Lost Soul

My Life Story

Copyright Lost Soul

I know that a lot of people get tired of reading what people have to say but for some reason I can’t really talk to people I know in person because I lie about how things really are and I become a huge sea of confusion and denial. In case you want to know what my life is about before you take the time to read the whole thing. I am a cutter currently on 100g of Zoloft a day, my stepfarther used to bash me and his dad molestered me for four years. I just moved schools and my old friends don’t talk to me. I don’t have the same counsellor and I can’t talk to anybody.

My father whom I have only met once and doesn’t want anything to do with me used to bash my mother. One day she was pregnent with her third child (me) and her water broke two and a half months early. She had a ceasarian and I was born on the third of may 1990 without a heartbeat.

OK, so it all started way back when I could first remember I lived with my mother, whom I loved dearly but was scared of a lot due to the fact that she was always cranky and smoking. I had two older sisters and two younger siblings and my step father was always bashing me with what ever he could find. I even was thrown against the walls a fair bit. he would always mentalæy, verbally and physically abuse me, so I wasn’t really close to him. His father however was very kind and warming to me, I was only eight so after growing up being abused I thought I could trust a person that cared for me. He would mend tires for trucks and he needed a place to store them so he did at our house. Late at night he would come in my room in the dark and pleed for me to play games with him downstairs. I didn’t want to make him cranky so I obeyed every instruction. I never knew it was wrong until I learnt about in school. I told my best friend and some how the principal found out. He begged me to tell my mother. It was so hard because at times she would get so upset and cranky she would just cry. I knew she had a lot to do but I told her anyway. When my family found out they kept him away. I felt so unnatural so dirty and used. Unloved and I started having nightmares that he would chop me up into little pieces and rape me in the cane fields and torture me. It was very disturbing. He was even stalking me for a bit and spying on my family.

Well, time went on and I was fighting with my family a lot. I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with my family because I was slacking on my chores so my step father would make me do them at least five times a day until I learned. My siblings hated me and basically I felt unwanted. I don’t look a single thing like anyone in my family. They are all pale and I’m tanned with the only one with brown eyes and I was always getting picked on. I wanted to stab my self when I was eleven and tried to suffocate myself at twelve. Once high school started things got worse, mum got more strict, memories came back and I found myself crying all the time for no reason, I was depressed all the time and I started cutting myself at least five times a week soon after it was more than once a day. I couldn’t stop myself. I hid my wounds with bracelets but one of my friends saw and told the school counsellor. They refered me to a specialist up the road from the school. For two years I was cutting and seing a specialist. One day at school it got really bad and I cut myself really bad with a new blade. I went to hospital. It seemed the more I did it the more angry of doing it I was so I would just keep cutting. My mother made me promise not to do it again and I went on medication after that. She found my diary with all these suicide plannings and knew the medication wasn’t working so she got them doubled by our doctor. After I broke up with my boyfriend who I loved to bits and lost my virginity to I moved schools this new school was huge in the city. The worst thing is all my old friends don’t call, text, e-mail or anything. I’m finding it hard at my new school and coping with my depression still. The medication was working for about two months and now I am immune to it. My mum can’t find a phyciatrist and thinks I’m fine. we have money problems and I don’t know how to tell her I am still thinking about death. I’m scared that if I don’t cut soon I will definitely kill myself and the only reason I didn’t do that first is because I don’t want anyone to find me and have that image of an expired life in their head for ever. I’ve seen someone hung and it’s horrifying. Thanks for reading.

Why Indeed

Copyright Lost Soul

“Why?”, is a question I ask myself a lot. And it’s the only question I have no answer for. I suppose you could say it all started when I was 13, I was getting badly bullied at school and I used to go home, sit in front of my bedroom wall and throw a tennis ball at it as hard as I could and at the same time say “I hate myself, I hate my life, I hate myself.” Then, when I got to about 15 I didn’t bother going to school at all, I went on wednesdays at the most, or I would just cut class.

Wednesdays were different, I used to go see my maths teacher on wednesdays she was training to be a counselor, and she said come talk to me. So I did, and it was OK. I knew her and I knew she wouldn’t judge. I kept this secret though. I didn’t tell my parents or anyone I went to class with. It was around then I started to cut. I used to get my compass out and stab it into my arm and wrist. After I left school I couldn’t see my teacher as a counselor anymore, and it started to get worse. By that time I was 17 and decided I had to come clean with my mum, so I said, mum I self harm. She looked at me and I showed her my cuts and she looked at me again and said “Well it’s not like you are bleeding yourself to death, so I don’t think there is much to worry about.” Then she walked away. So here I am 19 and cutting away at my life. I have contemplated suicide more than a few times and I also starve myself for a couple of days at a time. “Why?” indeed.

I don’t know why. It makes me feel good, I am in control of my paranoia and I can make me think whatever I want when I drag the knife across my skin, or as I sit starving I feel free, is it wrong?


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