It all started a year and a half ago when I came home from school to find out that my mother had died from an drug overdose earlier that morning. Being a daughter of an former alcoholic father and drug addict mother, I’ve had some hard times. From neglect to some form of abuse. From moving into a new house every couple of months with other family to watching my mother slowly die on the bathroom floor from an overdose – again. I’ve been through many things that some people would never experience. Or so I’ve been told. That was probably the worst day of my life, finding out she was gone – forever. Knowing I’d never see her again. That I’ll never be able to talk to her again, or so I thought. And I know what your thinking: “Why is she so sad if she neglected her?”. Well, just because my mother may not have been the most best parent in the world. That doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I love her much, much more than I love myself. Anyway, the first few weeks were the hardest. All I did was cry and cry and cry. I heard her voice every time someone called my name – and I still do. I went through the grief process like anyone else would. I had my days where I’d be really sad. Then days where I’d be really happy. Then, maybe 4-5 months later. I was sexually assaulted/raped by my cousin. It was a traumatic experience for me. It also didn’t help that I hadn’t been given “The Talk” yet, even though I was old enough to know at that point. I told my aunt what he’d done. She was very angry with him and was glad I’d told her. Because he told me not too. I, then, had to tell the whole story over again to other important people. Then again and again and again. My aunt had filed a report with the police about it. But, the police did nothing. Apparently, we were to young for it actually be called rape. I went through a rape-kit, which was really uncomfortable. What had happened that night really made my emotional issues noticeable. I struggled through the last month of school, trying to keep up, trying not to think of “Him”. I went through summer like normal, trying to cover up what really was going on inside: hate, anger, lust, pain, sadness, death. Then, one day in the middle of summer camp, I cracked. I had a mental breakdown and told my aunt i how I felt. My aunt believed me, but thought some of it was because I was an emotional young women. Another reason why I’d been so upset is because I’d found out something I’d been confused about for years – my sexuality. I found out, over time, that I was a homosexual or lesbian. I’d realized that my feelings for girls, and not just as friends, over the past 3 years, were for a reason I hadn’t realized until that moment. I do realize, that even now, it could be a phase. I am well aware of the fact. But just because it MIGHT be, doesn’t mean it IS. After school started the next fall, I went to see a consular every week. It helped for a while, then I started to become more depressed as the weeks went on. As the weeks turned into months, I started to think of suicidal thoughts. In November, around Thanksgiving, I went to my aunt’s house (not the one I live with). “HE” was there. I avoided as much contact as possible. Trying not to be in the same room as “HIM”. But, some how at one point, we did. “HE” kicked, punched, and slapped me. “HE” called me names I don’t want to speak of. “HE” insulted me in many ways that night. I cried later, cried myself to sleep. Knowing that “HE” knows who or what I am. That “HE” hates me for it. For telling her. For liking girls. “HE” knew. I knew it. I told my aunt a few days later. She talked to my other aunt (the one who’s house is where it happened) and she promised to talk to him about him behavior. Since then, I’ve said no more. “HE’S” never done it again. But when ever I see “HIM” (which I try to avoid as much as possible) I always think “HE’S” going to do something, anything, to hurt me. I live in a constant fear that’s “HE’S” going to do something. Hurt me, touch me, hit me, insult me. It makes me wanna die. Knowing that “HE” may never stop. I asked my aunt why he was doing this. She said “it’s because he’s in love with you. Most teenage boys his age fall in love and don’t know who to deal with it”. I, personally, think that’s just bull crap. I mean, it may be true, then it may not. But “in love”, you’ve got to be kidding me. That’s the reason why I don’t speak of my mental issues. My aunt doesn’t take me seriously. I think, personally, that she knows the truth and is in denial. Anyway, now you know of my past. Now here’s the present. Now I’m almost done with school. I’ve missed 20-24 days of school this year. Most were “Mental Health Days” from what my aunt calls them. I’m doing OK in school. I try my best. But it’s hard to get through each day. I’m depressed (possibly clinically depressed) and suicidal. I have tried to commit suicide many, many times. All fail. I cut every once in a while. To let the pain out. To get rid of the regret, anger, suffering, ect. I barely sleep. I sleep maybe 4-3 hours a night and then sleep after school. My aunt, sometimes, has to drag me out of bed and make me eat. Then wont let me sleep until it’s time for bed. I either eat to much, or to little. I’m always moping around like a dead zombie. Once again, denial runs deep. I listen to depressing music like Evanescence, AFI, Flyleaf, Lamb of God, ect. Although I was already into that kind of music. That’s all I listen to now. She doesn’t notice. I’m in an LGBT youth group. I want to tell them how I feel, cause they seem like they may understand, but that’s what I thought with my aunt. Didn’t happen. I don’t want to risk it. I now go to a consular every 3 weeks. My weeks have been changed because I’m getting “better”. Ya, right. I lie to my consular too. I know that doesn’t help me at all. But I’m mad at her and my aunt. Because way back in September they promised me that if I wasn’t any better within a month, they’d talk about putting me on a depression pill. A month goes by, nothing. I try to commit suicide and then tell my aunt that I tried, nothing. My consular, who is very nice, doesn’t take me seriously either (in my opinion). A few days ago, I carved “HELP ME MOM!!” into the back of my door with a knife. Then I carved, more like scraped, “KILL ME!!” on the screen of my computer. My friend, the only one who knows how I really feel AND understands, told me that I’ve lost it. I think I already knew that. I have 2 real friends. One is the girl I’d already told you about. She is depressed and suicidal like me. But she lives 2 hours away from me. We’d meet at summer camp. So, we only see each other once or twice a year. And the other is also my girlfriend. Who I think doesn’t love me. Although she says she does. But other than that, I just have some random people I talk to in school. But only 2 true friends. I just don’t want to live anymore. Death is the last thing I think about at night. And the first thing I think about when I awake. I’ve been cutting more lately. Listening to more depressing music. Attempting suicide more. I just don’t see the point of life when nobody (accept 1) takes you seriously. When you hate yourself. When you think your a shelfish, horrible person. When all the world does is hurt you. When all the people do is hurt, betray, not believe, or use you. What am I to live for? Once my aunt told me I should try to help myself. I tried and tried and tried. All fail. She said she’d try to help me help myself. What did she do? Nothing. I tried and tried and tried some more, even though I’d lost all hope. And I failed. Again. I tried to tell my aunt how I really felt back in January. I’d typed my feelings down on the internet and gave it to her for her to read. She read it. Then said “Hannah, some of these feelings you are feeling are just part of being a young women. All this ‘horrible world’ and ‘I wanna die’ stuff is all young women stuff”. That was the last time I ever spoke to her about my mental issues. I know she means well, but what she said there, was completely wrong. I tried to explain but then gave up, knowing that she’d never understand. I want to die. I’m close to committing suicide. I guess things just don’t turn out the way you hoped.
Note: I’m sorry if I spelled things wrong. The spell check isn’t working for me right now. And this is my first time posting, so sorry if I put it in the wrong categorie or that it’s to long…….