My scars are not as bad as everybody elses,on this website but I do them. My entire 7th grade year was a living hell. I’m only thirteen, I have so much more to live for, but no one made me feel that way. The group of people that I hung out with in school, weren’t like I thought they were. I’m mexican but I don’t know any Spanish and because of that they made fun of me. I tried to be like them, to impress them to show them that I wasn’t white, that just because I talked different didn’t make me any different. After a while I realised they weren’t ever going to like me. They all left me hanging in situations that I needed help with and I couldn’t control but feel like I was nothing, like there was no meaning for me living so I attempted to kill myself twice. I have stopped cutting myself but still, when I’m crying or if I’m pissed off I get the urge to cut but I stop myself because I know even though my (fake) friends hurt me and treat me like shit doesn’t mean I have to hurt myself as well.