Here Goes

Copyright Rachelle

My name is Rachelle, I have been cutting since I was ten, and it has progressed so far that I am losing control, even though I say I’m fine. I lived in Colorado until I was eleven, where I was verbally and physically abused by my so called friends. When I was five, I witnessed a kidnapping, of my best friend Maria, and they later found her body in a ditch about three blocks from her house. My step dad is a complete pot head, and used me and my sisters to deliver and bring back his drugs, and when he got stoned, he used to hit us. Our parents fought a lot, and my mom was in a huge custody battle with my real dad, who was a bigger stoner than my step dad, and I spent a month in a foster home. This was a bout the time I started cutting, and I was disgusted with myself for being so small, for being beaten and never hitting back. I began to attempt suicide, and I am still doing so, though I am really trying to over come that. I have tried twenty-seven times, and there is only one that stands out to me at this moment. The twenty-sixth time, I OD’d on sleeping pills, twenty-six, heh, ironic, and lay numb in bed for twelve hours, wide awake, wondering why I did this to myself, why sleeping pills weren’t putting me to sleep and why I couldn’t move. I decided I needed help, though I should have gotten help before and hadn’t.

Last year, my father killed himself, and people keep telling me it was natural, but in truth, he OD’d on heroin. I have this reccuring dream about him, that haunts every restless night of my life, and it’s terrible. But if you want to know, I’ll say it later. Thats not even the whole thing, but some things are better left unsaid, so I’ll just let it build inside me for now.


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