Don’t Live in the Past, Conquer but Remember.

At the ripe age of 13, I fell into an emotional void. I was severely depressed for a solid, uninterrupted year and a half. Roughly two months before my 13th birthday, my biological mother, drunk on her nightly wine and fueled by her smothering husband, decided she could no longer “handle me”. I was handed off to my father the next day, literally.
At Mom’s house, we were poor. No exaggeration. At Dad’s, we aren’t rich, but we are far from poor. My new life was great, refreshing at first. Then the expectations of my new parents grew burdensome, to say the least. Keep in mind, 13 is a scary age for most. I was no different. I struggled with self-hate, a questionable sexuality, and oppressive parents.
There came a point where everything was gone. I, was gone. I counted calories obsessively. Between 8th grade and freshman year I lost over 30 pounds. Every girl’s dream, right? Not hardly at 13. I was sick and I knew it. While calculating calorie intake, I had also developed a cryptic liking of self-harm. Severe, borderline deadly, self-harm. By 14 I was self-harming at least once a day, without fail. It was part of my routine, I can’t tell you exactly why. Because I don’t know. It became an addiction. A love. A need.
By the end of 8th grade, I had fallen in love. Although it took several months, she taught me to love myself again. She loved me, so I loved me. I refrained from counting calories and my self-harm faded, yet the scars still haven’t. I will admit between my 14th and 15th year of life, I slipped a time or several. Found myself skipping meals for days at a time. Found specks of blood on shirt sleeves. But in general I had found myself again. I thrived for a while, happy. Motivated. Inspirational. Then I turned 16.
My birthday is about a month into summer break. Mine had started off great. Brought my girlfriend home to family, tapped into some body-confidence  I’d never felt before. A week after my 16th birthday, it was revealed that I had been cheated on. Now, this will not turn into a roast of my ex-girlfriend. I had 2 good years with her, now all I can hope is someday she finds someone who helps her feel as loved as she did for me. Anyways. After the news and the breakup, I. Completely. Lost. It. I dove into wearing makeup. I died my hair. And…well there’s something I didn’t mention in the above paragraphs. Around 14, I grew dependent on prescription pills. Prescription pills that could be traced back to someone’s name that was not my own. And after my romantic trauma, I fell into that old habit.
Present-day. Where am I? Still crawling down this dark path. It’s not as bad. I’m sober. I know that’s a very mature word. But really, what else do I call it? I’m not the only youngster to fall into the realm of pill-popping. Up to 15 a day, 16 years old, 130ish pounds. I have every right to use the term “sober”. I am, however, noticing that I have no desire to consume food. It’s repulsive. I simply can’t describe it. And that’s what’s so frustrating about mental illness. I’m completely aware of my risky behaviors, yet I can’t control myself.
I am taking measures to get better. I’ve began my journey of walking again. I’ve not walked in 6 years and I’m ready. I’m ready to break free of my own skin, etch this new path for myself. I don’t intend to live with such a “black” emotional state forever. I want to be a role model, for just about everyone. All I’ve ever wanted is to show people that it’s okay to be all of who you are, exactly as you are. I’m a survivor of physical, verbal, emotional and sexual abuse. I’m short. I’m on wheels. I’m gay. I’m, slowly but surely, overcoming self-harm behaviors. And in the end I will be fine. Everyone else out there, whether you share one or all of my qualities, you will be fine too. I’d like to think perfection is ambiguous. There’s no right solution to perfection. Therefore we cannot drive ourselves nuts trying to find it. I’ll never find it in my veins. Perfection doesn’t sound like the growls of a stomach. Beauty is on the inside. But you must let others see it through eyes, through smiles, in laughs. Don’t spell beauty on your arms. Paint it on others’ hearts with your actions.

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