I remember lying there, surrounded by four white walls, and a bed that was made for a new patient. I was submitted into a mental institution after a unsuccessful suicide attempt.

It was in my middle school years. I was about 12 years old at the time. Every day, I would suffer from panic attacks and depression. Everyday, I would face them, I would face the class, I would face my racing heart and stinging eyes.

They used to call me ugly, stupid, you know, all that great stuff. They took my books at lunch and played keep away. They used to put things into my drink, while I made faces and spit it out immediately.

I'd go and ask the teacher why people hated me, I remember how I used to talk to her everyday, not about problems, but about her kids and her life. She'd just laugh and said it was whatever.

One day a young boy came up to me, the same boy who was indeed the ring leader of it all. He slapped me across the face, and the whole class started to laugh, even the teacher I loved. I skipped school the next day.

I was so tired. I started to cut and to cut, but my inner demons kept screaming at me to do a little something more extreme. I saw the first bottle of pills, and swallowed them.

That was 3 years ago. I am 17 years old now. Even though all of it seemed ages ago, I still have the marks to prove that it hurts, and needs to be stopped. My life has gotten much worse, but I feel as if I'm a soldier. Nothing will bring me down, nothing will make me break. I do still cut sometimes, but I will try to never take away my life again.

You are loved. You are beautiful. You will make a difference to this world. Stay strong, because you are a soldier that other soldiers will need once they get hit in the same spot.

I love you, and we'll get through this.