Nothing New

Here it is,strangers
My 4 AM self hate,self pity,bullshit fueled story about how i have come to wreck my body and my life
and why i’m not going to kill myself over it.
My name is Daisy.No,I wasn’t born with it,but I prefer that over my dads choice of Jessica (My mom said my dad named me that after a porn star,but shes full of shit.)
I came into this world March 2,2000
Yeah,I’m 14 years old,still full of angst and meaningless arguments.
I grew up thinking I was normal,living in a house that looks like a hoarder who is almost recovered.I grew up thinking its ok to have one parent.I grew up thinking it was okay to be any weight and any appearance.I grew up with a blind mans brain.For growing up,I never saw the evil in the world.But even growing up,I have plenty of evil still left to see.So does every blind man reading this (???)
When I was young,my parents had divorced.I was okay with it,who knows why.My half-sister,Emily,had also moved out to live with her real dad,who was a lot less crazy than my mom.
I was first abused in 2nd grade,when my mom had spent an hour yelling at me,and ending the argument with ”I hate you,I hate you’.Her face in mine is still prevalent in my mind.
I was first bullied in 3rd grade,when I was told I needed to lose weight during music class.I was still confident,but that confidence did not last long.In 4th grade,I realized I was different,but I was convinced that in the eyes of society,different was cool.
Of course,this was not the case,as society is an intangible being that cannot be pleased.
My counselor had always kept a close eye on me ,and talked to me often,and always put me in social programs for kids that were different.I loved it for some reason.In first grade,while in her office,she asked me how she could help my home life (for which I had no problem with at the time,all I ever told her was that my dad was a horrible person,which were lies planted in by my mom.).
I told the counselor that anything,as long as she didnt call the police,because my mom had convinced me that the police were conspiring against her.So,she called CPS.Child Protective Services had visited every year after that.And,In fourth grade,on the last day of school,they came to my house,deemed it a bad place for a child,took away 4 out of 7 of our cats,and made me live with my Great-Great Aunt Mary.
Aunt Mary was a 72-Year Old woman,who lived with 2 Boston Terriers,and a senile,horrible old woman,Aunt Moe.I was okay with this,and was happy to be away from my mom.And along came Ryan.Ryan was Aunt Mary’s granddaughter,conceived from her adopted son.Ryan would come to live with Aunt Mary on a weekly basis,and would have to use the spare room,because I lived in her room.The 7 months I lived with Aunt Mary was horrible.Ever read stories about Guardians that make children clean with toothbrushes?Those weren’t just stories.Every Saturday,me and Ryan,alone would clean the entire house.That means vacuuming,cleaning behind the toilet,washing the mirrors,and,yes,getting toothbrushes and cleaning the baseboard with ammonia.
In October,while cleaning the bathroom,I began crying to my Aunt Mary that I was sick and couldn’t clean.She of course,put on her best stern face and told me that I was lazy and needed to keep cleaning.So I was in the bathroom,crying louder than ever,my Aunt yelling at me to clean.And then it happened.The moment that I am ,at the moment,thankful for.For if in that moment I hadn’t vomited on the bathroom floor that I had just cleaned,I would still be stuck in that place.Or dead.
In a furious rage,she called my dad and told him to take me for the week.
Somewhere in between that phone call,and where I am now,I started to live with my dad.
I consider this the happiest home I had ever had.My dad let me into his one bedroom apartment,and gave me the only room,while he slept on the couch.This was when I realized all the horrible things my mom had said about my dad were lies.Or,rather,delusions.The woman was crazy.She has at least 12 pill bottles,at all times.
After awhile,my dad had let me visit with my mom,and they had fought during one visit,and I was living with my mother,once again.All this in less than a year.
I had gotten in to witchcraft then,nothing bad.’White Witchcraft’ if you will.This holds no relevance for now.
By now,I was in 5th grade.My depression wasn’t present then,but it was creeping,oh so slowly.
In 5th grade,I tried to cut myself for the first time.I used a dull shaving razor,put it against my ankle,as if I were about to,well,shave,and after 10 minutes of telling myself this was the right thing to do,dragged it slowly across my ankle,and quickly withdrew it as soon as I felt pain.I told myself that I would never cut again,because it was too painful.
In sixth grade,the bullying had worsened,and so had my home situation.I became the butt of a joke known as ‘Jessica Germs’.It was more of a joke,really.If i had touched anyone,or vice versa,the ‘infected’ person would have to touch some one else to rid themselves of my ‘germs’It is stilled played today,I think.I also smelled during the first few years of middle school,and was made fun of for that.My mom had also began beating me,yelling at me more.She made me cry on a daily basis.And so,one day in winter,i took a shaving razor,disassembled it,and cut my arms.No one suspected or asked,it was only 3-5 cuts on one arm (not my wrist).I was unsatisfied with my arms.They rarely produced blood.So I began to cut my thighs.
