Shaking from the anxiety, crying from the stress and Cutting from all the hatred towards

myself. I
was only 11 years old. I was just a child; a baby and I wanted to take my own life. I didn’t want to
live; I couldn’t even look at myself because I thought I was a failure, that I was pathetic,
worthless I didn’t deserve to be here anymore. I wondered, “Where did my innocence go?” This
is my story about my struggles.

On December 9th of 2009 was the first time I ever witnessed the stream of red get sucked into
the drain, the first time I witnessed to sharp pain of a razor dig into my light ivory skin leaving a
line of pink across my wrist that quickly filled with bright red blood. I forced myself to wear long
sleeves from December 9th of 2009 to June 28th 2010, which was when I became smart. I
discovered a way I could self-harm and it wouldn’t be obvious. I began to cut my legs, hips,
stomach and shoulders to hide my addiction from others. I was 12 the first time I tried to take
my life. I remember feeling so worthless and pathetic. I was grasping 5 Morphine pills and saying
to myself,

“I’ll take one for the lies,

One for the family trouble,

One more for the bullying and torment,

I’ll take one more because of the rumors,

One last one for the bruises,

Is it time yet?”

I took those 5 Morphine pills that day. But I couldn’t keep them down, instantly I threw them up.
I didn’t want to, I really didn’t. But sadly enough it happened. I threw up those five pretty pills
that could have ended the pain, the suffering and the tormenting. I was devastated. I’ve always
been able to take pills. I had never thrown up any pills. Knowing that they rejected was heart
breaking. But that was only the first time, it was only the start, I still had a long way to go. I
attempted 3 other times but they come later in the story. This tragedy made me hate myself
even more. I thought I was a chicken, a baby and a coward that memory stayed fresh in my head
for many years. July 5th 2010 was the first time I purposely burned myself. It was right after I had
cut myself on my right hip; I realized that I had cut to deep. I panicked; I took a lighter to the cut
hoping it would stop the bleeding. I flicked it once, just a spark, I flicked it one more time and
then the flame stuck. I watched it for a second; I had never noticed the beauty of the fire before.
I slowly guided it closer to my hip, the fire caressed my bloody skin, drying the blood and
burning my skin. My teeth were biting on a towel that I previously used to soak up the blood
from my wounds, my skin turned red and bubbly from the fire. I honestly don’t know why but I
liked the feeling it gave me, the satisfaction it provided me with. For a long time I carried a dark
blue lighter so I could burn my hips, my shoulders and my legs.

July 26th 2010 was when I realized that I needed to change the number on the scale so I began
to starve myself I went days without eating. I weighed 74.3 pounds in my 7th grade year. Now
that I think about it, I was dangerously underweight. I would constantly binge, Stuff my face then
spend hours hurled up over the toilet. I was purging three to five times a day. My throat had
blisters I wound faint and have excruciating headaches. The sad part is no one noticed, not one
person. It took a full year before people even got suspicious. No one cared enough to ask me if I
was all right, or why I’d spent hours in the bathroom. Maybe it was because I was so sneaky; I
was very good at hiding my pain from others and Faking a smile. I was sent to the Institute of
living after I finally told my mother that I was suffering with an Eating disorder. I just couldn’t
hide it anymore it took over my fucking life, I needed to get help. I was in IOL for two weeks.
Those two weeks didn’t do shit for me. I still wanted to be skinnier, thinner, and prettier. I still
binged, purged and starved my frail little body. It just seemed to get so much worse over time…

November 16th 2010 was the second time I tried to take my life. I tied a slipknot in a large beige
rope and rapped it around a pole on my closet. I slipped the rope around my skinny neck with
my thin, boney arms. I was about to do it, step down from the stool and end it all. I couldn’t, Do
it. I was shaking breathing heavily. I was forcing myself to do it. I was about to take that step of
faith that would carry me away but then I heard footsteps walking down the hallway. It was my
older sister who was also my best friend, Jennifer. The thoughts that immediately crossed my
mind was that she LOVED me. She didn’t care about my scars, my burns or my defined my
stomach. She loved me regardless. I mattered to her. I couldn’t let her down, I removed the rope
from my neck and I stepped down and dried my eyes then opened the door and went to find my
sister so I could embrace her. For that moment I felt so happy that someone cared about me.

