When I think about my childhood all the way up to when I was 14, I can't think of many years when I was happy. I must've been happy up to when I was 4, but I can't say I remember enough about those years. When I was 4, we decided to move, and my dad moved 6 months before me and my mom. This caused me a lot of stress and sadness for such a little kid. When we did move, I had such a hard time and I missed my friends so much. I remember that I was so sad about moving, so I would hate having free time because it meant I had nothing to distract from my sadness. This meant that Mondays were always my favorite days. This continued as I switched schools in first grade, and I would have trouble sleeping because I would be mourning the loss of my old life. I had such severe nostalgia, and I felt like I was so much older and I missed being a "little kid" even though I was still only 6. Then, in second grade, things got even worse and I kind of just shut off from others. I would spend my recess alone, and people would try to play with me, but i just didn't want to. I remember my parents would give me incentives, saying i could watch extra TV if I played with someone at recess. That made me feel even worse, and belittled. I didn't want to have to play with people and I didn't like that they were trying to make me. My teacher even came up with a "position" for me to sort the books at break time instead of going outside. At the time I didn't realize that it was for me to feel more comfortable, and I thought it was just because I was good at organizing. As I fell asleep, there was little I could do to comfort myself, and I would have quite dark thoughts for a seven year old. In third grade, though, things got so much better, and I finally grew out of that phase. I was finally comfortable in myself and I would actually raise my hand in class and talk. Even though I didn't have mental problems any more, I had some minor social problems, but compared to the past year it was nothing. Fifth grade was when COVID happened though, which was very hard for me. When quarantine first started, I loved it. But then, us year sixes were allowed to go back to school in London, but we weren't allowed to wear masks. My parents didn't let me go back, which makes perfect sense in retrospect, but all my friends would be at school together, and I would be at home. I finally made a power point to convince my parents to let me go back to school. When I finally was allowed to go back, though, it seemed like cliques had gotten tighter and everyone had grown closer without me. Looking back, it all feels very trivial, but at the time I couldn't see that, and would cry myself to sleep at night. I moved again in 6th grade, and that was really good for me. But at the end of seventh grade though, things got bad again and I went through what I believe to have been a depressive episode. I struggled a lot, and had lots of issues with friends, and with feeling unloved. After a few months though, I was back to feeling better. Going into eighth grade I was still sad all the time, but not depressed. I was finally okay, but I forgot how it felt not being sad, and I didn't really let myself accept it. At the end of eighth grade, though, around the same time as the last year, and right as I got a concussion, I went through another "episode". This one was worse than the last, and because of my constant stress and mental stimulation, my concussion lasted much longer than it should've. There had been so much going on in my life that normally I would brush off, but this time I was unable to. I couldn't escape all my own thoughts. After a few months of that, however, and at the end of eighth grade, I was finally back to normal. For all these reasons, I can't really give a definitive answer to being at my lowest. But I. can say that it was not when I was in 6th grade, and it is not right now.