This is the Story of a Girl

This girl, she’s a cutter. She’s scarred to the max on her wrist. She has ‘DIE’ carved into her left thigh, forever present. The pain is everlasting. This girl, she is 14. She had a life, but a horrible one.

It starts out with no one. Only the sound of screaming and fighting, late at night, during the day, early morning. She was young when it started. She was 6 when she heard a slap. It terrified her. “What’s going on?” She thought countless times, climbing into her closet, the farthest, darkest corner, hiding under everything and crying.

School begins when she is 5. Immediantly, people point out every difference in the book. She wasn’t skinny so she was fat. She wasn’t cute, so she was ugly. She wasn’t smart so she was stupid. She was “worthless”,”pointless”. She wasn’t this so she was that. Anything and everything negative was her. She hadn’t done anything to this population of kids, but just being alive was wrong in their eyes. They were as nasty as possible. Constantly, she was belittled. She had but one friend, Nazareth, but even she was inconsiderate. She remembers going to the park with her mom, and finding a full on birthday party going on, hosted by none other than that friend, Nazzie. She had not been invited. No biggie, really, except that she was supposed to be her best friend.

7 years passed. She was continuously, constantly bullied, yet she was never brave enough to speak up. 6th grade started and she was completely alone. The first person she met, named Rebecca, was also a bullied loner. They were imediantly friends. A new girl joined their small party, named Tabitha. In October of that year, her father, who she was really close to, left. When he left, he pushed her away from giving him a hug. At the end of the year, one of her main bullies admitted he loved her at a dance.

7th grade started. She mourned for her father. She started dating her ex-bully. They soon broke up, and she could no longer take it. She took a safety pin to her arm and scratched and scratched until she bled. She passed it off as a scrap, and, later, took apart a shaving razor, slowly, at first, slicing through the skin on her wrist. She relished in the pain, repeating the offensive act.

8th grade came. She got back with her first love, the one who had made her cut, and kissed him first. To her, it was special. She loved that moment. First great moment ever for her. Besides cutting, that is. She continued to cut. At the end of the school year, she was riding the overcrowded school bus, and people began calling out rudely to her. “Lypo! Lypo girl!” “You’re so fat you need liposuction!” “Lyoo girl is the ugliest whore on the planet!” Those are just a few of the things they called to her. Soon, she began cutting deeper and deeper. She hated herself and she was more than beginning to believe she was fat, a whore, a slut, a *****, ugly, in need of liposuction. She despised herself.

9th grade came, and October revived itself. The 23rd, she ODed on Tylonel.  17 pills exactly. She was sent to the ER, and taken to Laurel Ridge in San Antonio, Texas for 5 days. When she was discharged, she sliced, once again, into her arm. Her best friend Shawn saw. He told her not to do it again. She asked why, and he just said because he cared.

In January, she went back to Laurel Ridge for cutting and suicidal thoughts, begging and pleading to admit herself.

You think that’s bad? Well, not even a month later, she sliced into the vein in the girl’s bathroom at school. She bled onto the floor and dripped blood down her hand and to the floor, trying to stop the bleeding.. She went into the classroom and sat down, finally stopping the flow. She repeated herself for a week.

February 28th she ODed again. This time on her sleeping medication. She went to school the next day, and in science class, seeing her best friend Shawn was horrible, she felt so guilty. When asked why she was tired by him, she just responded ‘I’m sorry. You don’t want to know.’ A few minutes later, she was checked out. It was 11:53.

She was taken to Laurel Ridge for 7 days, then to a treatment center for 1 month and 4 days.

I am scarred, and I hate myself. I regret cutting. I regret everything.