It all started when I was young. The tears, the abuse, the fear, just everything.
When I was a young child I would constantly see my brother getting beat by my mother. I was young and thought nothing of it, I mean why would I? That's why it didn't occur to me when I was 6 years old and my older cousin would touch me inappropriately that it was bad. He told me he loved me & I loved him, so why did it even matter anymore. I didn't find out until 3 years ago that it's not normal, and it shouldn't of been going on.
My cousin would constantly make me touch him inappropriately and just do whatever he pleased to me. He didn't care. I thought it was normal so I didn't care either. Well, I was also only 6 years old. It went on up until I was 8 years old when my family stopped talking to his family. Still, to this day nobody knows what went on between us.
Now, when I was 13 years of age, my best friend started touching me inappropriately and abusing me. I still thought it was normal. Nobody ever told me different. Once again this boy told me he loved me & that I meant everything to him so I believed him. He was all I had. This time it didn't last too long... his friends soon spoke up & told my grade school teacher. She then told the principal who had to get the authorities involved. The police did nothing but make everything worse for me because they just led me on. They told me that he would be facing a handful of charges, so I continued on with the process even though I knew it was wrong to betray him like this. The process went on for about a year, and in the end the charges were not even followed through with because they weren't significant enough. All my pain, and sorrow threw out the window. I continued talking to the boy for another year after it was all over and done with. You're probably wondering why, but it was because I was scared of him. He told me he'd kill me and harm my family. I just did whatever I could to keep myself safe and the ones I loved safe. Soon enough things started to catch up with me and I couldn't handle the pain anymore so I resorted to cutting. I had been cutting since I was 10 years old but stopped for 2 years. I started up again when I was 14 and I still cut to this day.
Now about half a year ago, I attempted to commit suicide because I felt like it was the only option I had. I took over 50 pills. I was an idiot and told one of my friends who then called an ambulance but before the ambulance got there, my father came upstairs and found all the bottles of pills & started screaming and yelling at me. My mother continued to do the same, asking me why I am such an idiot and calling me a bitch & selfish. I still wish that I didn't tell anybody and that I hid the bottles better because right now I could be 6 feet deep in the ground. I ended up being transferred to a psychiatric hospital which I stayed in for a month. Even while being in the hospital I managed to cut myself and attempt to kill myself. Everyday I would smash my heads off the wall & try to suffocate myself. Not even a month after being released from the hospital I attempted suicide again. Another overdose but this time I took almost 100 pills. I screamed up the stairs telling my family that I hope their happy for making it end this way. My mom's friend was there and he called an ambulance which I'm still pissed off about. During the wait for the ambulance my mother once again told me I was a selfish bitch & what not. My brother attempted to make me vomit but I refused. He was the reason I took them all. He told me to go swallow a bunch more pills and die, so I was just making him happy. When the police and ambulance got to my home, I was sprawled out on my bathroom floor crying hysterically about how much I want to die and hate the world. The police and paramedics tried to calm me down but I told them basically to talk a hike and go away that I need to die, it's my time. After about 20 minutes of arguing and just about getting arrested for resisting I finally got up off that floor & got on the stretcher and was took away to the hospital once again. This time I didn't even spend 24 hours in the hospital because the psychiatrist said there was nothing they could do for me because basically I'm too screwed up. So about after 8 hours of having an IV attached to me and test after test done, I was released.
Many things have happened in between, and I've had quite a few times where I've thought about attempting to commit suicide again. I attend counselling weekly but we don't talk a whole lot about what's happened in the past so it's not really worth it. I'm currently not on any medication because I refuse to take any. I know I should be medicated but I don't want to.
-by courtybear, age 16