The Things No One Can See.

Hmmm, where do I even start? I guess I’ll start with my childhood. It was nothing great. I was severe abused; mentally, emotionally, and physically. I was starved, being locked in my room for days and when I was at my weakest point beaten for the littlest things. The parent held responsible? My father.

My parents were still together at the time, my mother was just working constantly. Though, whenever I would tell my mom about the severe abuse, she would just confront my father about it. Which lead to more disciplined as soon as my mom left for work.

Going into fifth grade, I only weighed 40 lbs. My depression started.

Mid sixth grade my great- grandmother passed away from Cancer of the lungs. I watched her last moments of life. The suffering, she couldn’t even breathe nor move. I couldn’t look at her without bursting into tears. I was close to my great- grandmother, her house saved me. Whenever we would visit her in Yuma, my father wouldn’t come, which meant freedom and no pain for me. Her house was a relief. Her death was the start for deep depression for me.

The summer after her death, My parents seperated… I had never been so happy in my life, or so I thought I was going to be. My father punished us for the seperation. He gave us 3 days to have our stuff out of the house. We were homeless for a month. Moving from relative to relative.

Finally, we moved into a house. I was in seventh grade now. Deeply depressed, I couldn’t sleep or eat (not like I wasn’t used to not eating anyway). I started to cut myself. It was a regular thing for me. It’s almost like I had to just to be able to breathe. I would sit in my room from the time I got out of school to the time I got up for school in the morning. I sat in silence with my razor in hand staring out my window, cutting repeatedly, deeper and deeper each time. It got to the point where I couldn’t even sit in class without bursting into tears and having to get sent out of class. Everyone would make fun of me and I had not one friend, I was laughed at and made fun of for my depressed state.

My mom got tired of it and switched me to a smaller school, but it just got worse. Everyone saw my cuts and a teacher reported it. I had 48 deep cuts on my wrist and arm at the time and the nurse called my mom. They had me get evaluated. They didn’t make me stay though, I successfully lied my way out of it.

As soon as I got back to school, everyone started telling me to go kill myself and jump in a ditch because no one would even miss me. This is when I met my best friend. She saved me.

I started ditching school a lot. I hated being bullied. It was just my best friend and I, just hanging out. I also got really close with her older sister and we started smoking pot together. I enjoyed smoking pot because it helped my be calm and not think about the horrible things that have happened in my life. I had to hide it from my best friend though, because she did not agree with it at all. We always drank together though. My main goal became trying to get fucked up and I didn’t see one problem with it. I stopped coming home and my mom started becoming worried. I was only in seventh grade.

Eighth grade year came and I started at a different school, it was a lot better because no one knew me or my past. All they knew was that I did a lot of drugs. I started doing ecstasy, acid, prescription drugs as well. There was never a moment I wasn’t high off something.

Freshman year was all the same deal, I started doing cocaine towards the end, which lead to a sixth month addiction and landing me in the hospital for depression and detoxing. I stayed for seven days. It was horrible.

Sophomore year, I was put on probation for stealing and got two months house arrest. It was my first time being sober and I got way more depressed. I start cutting myself again. I was cutting for months. February 1st, 2011 was my failed attempted suicide. I ingested bleach (don’t recommend it). I was put in the hospital once again and stayed 10 days. I was put an antidepressant. The day I got out of the hospital, I was sent to a group home, then to a foster home because my father refused me medical treatment when I ingested bleach, so Child Protective Services took over custody of me. The day that I was able to go back with my mom, I met my first love. We talked for two weeks and he took me out on our first date. We started dating that day, March 7, 2011. He made my life perfect and loved me like no one else besides my uncle did (committed suicide March 27, 2011). April 2011, I found out I was pregnant with his baby. May 2011, I told my mom, she did not approved. I was overly stressed, which lead to my miscarriage. My mom refused to go to the hospital with me as she looked at me in disgust. My boyfriend took me to the hospital.

Soon after, we started talking about marriage, he bought me a ring. everything was perfect until recently. We had been together for over nine months. And a week ago it ended. I haven’t ever thought about death more frequently. I just don’t want to be here anymore, especially with out him. I turn 17 in a week and a half and I honestly, don’t think I’m going to live to be 17. I can’t take this anymore.