Personal Narrative: My First Year In Middle School

In September of 2010, I started my first year in middle school. I was so happy for school. But this probably end up being the worst year of my life. I started sixth grade at Parkland High School with 800 students in my grade level. I was only 11 years old. On my first day of school, I remember getting on the bus and everyone laughing at me and whispering because my bus stop was the only bus stop at an apartment. As the school year went by my classmate would antagonize me for being poor. We lived in a 2 bedroom apartment, and the other children lived in mansions, and had more than one bathroom. I never thought I would be ashamed for where I lived, or had to be ashamed.
Anyways, the year continued and the students just kept figuring out ways

I started cutting, crying myself to sleep, and the biggest I started believing them. I agreed with them. Thought killing myself was the best thing, that I was a mistake. I became seriously depressed and suicidal.
All this time I hid this all from my mom and family. For the past two years I had been getting bullied, and my family never knew. I came home faked a smile, and then went to my room and slept. I felt like I was living a double life, but I did not want my mom to know because I already felt like I was a mistake to her because what the students told me. So I thought if she found out she would just me more angry with me. That was never the

She read what was going on with me. She immediately contacted the guidance counselor, who contacted a psychiatrist. I remember being called from class and taken to a room. I was unaware that they had my journal. The psychiatrist told me he was a psychiatrist, and was going to ask me a series of questions. I had no idea what a psychiatrist was at the time I was only 12. He asked me questions about how life was at home, how I feel about myself, characteristics that describe me, what I love about myself, was anything wrong with me, and lastly he asked was I depressed. For some reason, I was honest. Till this day I believe I was honest because that was my plea for help and a I genuinely wanted it. I couldn’t think of one thing that I liked about myself during that time. The things I wrote for him was a muster of “ugly, worthless, mistake, damaged, annoying” things like this.
The questionnaire had ended, and the psychiatrist then said for me to be strong, then left the room. I later learned that he spoke with my mom and he diagnosed me with “medium-high risk depression” and gave my mom the option to have me taken to CHILDS psychological clinic in Philadelphia. Since I wasn’t high depression I did not have to go to a hospital but it was recommended. My mom refused to have me taken to a hospital because she did not know the severity of my mental condition. To her I was happy and