It’s stupid people like me who decide to step into the quicksand, unknowing how hard it is to step out

the pathetic part of my story is that this really was all of my fault. It all started back in 5th grade. That was the first year I really did realize how cruel people were. I never had friends, and I continued fine without them until 8th grade, but until 5th grade it never really bothered me. Then I started getting picked on; it was for everything. My hair wasn’t straight, I wasn’t pretty, I wasn’t skinny as a twig. I didn’t wear make up or buy name brand clothes. I wanted to, but my mom just wouldn’t allow it. To be honest I don’t know when it began, but one summer I told my mom I wasn’t going to the park with them, I wanted to stay home. I wanted to be alone so that I could hurt myself. This was around 5th grade. When she left I tried to suffocate myself. After that day I started to fall into a routine of suffocating myself or tying myself up until the point that it became painful and I couldn’t get out. I thought it calmed me down. One day I just stopped that though. In the seventh grade I found out about cutting. My father was and always has been abusive, and I always had that sense of sadness to me. So when I found out about depression and self harm I thought maybe if I hurt myself I wouldn’t have that stress or sadness. That was also the year I got my Nintendo DSI, it was my first real connection to others. The system has a browser and a flipnote studio. Flipnote had this online thing where you could share your creations. I would spend nights watching videos in the emo chat room. I was fascinated with the style of these people. The way they talked acted and looked. I wanted to be just like them. There was also that fair share of people who claimed to be emo because of self harm. So I started thinking with that mind set. I’d heard it so much from them that I thought maybe life really did suck that bad. In 8th grade I met this kid in November and we dated for seven months, he pulled me through hell and back, later I discovered that his intents really were to hurt me but I’ll get to that a little later. In January of my 8th grade year I started cutting. I wanted to take care of the pain of what he was doing, and I wanted to get back at him for making me feel like shit. I thought I was affecting him by describing everything to him so he could feel bad but later he used it against me. At the time my cuts were only scratches. Nothing bad. Then in June that year he broke up with me; that was the day I took the object id been using to cut and did it as hard as I could, it didn’t bleed but the rush of adrenaline when you thought you were about to was enough for me. I loved it. That week in school people noticed I looked visibly out of it. I was honeatly destroyed at the things that the guy said to me, and all that he did. I really thought I loved him. That was the last time I cut for the summer but I still felt depressive and such. This year I started 9th grade. The first month was hell for me. I felt like everyone hated me. I felt ugly, fat, alone, I felt disgusting. I changed so much during that time period. I was stripped of my cheery character, or what was left of it. everything that I was was taken away. Honestly I’d never felt so much pain as I did in the course of this school year. Also, to add, I found out about cutting also from my friend who cut. She was recovering and I wanted to start despite how stupid I new it was. I wanted to GET myself hooked because I thought it would take away my pain for good. I never saw the side of depression that was so terrifying as it really was. Anyways, I went through a lot of trouble with friends. I began stealing razors from the art room because my mom found and took my old object and the new razor I had. I stole 3 pencil sharpeners probably about 5 to 8 times in total, this was the first year I started using razors and actually cutting. at first I tried to get addicted and it didn’t work so I thought okay I’m good I can stop if I wanted. That’s when I got out of control. Every time I was sad I would cut. my left arm is covered in two sets of thin scars stretching from 1 1/2 inches to two inches away from my palm all the way up the crease of my elbow, and this was in the past 4 months. I have two scars on my right wrist and a couple on my thighs and ankles. Still, even now, there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe I’m addicted to it, but I know that I have no self control over this. I also began developing bad eating habits. Since about march I’ve been on and off starving and dieting. Ive always had problems with my weight. I was 190 at one point in April, I know, I’m a fat ass. Shut up. I am down to 179 as of today(: I’m proud of myself but I’m terrifying everyone else with my eating habits and extreme exercise. I’m honestly determined to get down to 100. Flat 100. I have pushed everyone away, i was going to tell the school about my abusive father so i could leave. The majority of my pain is his fault. But I’m too afraid to speak up. I planned to commit suicide just a week or two ago, and surprisingly the one who stopped me was the ex boy friend who destroyed me. Now I face the decision of letting him back into my life. The problem is all of my friends hate him and letting him back into my life can either fix me or completely destroy my remains. I seem happy to others but the people who know me and the people who See my writing (yes I write) know how seriously fucked up I am. I told my friends hoping one of them would tell a councilor for me, but no one did anything, no one tries to atop me. Sometimes I seriously feel like my friends would be okay with my decision to take my life. I want to get better though, not take my life. I just want to be happy; enjoy my life. But I don’t know how too, and I’ve been waiting for forever now for things to change and it hasn’t happened yet. I wonder every day if it ever will. I wish I never had hurt myself. I wish I’d told someone sooner about my dad. I wish I had someoneto tell me thing would be okay, that I don’t have to hurt myself to bring myself back to reality, to have that sense of emotion. That maybe that part of me that feels dead is all in my head. I desperately want things to get better, and I hate myself for getting myself into this mess. It was the biggest mistake I have ever made, and I’m living it’s consequences day by day.