I decided that the information I've given wasn't enough. I make references you may not understand. So here goes nothing.

First, I'm thirteen, I live in Ohio, and I write fan fiction. I go under the alias chickchat or some other variation. Ummmmmm. Let's see. What drove me to cutting?

Okay, at the end of third grade my parents switched me to public school. That wasn't fun in the least. I was put in a split class--the social circles had already been decided. It wasn't a happy year. Though my teacher was a goddess.

Um, fourth grade . . . loneliness again. But this year, although I was light-years ahead of my classmates in reading, I failed the writing portion of standardized testing. I felt stupid. They tried to put me on Ritian (muhahahahaha) but I'm not one for drugs. That was when I really got into self harm.

I started staring myself down and picking my face. Sure, I knew it wasn't normal (what the hell IS?!) but I did it. It just felt good. I'd be studying and my hand would roam for a spot to pick. It's still a habit.

Then, in fifth grade my parents separated. Go listen to "Wonderful." It was horrible. Really, a horrible time in my life.

Now, all through these years there are two girls named "Liz" and "Karen" who decided to make my life hell. They harassed me every day. Still do, in fact. So, life was really bad.

One night, I tried to slit my wrists. I was too scared. I couldn't do it. I hated myself for that. In fourth grade I thought about suicide. I guess I started adolescence really early.

In sixth grade life was hell yet again. Now, coming out of seventh grade, which was the best of my life, I'm hurting myself in the worst way ever. It could be some subconscious form of self punishment, but that's just a guess. This time though, it's okay. I'm not at all scared about it. It's calming.

They gave me Paxil but I dumped it down the drain rather than take it. I faked ‘happy.’ Morons.

There. Now you know.
¤ chickchat

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