At just sixteen years old, I needed help. I don’t remember much about the preceding days. It crept up on me. I was a frog in boiling water, unaware of the decline in my mental health. When I was finally forced to pay attention, I had hope that my parents could help me. Maybe they did try at first to no avail, but I was sent away. I was too caught up in my own drowning, that I didn’t look to see what they were doing. It still feels like they gave up on me too quickly. I found

I often woke up every few hours, feeling that the whole world was moving forward, and I was the only one trapped. Anxiety, depression, and the obsessive thinking that everyone I met hated me felt tangled. But reality never stopped because of my emotions: graduation was approaching, I had not found a job yet, and the world situation felt chaotic. I pretended to be normal while participating in social activities, career fairs, and volunteering to prove I was still valuable. I

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