The Beginning of My Story

I’m a 14 year old girl. I cannot blame my depression and other emotional problems on other people. Although, yes, based on others’ actions & words, I slowly morphed into a very gloomy person. But i take full credit because I let it all get to me instead of staying strong like most people suggested after sharing my feelings. After starting elementary school i realized what a cruel world i lived in. Exclusion and judgement had me go home frowning. “Don’t talk to her because she’s ugly,” they’d say. I began growing out my bangs then covering a majority of my face with them. Insecurity began taking over, as well as melancholia. Food became my best friend. The more i ate, the more i gained. Now i wasn’t just made fun of for my face, but now for my overweight body as well. I wasn’t just a victim of bullies at school, my siblings tagged along with the name calling. All the more reason to hate myself and question why my parents called me beautiful.
Some people could not recognize my pain. I was better known for my joyful personality because that’s how i initially started off. Eventually others noticed the increase of black in my clothing, and gradually, my cuts. I was watching TV and heard of the term “emo”. Apparently “emos” had cut theirselves. Right away i knew why.
I was too much of a coward at the time to even come in contact with a knife, so i didn’t start until a few years later. Although i began to self inflict myself when i was eight. I discovered i had acne on my arms. I’d run my nails across every pimple until they exploded and blood bursted out. My parents assumed i did this because i was unacknowledged on how to get rid of pimples. They’d tell me to stop since the scars gave my arms a grotesque appearence. I never stopped.
Five years later, i was in seventh grade. Still unattractive, verbally tormented, and just plain self pitiful. I had my first somewhat serious boyfriend. I guess i became very attached to him, but like most guys, he pushed me away. Our relationship went from the best to worst within weeks. For the first time in my life, i felt numb, empty, confused, angry, depressed, and lost all simultaneously. One day in January 2012, i went walking around a town away from where i resided. The sky was dark and grey. Because of the long walk home alone i had time to contemplate my mistakes and to premedicate my future decisions within my life. But anger whirled up inside me, as well as sorrow. It all then dwindled down to numbness. I came home feeling extra light. I felt like if i didn’t try i’d float away like helium. My brother was home already and interrogated me on where i had been, why, and with who. But i fell right away unto my couch to feel nothing. What would help me feel like i was alive? Happiness? No. I hadn’t felt happy in so long. It felt impossible to be happy. So then what would bring me to life? Physical pain? Yes. I layed there staring at my pink swiss army knife my parents had gotten me the Christmas before. I grabbed it, and went across the road all over my arms. At last, i felt satisfied. I had cut myself almost every day after that until about November of 2012.
And this is the beginning of my story.