15 - The school made my parents take me to a therapist. I had been quite ill that year, starting with depression (almost flunked due to skipping school) to a severe mixed episode where I was so distraught that I passed out in the hallway at school and came to in hysterics. This all followed an extreme disappointed relating to my dream to become a ballerina, etc.

The therapist wasn't helpful. Of course he invited my parents in with me. My father spent the whole time boo hooing about how I was stressing him out. [Everything has always been all about him, him, him, even though my situation had zero to do with him. Lord help him if he ever thought about anyone but himself! Not even his 15 year old daughter.] After a few sessions of more of the same, I told my mother I was fine, so they stopped taking me there. I was soon after transferred to a private school (at the suggestion of my guidance counselor), which I liked, and then decided I wanted to "find God". It was soon after that I was baptized and confirmed a Roman Catholic, soon after turning 16, which no one in my family was. I've long since left the church. It was a "phase". One of many!

Side note:

At 14, I thought I was going to die of a heart attack. My mother had taken me to the GP who diagnosed me with anxiety, and prescribed the anti-anxiety medication Buspar (buspirone). I maybe took it three times and then stopped. There was no follow-up appointment. That was my first psych medication. The story went on and on.