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i never knew people could be so kind, and i've never had more hope than i do now.

i'm going to admit something to all of you. most of you don't even know this about me, but i'm honestly not afraid anymore.

my high school experience was shit. i got diagnosed with depression my freshman year, i had a horrible abusive relationship that went on for over a year, and people were so rude to me. i couldn't attend half a school year once because the depression got so bad, and the worst part was no one seemed to care. and actually, i missed a lot more than that. no one really seemed to like me except my few close friends. high school was a really dark time for me. i wrote many depressing poems, rants, and other things, and many of them had to do with how horrible i thought i was. i didn't feel i could trust anyone with my secrets, not even my friends. it was hard talking about what i was going through. i was almost ashamed of myself, and i wasn't even sure why. i seriously thought about suicide for a long time, and almost attempted it one night. my outlook on life was pretty grim all through high school. i had no hope that people could be decent and kind to me. i didn't think i was really worth it. i didn't care about looking okay, or taking a shower. i was so indifferent to everything, and negative. i was the ultimate pessimist, in every sense of the word.

but now? my new life in college has really opened my eyes. along with being diagnosed with adhd, i managed to get control of my depression. since college started, i've met many people who i think i can call my friends. i can strike up random conversations with people and they'll react well, talking back and smiling. i've taken nothing but great classes with outstanding teachers. now, i'm actually learning at an incredible rate, and i look at life with positivity. i switched therapists and physciatrists, and now i'm really getting the aggressive treatment i've needed since freshman year. i find myself laughing hard at least once every day. i take a shower everyday, and i care about how i look (to some extent). my hair is out of my eyes, and i'm moving all day, constantly doing and accomplishing things at an incredible rate. i sleep all night, and not too much, either. i'm friendly to everyone, and i try to look at the positive things instead of dwelling on the negative. i'm also not underweight anymore.

i don't think people that knew me in high school would even really recognize me. i'm amazingly different.

i'm finally myself again. i'm finally jennifer mitzman...the optimist, the lover, the fighter, the caregiver, the musician, the writer, the artist.

and it feels so good.

Suicidium (Written Jan. 10, 2011)

It was a beautiful, chilly night on the first week of February 2009, and the sky was breathtaking; it was splattered with stars, as if a painter took his trusty brush in hand and made a quick flick of his wrist across a canvas. All the stars were visible – or so it had seemed – to the naked eye. The enveloping darkness penetrated me like poison, slowly taking me captive and numbing my body. The faint light emanating from the moon dully lit the night sky; its rays gleaming upon me. There was a cool, soothing breeze fluttering through the open window, and the distinct smell of fresh air wafted from it and into my nostrils, filling me with an odd sensation.

I was casually sprawled across my semi-messy bed, with no blanket covering my shivering body. The ear buds to my iPod were placed lightly in my ears, and the sound of incredibly depressing music flooded my senses. The same song was repeating over and over; I had it set to loop. Other than the blasting music overwhelming my eardrums, it was quiet, almost peaceful.

One would think by glancing at me in that state that nothing was wrong. However, if his glare caught me for mere seconds, he would not think me so serene. A plethora of thoughts were swirling in my head – ones of despair, and of mental agony. There were so many, that they eventually all merged into one single, defining thought. I wanted to die. Oh, how death had sounded so pleasantly sweet. No more being judged unfairly by others, no more depressing feelings, no more … no moreanything. For so long, I had felt hopeless, empty, and vastly alone. No one cared about me, and they honestly had no reason to, or so I had thought. Moping around by my lonesome, only depressing others, I would refuse to do any activities that I previously would do without hesitation. Terrible thoughts plagued me, and I wondered why I had to be born, why I had to be the one that was mocked and ridiculed. It was time to take action, time to get rid of myself. I was not worthy for life.

After arising from my twin bed, I planted my feet on the ground, one at a time, and thought to myself, “It's my time to go.” My tired muscles needed a stretch, so I satisfied their hunger, and blinked once. Twice. Three times. I took my first step towards my destination – the utensil drawer in the kitchen downstairs. Slowly and begrudgingly, I made my way to the tall, dark-brown, closed bedroom door. Just as slowly as I walked up to it, I opened the door and took yet another step, this time, out into the short hallway of our second floor. All was quiet. Everyone was sound asleep in their own warm beds. Once I was gone, it would be all the more peaceful. Everything was moving in slow-motion as I took one step after another.

I arrived at the staircase, leading down to only the bleak fact that soon, I would be just another teenage suicide, along with the many others that occur everyday. Suddenly, I stopped. A thought – a simple, yet powerful one – entered my hopeless mind. How will my family react? How will this hurt them? Whatever. At that point, I could care less. Almost taking my first step down the stairs, I paused yet again. I … I can not do this. I can't hurt them. Around I turned, and I made my way back the way I had come, and eventually, back into my bedroom. The door shut quietly behind me, and for what seemed like an eternity, I stood still, like a mangled, broken pendulum. For a long time, I pondered how I was going to get through this. Engulfing myself in a warm blanket, I returned to bed. The fatigue hit, and I fell asleep.

The following day was passing, and eventually, light turned to darkness, and it was nighttime once again. It was about the time I had to take a shower. To prepare myself for school the next day, I put together my clothes and got my pajamas out – which consisted merely of an oversized shirt and pajama bottoms. To the shower I walked, not particularly interested in standing in the water with my hair filled with shampoo. Not even three minutes into the shower, and it suddenly hit me a tennis player's racket hitting the ball. I broke down, sobbing. The tears streamed down my face, and all I could taste was salty water while sitting on the old, blue tile floor of the shower, crying my heart out. Out of nowhere came a knock on the door. It nearly scared me half to death; I had no idea my deep breathing and soft moans could be heard from outside. A sudden lash of anger erupted towards the culprit – my mother.

“GO AWAY!” I yelled blatantly. Infuriated, I hoped that she would not bring it up again, once I had gotten out. I quickly finished my shower, eyes bloodshot and in pain. Apparently, she did not forget. When she first brought it up, I was quite angry at her again. Bluntly, I told her that nothing was wrong, and that I did not want to talk about it. A little later, she persisted her questioning, informing me she would not leave until I told her what was wrong. At that point, I broke down crying for a second time, a massive burden on my shoulders ready to be shared. Eventually, everything I had been holding in for so long unleashed, and I told her everything.

Since that night, I have made vital changes throughout my life. I have learned a vast amount of personal discoveries, and also found, that just as the old saying goes, most lessons are learned the hard way. Anger, upset, frustration, and depression are all immense emotions I am well-experienced with. However, if I had not had depression, I would not be the person I am to this day. One of the most important pieces of knowledge I have acquired, or shall I say, personal wisdom, is that I never want to feel that way again. Ever. From experimenting with my body and my mind, I have quickly found that music is my therapy. Picking up my saxophone, laying my hands gently on the piano, or going to the computer to start composing a piece, are all soothing to me. My stormy agitation transforms into a calm disposition.

Although this experience was frightening more for others than it was for me, it still has opened my eyes. I know now, that when strong emotions are felt, I need to have someone to whom to vent. My mother, my boyfriend, my close friends … anyone who is willing to listen. As I have discovered, people who are willing to listen, are people who genuinely care. Without people like my mother, and my best friends, I could not have made it through this. I have completely and utterly redefined my life for the better … and I could not be any happier with where I am right now.