So after keeping everything bottled up inside me I decided I have to share my real feelings.
Hmm…where to start? I guess when everything began.
I had just moved to this town in Texas because my father’s in the military. I was excited about the new experience. I had my heart set on going to this cool elementary school, Cielo Vista, but I couldn’t. So I had to go to Bliss, one of the worst elementary schools in the city. Thank god I was only there for 5th grade. Anyways, I was always a bit on the sad side. But when I got here, everything seemed to explode in my face. My teacher was really mean and condescending, I had no friends, and every girl seemed to hate me and every guy thought I was a whore. They called me words I didn’t even know at the time, words that no 5th grader should know. Girls would point, whisper, and laugh. Guys would mock me, they’d walk up to me and say things like “I’ve got $5, how long should that last me?” or “Hey, what’s the rush? Are you late for working the corner?” Girls would walk by and push me up against the wall and call me a dirty slut, or ask me who I slept with last weekend. I’d push them back, tell them to leave me alone, and I’d try to ignore the pain I felt inside. I’d go home and cry in my closet about every other day. I did my best to stand up for myself, I thought I was doing pretty well, but these kids would push back harder. Â I got in 2 fights, both times I lost. I started cutting myself, but since I’ve got a low tolerance for pain, I’d use this metal ruler and scrape it across my skin several times. Occasionally I’d draw blood, then I’d wear long sleeves to cover them up.
When I was 10, in December, everything seemed to go downhill. I was bullied more and more, my parents were screaming at me and each other, my brother was gone more often. The one half-friend I had made left me. I searched my heart desperately, and decided I had nothing special about me. There wasn’t any reason to live. So one night when I was home alone, I got a giant knife from the kitchen. I was actually going to cut my head off, I’m not sure how I thought I was going to do that in retrospect, but anyways I stopped myself. I stared at a picture of me when I was 7. I was so young, so adorable and full of life. I didn’t want to kill that little girl, she seemed so cool. So I stopped myself and put the knife back. The rest of the year I held out, trying my hardest not to kill myself or anyone else. I tried once to kill myself by ingesting pills, but the night before, I had a terrible dream about it where everything went wrong and I decided not to.
I still struggle with depression. I found a goal in life, though. I want to be a voice actress. Occasionally, I’ll think of the worthlessness of life and sometimes I’ll watch videos and think things like “I could never be like her” or “She’s way better than me.” Occasionally when I’m feeling down I’ll hurt myself with something, whether it be slapping something on my arms or jabbing myself with scissors. I want to tell people but I’m afraid of the reaction. I’m not from a poor family, I don’t have divorced parents or a mean brother, I don’t live in a cardboard box and eat whatever I can find lying around the street. If I tell people this, they’ll probably think I’m some stupid entitled girl who whines so much about her life when in reality there are much worse problems. I know about that. I know there are worse fates. It’s just that…words affect me way more than I want to let people know. A string of insults hurts more to me than not having food for a few days. I don’t understand why, but it does. people say I deserve to die for being such a brat…and I can’t say I disagree completely.