You see, I grew up in a home with an abusive step father (verbally, and physically).  And a mother who was supposed to be my rock.  The stable one.  Well when I was thirteen they split up.  She had finally had enough of him hitting her and I, starving her, and the other endless abusive things he did to her over the years.  For the first time in my life, I felt as if I had freedom.  And I guess I took advantage of it.  I started smoking, and drinking regularly.  Never tried the whole “pot” thing.  For awhile at least.  Slowly my average straight A grade point average began slipping.  I managed to pass the eighth grade and go on to high school.  But High school was the beginning of my downfall.  I would ditch class to go off and smoke pot with friends, and go to school higher than a kite.  I never did my work.  And I was never home.  I had completely lost control.  Most mornings I would wake up in daze.  I would wake up sometimes, fully clothed, shoes and all.  Without a clue what happened the night before.  I seemed to the outside world, carefree.  I had also dealt with the issue of cutting for years.  Since I was twelve.  Wearing long sleeves, and bracelets to cover it up.  I never thought I was out of control.  With anything, cutting, drinking, or drugs.. Until one night, I got so messed up that I completely blacked out, had no recollection of anything that occurred the night before.  I found myself calling my friends, making sure I hadn’t left with any guys, or hadn’t gotten in any fights.  My life was simply crazy.  I was only fifteen and living the life of a junkie.  Floating from house to house.  Sleeping on different people couches.  When I decided I’d had enough.  I started staying home more, hanging out with my brother and his friends.  Who were much older than me.  Thinking they would put me in a better direction.  I was wrong of course.  My brother ended up hooking me up with one of his friends, who soon after moved into the house with us.  We slept together every night.  For the first time in my life, I felt completely safe in a guys arms.  I thought he was the one.  Silly me.  After a few months of dating, talking about getting married and having children.. (I was fifteen and he was eighteen) He decided to get his own apartment.  He said it was nothing against me, he just couldn’t handle living with as many people as we did.  Seeing as I was living with my brother, his girlfriend, his three friends, and our cousin.  It was only a few houses down from my mom’s.  And she was off drinking all the time so she didn’t really care.. Well my boyfriend moved into his apartment.  And everything was still cool.  And then, I found out I was pregnant.. I didn’t know what to do, who I could trust enough to tell.  And I knew that If I told my mom she would beat the hell out of me.  I called my boyfriend nearly immediately after finding out.  But for three days he didn’t answer his phone.  I thought he was just busy.  So I kept trying.  One day I gave in.  So I texted him and asked him what was up with him.  And he said he didn’t want to be with me anymore.  He didn’t even give me a chance to tell him I was pregnant, and after him telling me that.. I couldn’t even begin to think of what to say to him.  So I just found myself back where I started.  I was so self conscious, had no respect for myself, or my body.  And just figured I was better off dead.  I started cutting again.  And this time the cuts were getting deeper, and deeper.  I was having to work harder and harder to figure out way’s of covering them up.. I was wearing big hoodies and zip up jackets in the middle of summer.  Always trying to use the excuse that I was cold natured.  But I was also trying to cover up my belly. Pretty soon, I knew I would start to show.  I’m not exactly sure when I stopped eating.  All I know is that instead of getting bigger like most pregnant girls, I was losing weight left and right.  My pants were falling off of me, and I weighed less than I had ever weighed my entire teenage life.  I had no appetite.  No one understood it though.  Everyone thought I was just mourning the loss of my boyfriend and trying to pull one of those “emo” things.  I had other more important things to think about, I didn’t have time to eat.  And when I did eat, It made me nauseous.  Meanwhile I had quit everything except for smoking ciggarettes completely cold turkey, because I knew it wasn’t healthy for the baby.  And I was trying my best to take care of myself.  Well one night, my brother threw this huge party.  Low and behold, guess who decided to show? My baby’s daddy.  He had big news.  Him and his ex were back together, and he was leaving in January for boot camp.  The whole night, we were in the same room together.  Never once did he look in my direction or even acknowledge me.  Of course not.  I was old news apparently.  So since I had no where to go, to sneak away and cut my pain away.. I began to drank.  Not even thinking of the baby.  I drank, and drank.  Until I couldn’t even stand.  After everyone finally left, and the occupants of the house were all that remained, I went to my room, and decided that I couldn’t do it anymore.  So I got into my brothers medicine cabinet in the bathroom and started looking for something that would make the pain stop.  The emotional pain.  The pounding headache.  The nausea.  It felt like I was so depressed that it hurt to breathe.  I found what I was looking for finally.  The label said not to mix with alcohol.  But, the side effects were exactly the ones I had hoped for.  I went in the kitchen and grabbed one last drink, and down the hatch went all 19 pills, and the entire contents of the bottle.  And that was the last thing I remembered.

