‘I did not feel like myself’

Editor’s Note: Kayla’s Korner will be a reoccurring column that deals with mental health and teenage issues. This is also the first of an eight part story.  

It was a Wednesday. June 13, 2018 to be exact.

I have been going to therapy every Wednesday for the last three years. This Wednesday, though, would be the hardest session for me. It was where I was going to tell my therapist exactly how I was feeling.  

And how was I exactly feeling? I was feeling depressed. I was feeling hopeless. I was feeling like nothing mattered in the world anymore.

I did not know how I was going to say this to my therapist. I had not told anyone how I felt. I was scared and did not want people to think of me differently; although, I knew telling her was the right choice. It was coming down to where I did not trust myself anymore and did not know what I would do if I was alone.

The therapy session started off normally. We talked about what I had been doing over the past week and what was coming up the next week. Towards the end of our 45 minute session, I told my therapist that I had to tell her something. She looked at me weird, but nodded and waited for me to continue.

This is when I began to cry. Tears rolled down my face as I told her that I did not feel like myself. I felt sad, depressed even. I felt this all the time. I told her I did not want to be here anymore, that my life just did not feel worth living anymore.

She looked at me with concern and worry in her eyes. I had never really told her about my everyday sadness and the difficulty of getting up each day.

She told me the options of what I could do at the very moment. I could either go home or I could go to the hospital — her main concern was safety. She kept asking me, “Do you feel safe at home by yourself?”

My response was “No, I do not.”

It was then I decided that I was not going home that night. I was going to the hospital.

My mom was then called up to the office where she was told everything. I could not look at her. She was crying, not knowing what to do. She was mad at herself that she could not fix my sadness and pain. She was understanding, though, and knew that my therapist and I decided that going to the hospital was the best option.

My therapist then told my mom the steps that needed to be taken.

I said goodbye to my therapist once my mom and her were done talking. I would not see my therapist again for another two months.

And then my mom hugged me. She told me everything was going to be okay. We got into the car and then started on our way to the hospital.

Coming next Monday: Kayla shares her experience at the hospital.