My Little Story

Copyright, Meghan

My name is Meghan and I am fourteen years old. I’ve had a pretty good life, never been molested or raped or anything in that field. I, from kindergarten to grade 6, was a perfect student. No drugs or drinking, just a normal kid, not growing up too fast and at just the right pace for my age. But when I got to grade 7, everything changed. There was this guy, Ben. I had known him since the summer before school and I had the biggest crush on him EVER! So when we started talking more and more, on the phone for hours at a time every night of course I got happy. It was even better when he asked me out. It was like an honour. Ben was a grade higher than me, but I never thought anything of it. We had our first kiss. It was magical, or I thought so. But this one day, I will never forget. The first time I got high.

We were sitting in his basement watching TV and then he pulled out a pipe. “Wanna get high?” he said to me with a smirk on his face. I didn’t. I really wanted to say no but I couldn’t. So I got high. It was fun, and I think I liked it a little too much. The next day, I went to a friend’s and bought drugs off him. My mom always thinking I’d be her little girl, never asked me where my allowance went or why my eyes were so bloodshot.

The next month, me and Ben started doing more than just kissing. I knew it was wrong, but he wanted it and I always gave him what he wanted. We had sex in the second month that we had been dating. No condom. It was more frequent as days, weeks and months passed by. I thought it was incredible and I knew we should have gotten condoms, but that our money was for drugs, not condoms.

In about our third month of relationship, summer, I hadn’t gotten my period. I flipped out and told my best friend who had also been in the same situation as me. We went and stole pregnancy tests from the nearest store and I used them right away. Neither of the tests were showing up yet so I thought I’d just leave them in my drawer and come back in an hour or so. Well we didn’t get back for about eight hours and when we did, my mom sat us down at the table. She had found the tests. She started asking me if I stole them. I said yes. She asked if I drank. I said yes. She asked if I had ever done drugs and I went quiet. We all felt the same guilt at the table. She took my friend home but thank God those tests weren’t positive. I guess I was just late. My mom grounded me for a month and that didn’t go over too well with me. I ran away, with Ben of course, and stayed out for a night. I called my mom in the morning and told her I wasn’t coming home unless she let me off the hook, let me be ‘ungrounded’ and she did. I went home, we talked, I lied and said I would never do it again, and I ended up going to Ben’s house that night. Got high, had sex. The usual.

When I found myself snorting pills and huffing Windex, I knew it was terrible but I still never stopped myself. I overdosed on Tylenol 3’s at Ben’s house. I thought I was going to have to have my stomach pumped but I just cried it off. He was as scared as I was. It was in September when school started when I realised that Ben didn’t love me as much as he said. I started hearing stories about how he was cheating on me with other girls. I hated myself. Ben started calling me down. He’d call me a whore, a slut, a bitch and just about everything that would hurt me. It brought me to tears every night. Ben was now in high school, grade 9 and I was in grade 8. I was still doing drugs, drinking, smoking, stealing, having sex and doing absolutely horrible in school. I was failing already. My mom took me to counselling once a week and they told me about drinking and sex and drugs. I didn’t listen. Wrapped up in the drugs, they made me forget the things that made me hurt. If only I had known how much they would hurt later on in my life.

I remember the day like it was yesterday. November 24th 2004 he called me at 6 and told me that it “wasn’t working out” and that he “didn’t want a girlfriend right now”. I instantly started bawling and I could hardly breathe. My whole world came crashing down. The next week when I found out that Ben was dating another girl named Stacey, I wanted to kill myself. He lied to me and when he called me in December and asked if I wanted to do anything with him of course I said yes. I went over to his house and ended up having sex with him. This happened four times after we had broken up and he had been going out with Stacey. He told me that he still loved me and that he was going to dump Stacey for me. It never happened.

I started to cut myself. Just on my arm, not my wrist and the cuts weren’t bad. But I kept doing it and doing it over and over again and I bled so much, and I needed another space of skin to cut. I turned my arm over and saw the blue veins practically begging me to cut. I cut pretty bad that day. It started happening more often. I remember the first time I really did it deep. I was at school and I had gotten there late. I went to my locker and took out a pencil sharpener. I unscrewed the little screw and out fell this beautiful silver blade. I cut my wrists up, right there at my locker in a hall with no one but myself and that blade. I went to the washroom and put my hand under the cold water. The sink was filled with blood. I pulled down the sleeve of my black hoodie and went up to class, acted like I always did. No one knew anything.

Of course it hurt, but nothing compared to my life. My mom got pregnant and was bitchier than ever. She’d scream at me until she could hardly whisper anymore. It hurt so bad, I felt like I was just a waste of air. More and more things started happening in my life. The teachers hated me and they thought I would never amount to anything. I quit drugs, drinking, stealing and haven’t had sex for four months. I thought it was a great accomplishment, yet I was still cutting. I have lots of scars on my arms and wrists and sometimes just looking at them scares me. My mom took me to another counsellor and I talked to her about the cuts. It didn’t really help at all, just that she told me I might have to take anti-depressants and of course that made me feel worse. I need a drug to make me feel better about myself. That’s what I was like before. I don’t want to get into that again.

The last time I talked to Ben was about two hours ago. He called to talk, and he does once every two or three weeks. I love just hearing his voice. Many people say you can’t fall in love at thirteen, but I know you can, I know I did. It’s been almost five months since Ben broke my heart and I’m still cutting. My mom thinks I’ve stopped because they aren’t anymore cuts on my wrists. Only scars. Little does she know, my legs is my new land. I do it out of frustration, anger, sadness and just when I feel like I need to do it. Once a week usually. Sometimes I really want to die but then I think, “I can’t date Ben again if I’m dead”. I last another day.

My story will never really end.


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