I’m not exactly sure what happened.  Because this is the point where my memory gets foggy.  But the first thing I remember thinking was that everyone was right.  You do see a bright light when you die.. A very annoying, almost sterile while flourescent.  Sort of like the ones …..at the hospital.  I had woken up in a hospital bed.  The doctors told me that they had to pump my stomache.. They also informed me, that I would no longer be a mommy.  I had not only managed to earn myself a hospital bill from hell, but had also killed the little helpless life inside of me.  The score was settled.  Stomache pump, one.  Me, Negative two. After finding me passed out, nearly dead in his bathroom, my brother decided it was no longer wise for me to live with him.  So I moved on home to my mother.  I had completely given up on school at this point and had not even bothered to show up for at least a month.  When my mom decided one day she had had enough of her fifteen year old being a party animal.  And tried to crack down on me.  Instead of realizing that all she was doing was trying to help I became hurt.  I thought that my life was being taken from me, and faught back.  I over reacted and pushed her, and she proceeded to beating me down until I looked like a walking bruise.  So I moved out.  Decided to move in with a friend.  Who inspired me to quit everything.  Cold turkey.  No ciggarettes, no drinking, no drugs, and abstaining from the dirty deed.  All was well for the first month and half.  Until I met this one guy.  We started dating.  A week went by, and he invited me over to in teenage terms “watch a movie.”  I had fully intended on watching the movie though, considering i was taking a stab at this whole new life.  But He just wasn’t hearing it.  So he continually tried to get me in the sack until I got frustrated and hit him.  Without thinking.. He got up, left the room.  I guess to go calm down, and that’s when I started freaking out. I started texing away.  Trying to find someway out of his house and back to mine, where I felt safe.  He walked in, saw me texting and I guess he was pretty quick because he managed to get my phone away from me and punch me once square in the head hard enough to nearly knock me out.  Laying on his bed, cradling my head in tears, I had no clue what was about to happen.  All I knew is that there was no way out.  No way to run or scream.  No one in the house but me and him, and he had taken my phone.  So there was no way of contacting anyone in the event of an emergency.  Before I knew what was happening this guy had me started duct taping my hands together, and my feet.  But he didn’t do anything to my mouth. He started whispering in my ear exactly what he was going to do to me, and telling me that he didn’t tape my mouth because he didn’t want to muffle the screams.  He wanted to hear them.  He said that the more girls faught, it turned him on.  I was completely speechless.  I knew what was about to happen to me, but not only could I not see straight enough to try and move, but he had already gotten me to where even if I wanted to move I couldn’t.  So I just closed my eyes.  And tried to stop the tears.  While he violently took my dignity away from me.  When he was done.  Before he would let me go, he made me swear not to tell.  That if I did, he would burn down my entire apartment complex.  Or he would break into my room late at night, and when I was least expecting it, do worse to me than he already had.  And slit my throat.  So I promised I wouldn’t tell.  I just begged and pleaded for him to let me go home.  Finally, he gave me my phone back reluctantly and I ran for it.  I called my friends mom to come and get me.  She didn’t ask a single question when I got in the car.  She was frustrated that she had to drive halfway across town to get me.  But I didn’t care.  I was still alive.  That’s all that matters.  I didn’t cry, I didn’t tell her a thing.  I didn’t even hardly look at anyone.  We got home, I went to my room, locked the door and had a long over due visit with my razorblade.

Since that day, I haven’t been able to share my story with anyone.  I have nightmares all the time.  And I hardly sleep.  Since then I don’t like people to touch me.  I’m doing better with the cutting now.  It’s been about three or four weeks since I’ve even had the urge to cut.. But sometimes I still feel like it’s all I can do to stop the pain.  But I’ve realized that the pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.  If you choose to live in the past, then you will suffer and it’s no one else’s fault but your own.