Ok, let’s start with kindergarten. I was the awkward one who tried to be everyone’s friend and make everyone share and be nice, but I was also that girl with the curly hair that got yanked so people could watch it bounce back. That was when people started picking on me. It sure doesn’t seem like much now, but it made me insecure. At age 5.
So that’s where my story starts. 5 years old.
In first grade I was the weirdo where when we had to think of words that started with “A” I said “abstract” not “apple” or “ape” like the other kids. I got picked on for wanting to look different and Messing with my hair at school. And the gap in my teeth… Oh goodness, the endless remarks I got about that. But those are the types of things you get over.
Second and third grade went by smoothly, except the occasional fat joke or snicker for looking different and being tanner than the other kids, or the time my third grade class was tramatized when we were with my teacher when she learned her father passed away. Then came fourth grade. My parents got a divorce. I thought it was all my fault for not playing with my brother all of the time. I was CONVINCED it was my fault. I was broken. I mean, to a 10 year old, everything is supposed to be fine and mommy and daddy should be in love, but it’s not. I hurt so bad. Looking for a new house broke me down. And then it got worse.
In fifth grade, my best friend was diagnosed with brain cancer. She survived- thank goodness, but just knowing your friend is hurt. That you can’t help…. I couldnt do it. So I cut every time one of her treatments didn’t work. Every time I was scared I would loose her. She was gone most of our sixth grade year. We had to graduate my tiny private school without her. And things just got worse.
My tiny, private school of 200 kids turned into 2,000 in what seemed like minutes. 2,000 tiny, thin, beautiful, perfect people to compare myself to. And I lost control. Because I wasn’t “perfect” enough. Because I was different. I started throwing up to be skinny but it didn’t do anything. Then I tried to starve myself. Because I wasn’t “perfect” enough. I cut more now. I haven’t seen my friend with cancer for 2 years for more than a few hours, but she wasn’t why I cut anymore. Now I cut for me. To make things go away. But it didn’t help me. I just wanted to die because I felt worthless. I couldn’t handle the teasing. The name calling. The stares and “looks”. No. I couldn’t do it. So I cut and scratched and stabbed my arms and legs with knives and bled and burned and threw up and starved because I wasn’t good enough. Well, I didn’t feel like I was. My feelings were the worst. I can’t even explain them. I wasn’t strong enough to do it. So yes, my mom found out and got help for me because I just couldn’t do it by myself. And now I am strong. Now I can help others because I know what it’s line to cry yourself to sleep and feel absolutely worthless. I know because I have been there.
This year I can handle the bad stuff. This year I am strong. This year I’m going to help prevent kids from feeling like me. Because you guys deserve better. Because you guys ate worth it. I’ll always be here for you because no one wast here for me and I went too far. I’m here for you. I’m just one tweet away.
Next Survivor: https://yourenotfinished.com/survivors-2/meet-christopher/