It was November. My world had continued to crumble. I had started missing a day of school at least once a week, and I would come to school late multiple days a week.

I was plagued by headaches, and fainting spells. On some days, I was literally too weak to come into school. I did not have an appetite. I grew thin and frail. I was exhausted. I probably slept 14 to 16 hours each day. My mother had to wake me up in between sleep binges to force me to eat.

Surprisingly, I was still getting A’s and B’s in my classes; however, when progress reports were released that month, my teachers complained about my lateness with completing assignments and my frequent absences. Consequently, my dean called my mom with threatening remarks.

Later that month, my mom said to me, “Your dean thinks the best course of action is to take you out of school, and frankly I agree with her.” She informed me that she had began the paperwork to withdraw me from school. I protested. I did not feel strongly about many things at that time, but I felt strongly about finishing school. Dropping out of high school was not an option for me. My dean was not the slightest bit concerned about my wellbeing. She never liked me. She wanted to get rid of me. I told my mother that I would kill myself if I dropped out of high school. I was serious. That was the first time I had admitted out loud that I had considered killing myself.

My mom cried, “I don’t know what to do with you anymore,” in response to my admission. My mom had never been much of a crier. The last time she had cried was at her father’s funeral. I did not realize how stressed she must have been. I knew that my mom would be crushed if I had killed myself. In that moment, I knew I had to finish school.