Before I begin my story, I want to make sure the readers
know that what I am about to tell was the hardest and scariest time
of my life and should be taken seriously. I don't want your
sympathy, but an understanding of my life and others
because I know
that there are hundreds of kids going through what I went through
but they weren't brave enough to get the help like I did.
The sweat is pouring off my face . . . I'm shaking . .
. I cant stop myself from shaking . . .all these thoughts are racing
through my head . . . some of them which I wish I can some how just
stop. No one knows about this, it's my "secret". No one knows that
this is what I go through every day of my life no matter where I am
or who I am with. No one knows that I am scared. Everyone thinks
that I am the happiest girl alive and not scared of anything and
that I have no problems. Well, they are wrong. Wait until they see
me after I did what I do -- after I take away the pain.
I move the blade closer to my ankle. "Why do I have to
live like this? Why
can't I live like everyone else and be happy?" So many questions
and thoughts race through my mind. The tears are building up. I try
to control them. I try not to cry, but I can’t hold it in. I have
to let it out. I have to cry.
I take the blade off my ankle and I just look at it for
a second. I stop and I think about what I am going through. I am so
sick. Every day I am in pain. Every night I cry myself asleep
because so far my life has nothing else but doctors and hospitals.
There’s so much wrong physically with me, let alone mentally. I am
so sick of being sick. I want to live a normal teen life. I want
to be able to join sports, go out with my friends, but I know the
reality is that I can’t and I won’t be able to, not until I get
healthy. The question I ask myself is: Will life ever get better?
Besides my health issues, my family life is going down hill. The
fighting is always going on. I feel so alone in my house. Again I
feel scared. I am scared to say the wrong thing because it might
start a fight. I hate the fighting. I want to scream out, “Why
can’t we all get along? Isn't that what a normal family is suppose
to do?”
But then I think to myself, we are not normal, I am not
normal. I am different from everyone else. In school I am
different. I talk weird -- everyone says I stutter. The kids laugh
and make fun of me. I try to ignore them. I think that they aren't
any better than me. They are just jealous of me. I am not popular,
the boys don't like me. I don't like going to school. I feel so
alone there, too. Again I am scared. I only have a few friends and
sometimes I wonder if they are even my true friends. My best
friends are my books and the blades that I use to cut my self. I
want to tell everyone my secret? Maybe they will understand me
more. I want to show them the pain and the scars. But then, they
might think I am crazy and be afraid of me.
I start to cry more. I want more than in the whole
world to be "normal" I want to talk "normal," I want to feel
"normal." I bring myself back to reality. I don't want to think
about these things anymore.
I slide the blade up and down my ankle. At first it
just gets red and then swells up and then I press harder. I don't
feel any of this . . . it feels like I am in a cloud . . .
everything around me is gone. Soon it starts to bleed . . . seeing
the blood makes me happy . . . it is like all the pain is going
away, escaping from my body. After I do it I stare at it and I start
hysterical crying.
I live in my own world. I am so alone. My secret has
been with me for almost a year now -- I have been cutting for almost
a year. Just think about that. No one noticing that I am severely
depressed and that I would much rather sit in my room all day and
cry and cut then be out in this terrible world and feel so
alone and
worth nothing. That's exactly how I feel, I feel like I was a
mistake to put on this earth, that I am so hopeless I cant do
anything. For crying out loud I cant even swim. I look at my self
in the mirror. How can someone be so ugly? How can God do this to
such an innocent child? The nights and the days grow to be so long
school seems like its getting
longer and longer every day. I hate the mornings and the
afternoons. I long for the nights. I long to be alone in my room.
I want to be alone, where no one knows and no one will bother me.
My mom asks me what is wrong and why I don't go out. I
tell her I don't feel good and she actually believes me. I get mad
at her. I get mad at her for not noticing that I am crying out that
I am so depressed. I get mad at her for not getting worried. I get
mad at myself for living like this. I bang my head on my wall. I
think to myself maybe if I hit it enough times maybe I will black
out and die. I think that I would never be so lucky to leave this
earth. God doesn't understand my pain -- he wants me to live, he
doesn't want me to leave. I ask him why? Why must I stay? I only
bring trouble and harm? My parents fight every night everyday about
me and about what to do. I am so sick they are so sick of me being
sick I tell them to get rid of me. I tell them that I don't deserve
them that they will do better without me. They look at me and tell
me that they love me. I don't believe them. I don't see how you
can love someone like me. What is there to love?
I'm at counseling right now. I don't mind being here.
My counselor understands me. She doesn't know about my "secret." I
want to tell her, I want to cry to her. She looks at me. I think
she knows. I think that she sees I am in pain. She asked me what's
wrong. I look her in the eyes. I can’t lie to her -- she's too
nice, she's been through too much with me. I break down. I start
hysterical crying. I start shaking. I tell her everything. I tell
her how it started and why I did it and everything. I tell her that
school is horrible and that I feel so lost there and the teachers
hate me and they all think so low of me. I tell her that I am so
sick and that I have no life. I tell her about mommy and daddy
fighting. I tell her how I feel so low about my self and I feel
like I shouldn't live. I tell her that I cut to be happy. She just
continues to stare at me, not saying a word. For some reason I am
happy she is not talking. I am happy that she is just listening. I
feel like she understands me. I feel like she wont judge me.
She tells my dad, my dad goes home and tells my mom. My
mom cries. I cry. I hate my self for making my mom cry. I hate my
self for scaring my mom. I hate myself for living like I do. I cut
twice that night. I go crazy. I go into the medicine cabinet and
take all the medications that are in there. I feel funny, I feel
like the world is spinning. I go lay down in my bed. I fall
asleep. I don't wake up until that afternoon. My mom is shaking me
to get up. I can feel that she is afraid. She is scared. She asks
me what I did. I tell her.
She brings me to this place where everyone knows
everything. I feel so low. I don't feel worthy. I want to go to a
corner and cry. I stay at this place all day. They teach me here
there are other kids who are going through what I am going through.
I am not alone. I realize it is common what I am going through. I
talk. I tell my story. I tell everything, I don't keep anything
in. No one judges me, no one laughs at me, they understand, they
help me, they tell me advice. I love this place. I don't want to
leave. My mom tells me I have to come here for a couple months. I
am happy. I like it. I don't cut that night -- that's the 1st time
I didn't cut in like 5 months. I don't feel sad, I don't feel
alone. I go home and I go to sleep. But I go to sleep because I am
tired, not because I am depressed.
I continue going to this place every morning. I don't
cut. I haven't cut in like 4 months. They tell me I am better,
they tell me that I can leave and that I can go back to school. I
want to go back to school. I want to see everyone. I want to show
everyone how much better I am. I want to show the teachers that I
am not stupid and tell them all I went through. I want to tell them
why I always went to the nurse -- it was because I needed somewhere
safe. I want to tell them that I saw the dirty looks they gave me
and the side comments they used to make. I want to tell them that
it just made me worse and to know for next time. I still cry a lot
but they tell me crying is normal and everyone cries and that I
shouldn't be scared to cry. I believe them.
It's been 6 months now and I am doing a lot better.
Sometimes I cut -- I cant say I totally stopped, but I am able to
deal with the world around me a lot better. I sometimes feel as if
I'm nothing, but my friends and family members help me to change
that.
This story was written from my heart so there might be
some things that I went on about, but that was just because that's
how I feel. To the readers, I hope you have learned from my story.
I hope you look at the world differently and be happy for who you
are and what you have. And even though you might think life gets
tough sometimes, don't ever give up, but keep your head held high.