Copyright Anthea

My name is Anthea. I’m female. Sixteen years old. This is my story.

I’m Aboriginal. My biological mother is a heroin addict. I have no knowledge about my biological father. I was brought up by my uncle. I am the second youngest child out of seven kids. (Three sisters, four brothers.) I have only ever seen my sisters and cousin once. I was adopted by caucasian parents when I was four weeks old. I have been with them ever since. I guess my depression started in year seven. In year eight, I found myself in a situation, where I would rather forget, I was in class, I was making new friends, or so I thought. When this guy who I was sitting next to, came over, and put his hand face down on my thigh and kind of squeezed it and asked “we’re friends arent we?” I know to some people, that may not seem like much, but to me, it was a fair bit daunting. Especially when I have never been touched by a guy, previous to that incident. I used to freak out everytime he was near me in class. In year ten, I received my first one and only hug from a guy. He was two years older than me.

Anyways, back to my real reason for cutting and thoughts of suicide. My adoptive parents are currently sixty-three-year-old ‘mum’ and seventy-year-old ‘dad’. Everytime they get sick, I pray to whoever is up “there” to keep them safe. I wake up every morning just wonderng if they’re still alive, or if they have quietly passed away during the night. (I know I shouldn’t be thinking about that stuff, but still.) My adoptive mother has been through breast cancer and throat cancer. My adopted father is currently going through treatment for prostate cancer. I was also having problems with him, calling me names, such as spoilt little bitch, I blamed myself, started cutting etc. I hated myself for him saying those things, thinking that it was all my fault because I made him feel that way. I wrote poetry so that he could understand where I was coming from, but he didn’t really pay attention, and just said that all I was doing was “seeking attention” with my wrist cutting.

I was struggling with my sexuality, denying it etc. But I’m cool with that now.

At one stage I was dealing with four of my friends who wanted to kill themselves. One had taken over a hundred and fifty pills. I just couldn’t cope with that. By that time I had already tried to kill myself and written my suicide note, also had that “internal calm” sweep over me as I just lay there on my bed during the night wanting to die and hoping never to wake up in the morning.

I wondered around trying to figure out why I was put here on this world.

It didn’t make any sence. nothing did. And it still doesn’t.

I can’t really trust guys anymore. Because of all the pain my friends have been through because of them. (All of the four that I just mentioned had either been sexually abused at a stage in their life or just physically abused.)

The one regret I have is that I didn’t take my youngest brother with me when I had the chance. Believe me, this is the biggest regret of my whole entire life. I think things would have been different. I mean, I have everything, and yet I am still not happy, probably because I don’t have anyone to share it with. I wish that I could turn back time and take him with me, bring him into my life. Who knows what he’s up to right now. I hope that he’s doing OK, I just hope that he is safe. That would have to be the biggest deepest secret I have, that tears up me up inside, I have kept this hidden for so long. Not even my closest of friends know. Now they do.

Anyways, I better be off. I’ll keep you posted.


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