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by Rosie

I didn’t write a title because I honestly do not know what I’m supposed to call my messed up story…

Back story: Me and my family have never gotten on. Now…

When I was in Year 4 my mother’s constant manipulation and verbal abuse over me was enough to drive me suicidal. That may sound petty, but nothing was ever good enough for her. Whenever I went out with my dad she would say “If anyone asks, don’t tell them she’s my daughter” if I had greasy hair or something. Anyway, she honestly did not care about my emotional state. I would always be walked in on when I was on the verge of killing myself.

Anyway, later on in the year I made a promise to my friend that wasn’t true. She made me swear on my mother’s life and I did. Yeah, well done 9 Year Old Me. Almost two years later, at the end of Year 5, my mother and I were arguing. The stress of it caused her to have multiple strokes which then triggered that cancer which ultimately killed her.

She’d been very unwell before that. Not including the strokes and cancer cells which ended her, she’d had a heart attack, three other cancers and always felt very unwell. She also had asthma and had a hole in the heart due to being complications when she was born.

I felt guilty for ages and was thrown into a pit of depression. This time my dad and sister found out about my suicide attempts whilst I was on a Residential Trip in Wales. They sent me home where my dad kicked me into a therapists office. Totally did NOT help. My fault, if I’m honest, I didn’t tell her anything that was true.

Later that summer, I attempted it again, but for a completely different reason altogether. I probably should have mentioned this near the start of the story: I’m bisexual (still haven’t told anybody in my family) and I didn’t want to have to live with that. I’m 13 and I’ve seen the way the LGBT community are treated and it makes me sick. I’ve known about my… you know… gender preference since I was 8… Yeah. But I always managed to push the thought down until two years ago, for whatever reason.

I’m still not better. I have my moments. I do self-harm – but I don’t cut – and I scrape a lot. Mainly self-harm on arms and scrape on thighs. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I’m writing this. I don’t know what will come out of this… But… Blessed Be…

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