Sara C

Battle Scars

Copyright Sara C

My name is Sara. This is my story.

It all started when I was around twelve. I was an outcast at my school, a nobody. My friends had betrayed me, I was failing all of my classes, my parents and family were constantly harrasing me… and then I was raped when I walked home from school one day. I hated it. I never told my parents, they would just blame me, it was always all my fault. So I was in 7th grade, and my first instinct was to run away. Barefooted, cold, and in my ragged pajamas, I ran out the door, faster than I ever had, with the screams of my little brother, being beaten with a dog leash by my mother, running through my head. That night I climed a tree in the woods close to the freeway behind a Waffle House, only a few miles from my home. The bottoms of my feet were torn by the glass that covered the roads, and as I climbed, the insides of my arms became scratched and bloody from the rough bark. This was my first time experiencing cutting, although it was not intentional. It felt good, like a release. The police found me twenty-three hours later, and dragged me back home. I was lectured, grounded, sent for a bath and then to bed. Weeks later, I tore apart one of my moms razors, using the blade to drag across my lower leg, leaving three long gashes. My first real cuts. The begginging of it all. This continued for months. I finally found a friend, Helen, who seemed to understand and care for me. But still nothing changed, I felt more and more depressed, each day feeling like I was falling into a hole I couldn’t dig myself out of.. Then Helen attempted suicide. Of course, it was all my fault, everything had been before, why not now? I decided to end my own life. I dragged that blade down my arm, from wrist to elbow, seven times, and fell asleep, hoping never to wake again. I did. I hid the scars the best I could, wearing long sleeves, which wasn’t that hard, considering it was November. A few weeks later, I tried again, the same way. Still nothing. A month later, I swallowed every pill in the medicine cabinet, only waking up with a huge headache. (Considering it was only Tylenol. I didn’t know any better then.) So I gave up. Then came the summer. Nothing had changed, to me, it was just the same old shitty life. My parents were at a party, and my brothers were both at a friend’s house. I had the key to my dad’s gun cabinet, it was the perfect opportunity. I sat on my bed for a hour, simply listening to the radio, getting myself worked up, thinking about everything that was wrong. As I put the barrel in my mouth, lo and behold… one of my favorite Good Charlotte songs, Hold On, came on the radio. It was like a sign to me. I put the gun away, and didn’t think of suicide or cutting anymore. And I never told my parents. I was thirteen then. But that isn’t the end, not just yet.

When I was fourteen, we moved to a little town in North Carolina called Roxboro, a major change from loud, busy, dirty, huge, Charlotte NC. It was a good change for me. I was just starting my freshman year, a whole new start. It was a pretty good year. My first boyfriend was wonderful. Up until a point. Up untill the point he started ‘messing’ with me. I couldn’t handle that, so I broke it off. My second boyfriend, Thomas, was as sweet as ever. We went out for ten months… and then he broke up with me. That’s when it all went downhill. My dog I had had for eleven years died, my kitten ran away, my now ex-boyfriend’s best friend attempted to rape me, my mother started beating me again… it all seemed so much, so I started cutting again. It was October of my sophomore year. Just a small cut on my leg. The words ‘Love’ and ‘DIE’. Not only that, I found out a few of my other friends cut as well. I had a cast on my left arm where I had fallen and broken my wrist, so my leg was the only option for me. To this day it remains abnormaly pale from the mass of scars covering it. In December I turned sixteen, and I had the cast off. I began cutting on my wrist, constantly, until one day in Febuary, I called my best friend, Jerri, sobbing and bleeding. She told her mom, one thing led to another, and the next day, I was found out by my parents. They set me up with a shrink faster than I could blink an eye. So many things happend over the time I saw the shrink. Two of my friends, Kyle and Elissa, committed suicide, two months from each other. I fell in love… and had my heart shattered. My parents became pricks, once again. But I also gained so many new friends, and was able to stop cutting, and got out of being prescribed medicine. And late in June, I fell in love, for the second time. On August 12, 2005, after a month of talking, me and my now boyfriend of three months, got together. I was happier than ever, and I only had one appointment to go before I was able to quit. I was so happy, yet it all seemed so unreal. I am through with my shrink, but have started cutting again. The last time I did was about a week ago. I still fight it today, everyday. I have been talking to my boyfriend about getting admitted to a hospital. No way in hell do I want to. And no way in hell will I go willingly. But I keep on fighting, he keeps me strong.


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