I wanna tell you a long, sad story about a girl,
When She was below the age of ten, her dad held her in his room with him and watch horror movies, and stuff like robot chicken or happy tree friends. It always made her cry, and he always got angry. When She was still that young, they didn’t know She had dysgraphia, so when She would write something wrong, or take “to long,” for math or English, She got hit over the head, and She’d cry as he yelled ather.
Finally not long before She turned ten, She got into a car accident, that was the day She had cried the most, her mom was hurt really badly, and She had to get stitches on her neck, and She was terrified to go to bed each night, only to wake up to, “I’m sorry, your mother has...”
After six days, her mother was allowed to leave, she was weak, but got to come home, She thought She was never going to see her again. But she finally got her mom back.
She has healed and is still alive, but her temper is bad. As so was hers, so they’d fight, but you’d think an adult would be better then a ten almost 11 year old, no. She started hitting, anywhere she could. She’d hit hard, and Shed cry while she screamed at her.
But soon at 11 She discovered how “childhood depression” felt. So She cut, She hid it, and She. smiled, as She went through much bullying due to how She looked and that damn scar on her neck.
The week leading up to her twelfth birthday, she could barely sleep because she was so excited for that Friday, but lack of sleep made her have troubles getting up in the morning. Her mother had enough, so the day before her birthday she blew up in anger, she dragged her out of bed, she kicked her and hit her while screaming at her. As she cried and wheezed her mother left and she sat there and cried as she remembered when her mother told her she hated her, just because she wouldn’t clean her room.
Still she got up, dressed herself, brushed her hair and stopped herself from crying. Her mother walked her to the bus stop, and she guilted her own daughter. “Maybe I should send you to live with your aunt.””I’m such a terrible mother.””you probably hate me.” So her daughter forgave her, and loved her just as it never happened.
She felt worse, and worse, as if all she felt was empty or sad. She hid in her room, cut, bled, and loved the pain.
They had to move, they moved away from her friends and family she loved so much more dearly, and felt calmer with.
Once they moved she felt worse, in school she always felt embarrassed or like crying. She hated it, summer soon came around but didn’t help at all because who could she go to? She couldn’t get her parents to drive an hour/an hour and a half away just for her to hang out with her friends once and a while or everyday. So she stayed lock up, almost killed herself twice and cried almost every night.
She finally got help, but, it didn’t, all her parents said was how expensive therapy was, and she felt guilty so she didn’t go anymore. Also what was she supposed to say “my parents hit me so I feel worthless.” If she said that she’d feel guilty and sad because she let her parents down.
The school year came back and she just felt worse, all she wanted was fall asleep and never wake up. When it was her 13th birthday only one of her old friends cared enough to show up. And then after that they started fading. As she felt worse, what little “friends” she they felt the same way and convinced her not to kill herself, as she just kept crying, no teachers noticed, no other kids noticed, she just felt panic.
After that, they faded away, didn’t talk to her, so she gained new “friends” and she’s stuck with them thus far but all she did with them was make jokes and act like she was happy. But they didn’t notice, or maybe not have cared when she left lunch to go cry in the bathroom, and didn’t come back till lunch was over. They never asked.
That’s where she, I was, stuck in a rut at age 13 knowing 0% of what I like anymore, as I have no smiles left in me.
Or so I thought, I looked at myself, look how far I’ve come, 13, I draw as a hobby and am complemented on it. I sing happily when I’m alone. I look at people or things that I like, because they’re what I like, and I laugh and I one internet friend who lives me dearly, and two people I could see whom I’d thought I’d lost, they still love me and miss me, I’m smiling more because I shouldn’t be embarrassed about what I laugh about, or what I love, Ive shared my drawings and sense of humor and people like it!
I’m still getting better, I still have my days I dont wanna talk about but it’s a process.
Stay strong, you’ve heard my story, I’m still going, so what’s your story?
