I always knew something was wrong with me, and it wasn't because of the way I looked, the things that I said, or the way I acted. It was the way I felt on the inside. It wasn't anything that I could describe to anyone, and because of that, I kept it a secret. There were little hints here and there, like in fifth grade, when I got so depressed then I closed myself up in the closet and refused to come out for a month; or in the ninth grade, when I insisted I was the child of God and tried to give orders to my family at a rapid pace.

I can't say my parents didn't try to get me help. They sent me to therapy once, it was horrible. I hated talking to people. Why was this lady asking me questions when she didn't even know me? I didn't even let my parents ask me private questions. I left there crying, screaming at my mom for taking me, and swearing I would never go back. After that they decided just to leave me alone.

I continued to feel like an outsider and just remained a loner. Somehow I made it through high school and upon graduation decided to go to college about 1,000 miles away thinking that I could escape my problems (not realizing the problem was me). Within a year and a half, I had become so depressed that I was not eating or getting out of bed. I had shunned the few friends I made and locked myself up in my single room, spending 100% of my time crying uncontrollably underneath my blankets. I hardly moved, I hardly thought. I felt empty and alone. I was like a shell of a human body. I didn't know what to do, and from 1,000 miles away neither did my mother, my best friend. She convinced me that I must go to the counseling center there. I knew at that point I had no choice, if I continued the way I was I would just wither away. The day I made the appointment I barely made it into the counselors office before I collapsed into the chair and started bawling. I can hardly remember what he said. The only words I remember are, "You should go home." It was like hearing an angel's voice. The next day I withdrew and the day after I flew back home from upstate NY to Arkansas.

My friends and NY were furious with me, thinking that I was lazy and hated them. I didn't have the energy to care at the time. One sent a letter with me that described with a lazy * * * she thought I was- it was about two pages typed, single spaced. It left me crying all the way home. No one understood, at that time I didn't even understand. When I got home my dad hardly talked to me.

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