This is Me
Introducing Me
This is my story.
My name Is Kathy White, no joke. I'm fifteen, I go to a private christian school. I hate it. The rules are too much. No shoulder can be shown, no skin can be shown four inches above the knee, your hair must be a natural color, no tank-tops, you must wear a shirt, no cut-outs, no music that isn't christian. I feel so strangled. My dad is a food critic, and my mother (Oh, how I despise her) is a lawyer. My dad is pretty chill and laid-back, but mom is just... she acts like she has a very long carrot shoved up her ass. She hates me; Likewise, I hate her. She is the reason I am how I am. She
Is
Living
Hell.
She drove me to do this to myself. She drove me to the edge, and over it.
I cut myself. Everywhere. I slice my wrists for fun, I cut my thighs for enjoyment. I slide the cool metal blade over my shoulders and stomach while laughing. I find it fun and enjoyable. Why? It brings relief. It manages to take away the cold, harsh words of the world for just a moment. It's enough. Just that little glimpse of light is enough for me to go on. People judge me. They hate me. They are opinionated. They hate me, judge me, and shun me because I'm different. They're scared of what I might do. What I can do. What I will do.
I starve myself. I do it, because the world finds me fat. They find me large, huge, grotesque. They find me ugly, and gross. They think I am overweight. I only weigh one-hundred pounds. But yet, it's not enough. I eat only one meal every three days. That meal consists of, one glass of milk, an apple, and a granola bar. I know it's too much, but I have to, or I will die.
I hate myself. I really do. Maybe, if I was prettier, the world would like me. Maybe, if I was skinnier, the world would think I was enough. Maybe... Just maybe... If I died... The world would care...
So I try. Over and over again. Every night. My parents know I do. They don't care. I cut, and take five bottles of pills in under ten minutes. I never die though. I just, sit, and deteriorate. Eventually, after a couple of hours, my dad will come up and drag me downstairs to the car and drive me to the hospital. He'll leave after that, and I'll have to find my own way home, thirty miles away. I walk. I don't care. It's just exercise.
Nobody outside of my family knows what I do. Why? Cause I hide it. and, I don't talk. Not that I can't, cause I can talk, I just... Don't. It's so much easier if no one knows. They all assume I'm mute. I like it. What I like more? Him.
The boy who stole my heart. He doesn't know I exist. Why? Because I don't want him too. If he did, he'd hurt me too. Nobody knows what I've been called. Except me.
Am I skipping around too much? Sorry. I have ADD, ADHD, and OCD. Probably shit load more, but I can't think of them right now. Or ever. I just don't care enough to learn their names. Oh, I'm depressed. That is one that I know by heart. Oh well. Nobody wants the little scared, depressed girl...
My name Is Kathy White, no joke. I'm fifteen, I go to a private christian school. I hate it. The rules are too much. No shoulder can be shown, no skin can be shown four inches above the knee, your hair must be a natural color, no tank-tops, you must wear a shirt, no cut-outs, no music that isn't christian. I feel so strangled. My dad is a food critic, and my mother (Oh, how I despise her) is a lawyer. My dad is pretty chill and laid-back, but mom is just... she acts like she has a very long carrot shoved up her ass. She hates me; Likewise, I hate her. She is the reason I am how I am. She
Is
Living
Hell.
She drove me to do this to myself. She drove me to the edge, and over it.
I cut myself. Everywhere. I slice my wrists for fun, I cut my thighs for enjoyment. I slide the cool metal blade over my shoulders and stomach while laughing. I find it fun and enjoyable. Why? It brings relief. It manages to take away the cold, harsh words of the world for just a moment. It's enough. Just that little glimpse of light is enough for me to go on. People judge me. They hate me. They are opinionated. They hate me, judge me, and shun me because I'm different. They're scared of what I might do. What I can do. What I will do.
I starve myself. I do it, because the world finds me fat. They find me large, huge, grotesque. They find me ugly, and gross. They think I am overweight. I only weigh one-hundred pounds. But yet, it's not enough. I eat only one meal every three days. That meal consists of, one glass of milk, an apple, and a granola bar. I know it's too much, but I have to, or I will die.
I hate myself. I really do. Maybe, if I was prettier, the world would like me. Maybe, if I was skinnier, the world would think I was enough. Maybe... Just maybe... If I died... The world would care...
So I try. Over and over again. Every night. My parents know I do. They don't care. I cut, and take five bottles of pills in under ten minutes. I never die though. I just, sit, and deteriorate. Eventually, after a couple of hours, my dad will come up and drag me downstairs to the car and drive me to the hospital. He'll leave after that, and I'll have to find my own way home, thirty miles away. I walk. I don't care. It's just exercise.
Nobody outside of my family knows what I do. Why? Cause I hide it. and, I don't talk. Not that I can't, cause I can talk, I just... Don't. It's so much easier if no one knows. They all assume I'm mute. I like it. What I like more? Him.
The boy who stole my heart. He doesn't know I exist. Why? Because I don't want him too. If he did, he'd hurt me too. Nobody knows what I've been called. Except me.
Am I skipping around too much? Sorry. I have ADD, ADHD, and OCD. Probably shit load more, but I can't think of them right now. Or ever. I just don't care enough to learn their names. Oh, I'm depressed. That is one that I know by heart. Oh well. Nobody wants the little scared, depressed girl...
o my goodness. update. now.
1/10/14