Trapped in a Personal Hell

Copyright Cory

When I was about sixteen my parents made me get a job. I was so happy that I was making money, but the manager at the store was mentally and emotionally abusive. My parents couldn’t understand why I would come home everyday crying. I begged them to let me quit, but they wouldn’t let me. I would fake that I was sick, and one time missed five days because I claimed I had the flu. One night they told me I couldn’t miss any more work because the manager would fire me — but that’s what I wanted. I pleaded and begged that they would call me off, but they wouldn’t. So I went into the bathroom, sat on the floor with a bottle of headache medicine. I looked over the ‘warning’ label which read “Do not exceed taking four tablets within 4-6 hours”. I dumped the whole bottle in my hand, there were thirteen left — I counted them. It took three swallows to get them all down. I sat there and began crying, thinking of what I had just done. It was only ten minutes before my shift started at work. I called my mom and told her what I had just done. She made me gag myself and throw up all of the pills. She also made me go to work as punishment for what I had done. I quit a few weeks later despite my parents’ wishes. I have been happier ever since. I still get depressed once in a while. My parents don’t know that I do. I hide it from them. When they leave I sit in my room or bathroom and take a razor and cut my thighs… Because that’s a part of me they never see. I don’t press down to much. Surprisingly I don’t deal with pain well. The only reason I stay alive is because of my friends and niece and nephews. If I ever got the courage to kill myself, I fear that they couldn’t go on without me. I love them too much to put them through hell. I just don’t love myself enough because I put my mind and soul through hell every day.


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