade I'm alive." My voice was flat, and the answer was hesitant. And somehow I knew that everyone in that room expected me of lying.

    Around 1:30 am, my mom and grandpa left, leaving me alone for the very first time. I had never been in a hospital alone before and I was scared out of my mind. The social worker ended up coming back into my room. She gave me a smile and closed the door behind her.

    "Felecia, are you really happy you're still here…"

    The question had once again, caught me off guard. It was 2:30 am, and I was drowsy because of my meds. I didn't know what to say, so doing the normal teenage thing, I didn't answer.

    She waited momentarily before continuing, "Felecia, I say this because I see it all the time. Teenagers who have everything to live for like you don't belong in these situations. Because of what you did, your mom could have been one of two places, at the hospital or at the morgue. I know they aren't great places to spend her night, but which do you think she would have liked better?" With that, she strutted off back into the main room.

    Staring at the cuts on my arm, I relized something. Just the thought of me actually dying was scary. The thought of my mom crying because I was dead was even scaryer. And the thought of what I tried to do, was horriable.

    Surly life isn't easy, and it doesn't always go your way however it was my fault if I tried to end it all because of things that wouldn't matter in a few years anyway.

    In a way, I considered my attempt at suicide, a way of asking for help.

    And held I got. There's a law in the state of Colorado that says if you try and kill yourself, you must be placed in a phycatric hospital for a mandatory 72 hours. So sure enough, the next day I was transported to Cedar Springs Physcatric hospital.

    After about a day or two of actually knowing me, the doctors said that I might have a disorder called "Bi Polar Syndrome". It felt great to actually have a name that explained what I was going through.

    Basically, Bi-polar is a chemical imbalance in the brain where the person who has it can go from moods of hysteric happiness to extreme depression instantly. The moods can last days to weeks or even months back to a few hours. Although the disorder can't be stopped, it can be somewhat treated with mood stabilizers and therapy, two things that now help me get through my life.

    I tried to kill myself on April 17, 2008. On April 18, I was admitted into Cedar Springs, with nothing but a heavy heart. Five days later, on April 22, I was released with a whole new view on life. I like to think God didn't want me to die. I learned more about whom I was and who I could be. Although suicide wasn't my smartest decision, it was one that taught me a lot about whom I was, and who I could be.