At first, my mom was really confused and worried. She had my brother take my door off of my room (weird I know), and searched my room for blades and such. She already knew about my depression from a counselor in 7th grade, and so she just kept searching my room, hiding sharp things, checking my body for cuts. Threatening to put me in the hospital. A few times she called the ambulance, and we went to the ER and I talked myself out of getting sent to a psych ward. My first experience with treatment was for anorexia, and I
sh'd throughout my treatment there and the people couldnt figure out why I was doing it and not stopping. Then I OD'd and got sent to the ER in an ambulance passed out, people at the hospital saw the cuts everywhere on me, and I got sent to the ER. I was completely drugged up at the ER so I don't remember much except my Mom crying and crying. Mostly my Mom just cried. And tried to get me to talk to her.