I don't regret it, no.

I spent the majority of my adolescence and teenage years suffering completely silent and alone. When it was brought up, by my father, that someone from the school contacted him and explained I was showing signs of depression, I became defensive and said "No, I'm fine", which was the farthest thing from the truth because I barely even remember some years (for example, I remember none of 2004. I was fourteen). People tried to help, my parents explained there is nothing wrong with being mentally ill as my mother is and other extended family members. For a while I thought it was me trying to be superior. I realize now it was me just getting by and surviving the best I could while remaining ignorant.

I was put into the hospital after a suicide attempt at 17, and was then transferred to a residential treatment facility. I was there for four months, and for those months, I went from hating it to being thankful to hating it, etc. It ended up saving my life.

I realize I never had an ounce of regret for seeking help. I do, however, regret that we live in a society that has to label those who are mentally ill as "dangerous" or "unstable" or "criminals". That I will always regret.