Did you know that teenager suicide rates have increased 120% since 1980? And approximately every 90 minutes a teenager kills himself/herself?

It came as an unbelievable shock to me when I found out that my best friend tried to kill herself last weekend. She was run to the hospital and is currently at a mental institution. I had no idea she was depressed. At all. But now I realize that there were some signs, and I feel horrible that I never saw it before. The thing is that...I am sort of a hypocrite.

I have had a lot of suicidal thoughts ever since I was 8 years old- I did try to commit silent suicide when I was 9, but obviously failed. I have not been depressed ever since I met my best friend in 5th grade. But this past year has changed me so much because my best friend and I finally grew distant. And now, I have been suffering for a year, been crying for a year, been dying for a year.

I found out I have two anxiety disorders and depression. I am now on medication. But I have had lots of suicidal thoughts this past year that i've never told anyone about. Sometimes i'm in good moods in which I don't like the side of me that wants to kill myself and then i'm in bad moods where I can't fight the urge of hating myself--and if I get into another depression phase, i'm afraid I might do something stupid (do I sound like I have multiple personalities?--what is this??) I do want help--but I feel as though i'm a copycat. But the bottom line is this: I hate my best friend; she left me and found a new one, who has the exact same name as me. Although I did have a bf and she was jealous, she doesn't talk to me anymore...And I hate her. I'm really lonely, and I have no one to talk to.

In my spare time I write random things like the following:

sometimes, I just don't want to talk to anyone. Sometimes, I don't want to show my face, and, sometimes, I don't want to breathe. I just want to lay down and do nothing except think. Think about stupid things and depress myself. This is not normal. I am not normal. People usually don't enjoy getting depressed. People usually don't enjoy getting depressed in their spare time. But I do. I guess I am not "people." and I guess I am not normal. It's a shame, really. Mom wants me to find a good friend. Dad wants me to shoot for the olympics. They see me as a happy kid-like how everyone else sees me. The kid with the case of the smiles and the kid who always laughs. The funny girl who is in the yearbook labeled under the "sweetest senior." no one would never, ever, ever place this girl under the label of "most likely to be suicidal."
"i want to be just like you."
"you're perfect."
"you're pretty."
"you're smart."
"you're funny."
"you're athletic."
"you're popular."
and yet, these people don't know that I am none of these things. I am not perfect. I am far from pretty. Everyone is smarter than me now. I don't know what a joke is anymore. I can't play soccer like I used to. And I have no friends; I lost them all. So how can people admire me? Want to be like me? Think i'm perfect? I live a lie, and a negative one at that. The only person that does see through me, though, is a teacher I know. He sees who I am. The defeated, ugly failure I am. All i've wanted to do was prove to the world I was perfect. And when I was perfect, I failed to see. I wanted more. And I fell. More like tumbled-or even, was thrashed to the ground--because I was never satisfied, and never will be. Until I die.
Until I die. It's sort of like anorexia. Anorexics will not eat until they die. So in a way I am anorexic: I will not stop trying to be perfect until I die. Many idealists see this determination in a positive manner. But, truly, it is a horrifying habit which one should never have to live with. To never be satisfied, to never be perfect, to never be good enough for one's own self is the worst feeling in the world. To never be able to reach the end of a lifetime goal. To never fulfill one's own meaning of life. To only walk the endless path where the door is marked "happiness," and what you've been looking for is on the other side.
The door slammed in my face. I cried. I quit. My body is frail and beaten. And I know I did it to myself. And I don't know why. I don't have an answer. So I ask god. But god is only happiness, and I know nothing about happiness. I'm a lost girl, a dumb girl. A straightforward cry baby. All I can repeat is that I did it to myself. I did it to myself. I did it to myself.

Please help me. I have talked to psychologists and social workers and i'm on medication. What else do I do?