Hello.

My name is Abbigaile Alexandria Mareeh Knight. This is my story.

Some parts have been editied out due to length and time.

I was born during the blizzard of 1993 in Raleigh, North Carolina. I’m the middle of four  children, three remaining. I don’t remember much from my childhood other than battling a disease that required me to stay away from playing and doing normal things that children do, The only “sport”  was able to do was ballet.I resented it, as well as the pageants that my mother forced me to do. I was living in the small town of Dublin, North Carolina. I met several close, lifelong friends. First off, there was Caila.

I met Caila on my bus route home from school one day. There were no school oriented busses, only the city busses that were slightly more dangerous than my mother had thought. However, one day I was riding the bus to my home and I saw a 13 year old girl sitting in the seat next to me. I was 9 at the time, so needless to say she didn’t quite want to talk to me. We talked the entire ride to my home, and the days after. we became the closest of friends, seeing each other every day.

She introduced me to her friends, Gregg, Damien, and Mylin. Mylin had a sister named Amanda that also became a great friend of mine. These people were my life. They were what my life revolved around. I loved my life more than anyone could imagine.

One day I came home and my entire family was sitting in the room. My older sister, Kayla, my older brother Xavier. I was the youngest at the time. My mother told me we were moving on a very short notice and that I had 3 days to pack. We left on the 25th of January and moved to Atlanta, Georgia.

I moved away from everything I loved and I was extremely socially awkward. Gregg ended up getting a job in Atlanta and he lived 2 blocks down from our apartment. I was happy to have a friend, but I missed my best friend, Caila.

We stayed in Atlanta for 4 years. I was now 13 and we were about to move to a small town called Blue Ridge. When we were settled in and I was closing in on my 14th birthday, my doorbell suddenly rang. It was Caila. I was the happiest. It turns oout, she was living in Mineral Bluff,only 30 minutes away. She had contacted my parents and I was pleasantly surprised. We stayed good friends all that year.

Then, the unimaginable happened. Caila, little to my knowledge, had battled leukemia as a child and hadn’t been to a doctor since they declaired her clean. Since she was from Holland and didn’t have a valid Visa, she was unable to go to the doctor for a checkup. I was called on my cellular on the 29thof October and I was told that Caila was in ICU having tremendous seizures. She was sedated and tests were ran. Later that night I was srtuck with bad news. She had 34 lesions of cancer in her brain. She also had cancerous cells in her bone marrow, heart, liver, and colon. She was inoperable and she had a month to live.

My life went to hell. I completely shut down. I didn’t talk, I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. Finally, on November 11, I was called again. Her mother sounded distressed. I was told that Caila had passed just 3 hours ago. I was the first to know aside from her mother. I went through the day alone. I didn’t have anyone that could get me from school. I paid no attention in class. I cried hysterically almost every 15 minutes.

This sent me into an extremely destructive spiral.

I began to harm myself. I would light the tip of a safety pin until it was white hot, and press it against my skin until it was cool. I would steal exacto knives and cut 2-3 inch deep wounds into myself. I was completely and utterly numb. I felt no emotions. The only thing I could feel was the sting of the loss.

I eventually began high school, and the self mutilation did not slow down. Every day, I would come home and sit in my bathroom for hours; simply dragging anything I could find across my skin. No one ever noticed. Everyone saw me as the epitaph of happiness.

I never showed anyone my true feelings.

One day, I was with my friend Jessica. I hadn’t talked to her in about a year. She introduced me to a boy named Isaiah. I was 15 at the time and I had never had a boyfriend before. I was innocent. I had never done anything wrong before in my life.

I ended up falling in love with this boy, and he fell in love with me. We ended up going steady. I loved him with all of my heart. I stopped harming myself, and everything felt better. Instead of the pain from my best friend’s death, I felt the warmth of the love. Every day I got more excited about seeing Isaiah. He was the love of my life.

I fell more in love with him each day. He knew everything about me. He knew about my father’s abuse. He knew about my past self- harm. He told me he would never do anything to hurt me, and I believed him. He was my first kiss, and I was the happiest I had ever been in my life. I was back to normal, and I never thought I would go bad again.

One day, Isaiah and I were at his home. He pulled out a bag of marijuana. I reluctantly tried it, and after that I began to smoke it every day. I picked up drinking, partying, and smoking marijuana and cigarettes. I was still pretty innocent, and I was still a virgin.Isaiah was bound to change this, and he eventually did. I thought he would always love me. I became friends with all of his friends, I became a part of his family, and I thought my life was complete.

Little did I know I was dead wrong.

I didn’t put much thought into the fact that he had girlfriends before me. Many of them in other states. One in particular I knew he was still in love with when we were first dating, but I hoped that he had gotten over it. One day, he asked me to post a photo on his Myspace. I agreed, and I saw he had a missed message; I decided to open it.

