When I was little, I often had a feeling I couldn't understand.
All I knew was I wanted to die.
When I was little, I used to have moments of unexplained panic or melancholy that no one understood. It lasted for a bit but eventually I'd get over it. My parents just thought of it as moods and nothing major. I think they began to wonder when I began to look with a little too much interest at scissors, knives, pins and other sharp objects. Luckily no one thought much about it, just idle child curiosity. I did this long before I knew what cutting or suicide meant even if I subconsciously knew what it meant.
When I was about eleven was when the melancholy hit me bad for the first time. I remember having so little energy, arguing with my 'friend' all the time and letting my grades slip. I didn't care what happened to me because I didn't think it could be any worse. Eventually I 'got over it' and appeared to be happy again come the end of grade six.
I hid the panic and melancholy well until my grade nine year. I remember with the transfer of school systems, I began to lapse into an obsessive-compulsive state. I remember being so panicked all the time and even wondering if it was worth living through. For some reason, I made it out alive and managed to make it through again...
But later it grew worse. The melancholy was dragging me back down again. It was getting to the point that I was bribing and guilting myself to live. It's only by one reason I still reside today, my knightress in shining armour.