This is an addiction that I conflict with as I write this.It wasnt until 7th grade that people began to take notice.My mom made me see her psychiatrist,something I loathed,and something I vented about to my journal.I started a pill collection.I would get pills from her purse,pills from around the house,pills,pills,pills.My mom was crying about her missing pills,so I went to the stash,got the ones that were hers,and gave them back,telling her I was suicidal.At this point,my mom was sure I was hurting myself.I denied it all.She declared herself a crafty woman,so on a trip to hobby lobby,I suggested we get X-Acto razors.She told me it was a bad idea,because the psychiatrist said so.She agreed,but only under the condition that she keep them.
So we bought the X-Acto razors,and they went missing the next day.I hid them in banana trees in our backyard.One night,I guess I was hysterical,or crazy,or something.I was crying loudly,yelling at my mom to tell me a movie.She said only if I gave her the X-Actos.It was late at night,and I couldnt find them,so I went to bed crying,knowing that I’d have to give them up in the morning.
A few week later,my mom had found my journal,and gone through it.She refused to give it back,and insisted we talk it through together.Of course I wouldn’t accept this.She promised it would be private and personal.But,she showed our tenant,and had him go through it and read it.I grabbed a Louisville Slugger and raised it,and hit the wall.I told her to give it back,she refused.She threatened to call the cops if I didnt stop.And,hell!I didnt stop.That was my personal journal and she had no right to go through it.She was being a poor mother,and using poor common sense.She called the cops,and I had to be admitted to a mental hospital.I was only there four days,because being away from school,and my mom put me in a fine mood,I didnt care about sadness.I was happy.On the way to the mental hospital,I told my mom I didnt believe in god,and,oh god I enjoyed telling her.Sadly enough,she made me repent the devil and still thinks Im christian to this day.I was told we werent allowed to go home,because the house was unfit.So we lived in a hotel while we payed a family friend to clean our house.
She stopped yelling at me,and abusing me,because I told her if she ever did it again I would call the cops.
Going back to school,I had realized I was Pagan,and had cut my hair due to lice.There was a girl,Brittany,whose torment makes me want to murder her,slowly,painfully,etc,etc.(I may also suffer from having frequent violent thoughts)
When she saw my short hair,she said ‘Do you,Do you want a dick?’ all while smiling in a rude manner.I told her yes,and I wanted it to grow out of my forehead.She asked me why I cut my hair,in the same manner,and,not wanting to deal with her,told her Satan told me to do it.My friend had gone through my Spell Book,with permission,of course.
Brittany saw this,and asked to see it.I said yes,for some reason.
At this point,she was convinced I worshiped satan,and told everyone.She tried to ask my friend to stop hanging out with me.
She had also saw me pulling my eyebrows,which she thought was weird,and of course talked about that too.This is an actual condition,that I have suffered from since 3rd grade,called Trichotillomania.
In 8th grade,from which I have recently graduated,I developed and over-eating disorder,was obese,started cutting again,tried to stave (starving?) myself.Was was significant about 8th grade was Tori.Tori was a beautiful girl,whom I had a crush on.I had kept loving her for a year,and she asked me out.I was so happy.The happiest I had ever been.I began to take care of myself better,cleaning more.All in all,Tori was my upbringing.And in a few days,she became my downfall.She had texted her ex during gym,saying she was going to kill her self.I texted Tori as soon as I find out.She said she wouldnt kill herself,and that she would be moving,and that we were over.I cried the whole day,and no one saw me some how.For weeks after,I became terribly depressed.The most I had ever been.Suprisingly,i had never cut myself.Only because I still loved her.How funny,the girl who would run to the bathroom to write a suicide note if a stranger so much as giggled in the hallway,was refusing to cut because she didnt want the girl she loved to find out what she had caused.Weeks later,on social media,she had posted things about still loving that ‘perfect girl’ she had left.I asked her back out,and she said yes.
The next day,she said she would rather be alone,and broke up with me again.This time,I did cut myself.Carved her name into my hip.This is a long story,and it still goes on.She had gone out with 3 girls after that.So much for her wanting to be alone.
The next month,she gave me a note.She talked as if we were friends.I asked her out again,she said yes.This relationship lasted a WHOLE WEEK.And then…I broke up with her.
Yep.I broke the cycle.I decided she was no good for me and ended it.I still think about her.About her false words.
The summer after,I am seeing a therapist who is possibly a white supremacist,a psychologist who keeps giving me pills,and my mother who still yells at me.
This life may not seem so bad.
Heck,for alot,it’d be an improvement.But the thing is,I made this for me,not for you.
MY LIFE IS TRASH
MY BODY IS TRASH
I AM TRASH
and you know what?
Im okay with it
Because after im 18
Im going to go
and im turning this dull,pointless,meaningless life,
and im turning it into
something new.