At this point, you must understand that his parents were divorced. His mother lived in Illinois, only an hour drive from his ex girlfriend. He visited her often, almost once every 3 months.

It was from his ex. The one right before me. She lived in Michigan, 2,000 miles away from our current location. The messages between him and her consisted of him saying how perfect she is, how much better than me she is, and how he desperately wished I wasn’t around so he could date her.

I was unable to move on. He eventually started to ingore me around out 2 year, 5 month mark. One night, I saw that he was video chatting with her, and I hadn’t gotten a single call or message from him in over a month.

I got an email from his best friend (also my best friend) that said he was going to ignore me until I would break up with him, or eventually never talk to him again. He said that he despised me, and that he wanted to be with her instead.

I messaged him and asked him what went on. I got noting back.

I said it was over. I got a short message saying how he was sorry that it ended on a bad key.

I was upset, to say the least. I was worse than the day Caila died. It sounds awful, but I was completely wrapped up in Isaiah. He was all I knew. His friends were the only friends I had. I was alone now, with no one.

Our friend Jake ( the one who told me about the silence between us), lent me his shoulder to cry on. I stayed at my friend’s house, where I ended up getting ridiculously fucked up and blacked out.

I woke up the next morning naked, laying in a bed with Jake. He was also naked. It didn’t take much thought to figure out what had happened.

Later that night, when I got home, I got a message from Isaiah. He accused me of cheating on him with Jake, and I denied. It was after we broke up, and he shouldn’t have care. He told me I was an immature ***** and a waste of existance. My life has been defined as that, and only that, ever since.

That night, I grabbed my old knives, razors, and scissors out of a box, and laid in my bathtub and slit both of my wrists. My younger sister, now 4, walked into the bathroom (none of our doors had locks). She walked in on a scene that was disturbing. The bath was filled partly with water, and mostly with blood. I blacked out and woke up 3 days later in the hospital.

Jake, Isaiah, and all of my friends knew what happened. I was unable to talk to anyone. No one cared. Especially Isaiah.

I stayed in a mental institution for a week, and went home. I was 16. That was my first attempt out of 6 others.

After I got out of the hospital, my father hated me even more. I was shunned from my family and I was completely alone. I continued self harm. I attempted suicide 3 more times that year, and ended up in a long term mental facility. I stayed for 9 months, and eventually went home. Things got better during my Junior year of high school, my father hardly spoke to me, and stopped abusing me.

On my 17th birthday, I was told we were moving again. I was excited to start new. I was still emotionally shitfucked over Isaiah, and I just couldn’t get him out of my mnd. I was attempt free for 6 months after that, and we moved to a quaint little village in San Diego.

I began walking around the city, leaving around 6 or 7, and returning midnight, mostly later. Chewing over what had gone wrong with my life. Things went through my head about how I would never be happy. I wasn’t making new friends, and I was still alone. I decided I was going to kill myself, and I was going to do it publically.

I didn’t know when I wanted to, but I was not doing it anytime soon. I wanted to see if I could make friends, and I tried. I tried to get better. But nothing worked.

I was still doing drugs, and they were getting worse and worse. It started with weed, then LSD, then Exstacy, then Heroine. I became quite the heroine addict for over 3 months. Then, I got so fucking depressed that I bought $600 dollars worth of the best heroine I could get. It was enough to kill probably 7 or 8 people. I went into a stall during class change. I sat down on the toilet for a good 30 minutes. I had to think over everything again. I re- read my note over and over. I eventually threw the note on the ground and put the needle in my arm. Little did I know, the bells weren’t working that day. I knew people had been coming in and out of the bathroom, but I didn’t realize that my 30 minutes, was actualy 3 hours. A teacher that I knew had bladder problems had been coming in that bathroom several times a period, and she notcied that I had been in the same stall for over 3 classes. As soon as I stuck the 2nd seringe into my arm, I heard the administration knocking on the door and asking me to come out. I couldn’t stand up, and I eventually blacked out. I woke up a week later in ICU. My mother was the only person there. She was really the only person that cared. She filled me in on all of the details a few months after. She told me that I was ran to the hospital (there was one right across the street from the school) by the principal. While in the ER, my pulse was over 200 beats per minute, and the defibed me. The stopped my heart and restarted it. I flatlined for 90 seconds.

I stayed in ICU for 29 days. After that, I was transferred to a mental facility. I stayed for over a month, and eventually returned home. I attempted again 2 months later, and again 8 months after that.

I’m now 19 years of age, and I currently still wish to die. my last attempt was in September.

I still want to die.

I will die.

I still live with my still abusive father, and I am still very much in love with Isaiah (who hasn’t talked to me since I was 16.)

I don’t know what to do with my life that to end it. I’m doing nothing with my life.

I’m nothing but an immature ***** and a waste of existance.