January 10th 2011 was the third time I tried to offer myself. I was going to drink household
chemicals such as bleach and Windex. I made myself a mixture in a glass. About to take my first
sip my sister walked by and saw the bottles scattered across the floor and the glass in my hand.
She looked me in the eyes and said, “Don’t be fucking stupid.” Then she hit the back of my head
and took the glass and dumped it the sink. I didn’t know what to say or do. I was petrified. I
couldn’t move. I just sat there, in silence for 3 hours, thinking about what I’m doing to myself
how I’m pathetic and a waste. I rubbed my scars for those three hours telling myself, “ I
should’ve cut deeper. I should have held the lighter to my skin longer. I should have starved
myself longer.”

May 6th 2011 I tried to end my life for the fourth time. I had a plan that I would just take pills
again and maybe this time I’d be successful. I gathered the pills, 6 Oxycodone pills and 4 pills of
Morphine. My mother saw me gather the pills she knew what I was up to. She started to cry and
apologize repeating, “I’m sorry he beats you, I’m sorry he drinks, I’m sorry people talk about you,
I’m sorry you never had a childhood, I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry for everything.” I was in
shock, I couldn’t breath I dropped the pills and fell to my knees and cried. I realized that she
cared and that it wasn’t worth it, she cared too much to let me go. I was sent to the institute of
living for the second time. I spent eighteen days in the Institute getting therapy, treatment,
medical attention for my eating disorder and I was proscribed a higher dosage of Zoloft.
In October that’s when my bulimia got really bad… I was cutting, binging, purging, burning and
starving myself for days at a time. I told a counselor at my school about the bulimia… but then
they also found out about my self-harming. Because of my past and my previous struggles they
had to send me to yet another in patient program.

On October 15th 2012 I was sent to Natchug hospital in Mansfield Connecticut. That’s where I
was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder. There I had to go to groups and get intensive therapy, help
with my Anxiety, depression, anger management, bulimia and medicine adjustment. I was in the
program for a short amount of time, only 11 days. But long term or not, help is help. It was so
hard and I hated getting it but in all reality I needed it.

I wouldn’t say I’m better though, not even close; I still cut quite often when I feel really low. I
know it’s wrong but it’s my addiction. I hate it to know end but I love it. I love how it makes every
single problem and all the emotional pain disappear for that brief moment. But you know what?
All that pain is going to come back, if you like it or not, it’s always going to be there. Hurting
yourself isn’t the answer. Getting help is. I know you’re sitting there thinking, “I don’t need help,
and I’m fine.” You’re lying if you’re saying this. I chose to get help and I’m getting so much better.
I’m telling you right now, you DO NOT want to get involved with the monster that is self-harm.

To this day I still struggle with self-harm, Anxiety, depression, anger management, bi-polar and
bulimia. It took me four years to reach out for help. I’m not even close to being “normal” again; I
still have a long way to go. On a good note, I now have people who care about me, who would
miss me if I were gone. There’s always someone who cares about you, even if you don’t realize
it. They care. I used to think no one cared but over the years they got easier to spot. These
people are the ones who keep me strong, Jess, Kyle, Jennifer, my mother, Cyndi, Ariana, Alicia
and every single one of my followers and there’s still more… some I may not even be aware
about, but they’re still there for me. To stay strong I joined the butterfly project every time I feel
the need to self-harm I draw a butterfly on the area where self-harm is inflicted and I write the
name of someone I love under the butterfly. That butterfly symbolizes that person. If you cut or
wash away the butterfly, it dies. Having their name on your body helps reminds you that they
love you, they’re there for you and they care. It sounds crazy but it really relieves the need to
cut.

Self-harm should never be the option. Now I have to live my life with these scars and I will have
to tell my future boyfriends, girlfriends, husband or wife, friends, and children my story. That’s
not something anyone should have to go through. There is hope. It may seem like there’s no way
out and I understand you’ve been fighting for the longest but don’t give up. Stay strong, for the
ones you love, for the ones remembered and most importantly for YOURSELF. Everyone goes
through struggles and everyone goes through rough times. Shit happens and I know it sucks but
it’s not the end of the world.

You were born for a reason and you are worth it. I promise that your life has meaning and
purpose. If you’re suicidal and you’re reading this I just wanted to say that I’m so fucking proud
of you. In the end it’s so much better, if you’re struggling with this now that just means it’s not
the end yet. Please do me a favor, try to stay strong, try for me, for those people that you love,
that love you. You can do this, I believe in you, they believe in you. Now we’re just waiting for
you to believe in yourself. Maybe one day you can tell your survivor story to someone and save a
life. You CAN get through this. I promise. You’re worth it. If you need someone to talk to I’m
here, I will always listen.

Hang in there.