I'm from a small town. Safe. Not much crime. You know the deal. I've lived here all my life.

From pre-school through the end of second grade I went to a private school, and remained the same 'social circles' for quite a length of time. In third grade I entered the public school system, in a third grade/fourth grade split class.

That year, it was very difficult. Everyone in the class knew each other from previous years. I wasn't needed. Sure, I could tag along, but I wasn't going to be missed if I left. I'd sit with my classmates at the table in the lunchroom (we were forced) pressed up against the well, counting the seconds until I could go outside and read. I'd bring books outside to the lengthy recess we had, or just wander around. I told you, I'm not a people person.

Just as I got 'adjusted,' the school to help ease overcrowding was opened, and I was transferred again. Oh yeah. Lots of fun. Again, the classmate/social circle thing. That year, though, I did meet two girls and we hung out. One of them is my best friend today. =) Accent the positives, right?

That's about it for the positives. That year, my maternal grandmother (the one I was close to) died. My mother was pretty distraught (No, really?) and my dad wasn't up for it. He had just started up a law firm with our next-door neighbor, who later on tried to break up their marriage--ugh. Long story. So, I was the one comforting my mother. And I didn't like it.

Also, that year, I failed the writing part of standardized testing. No, being called a 'freak' or the like wasn't enough, they had to go and add Attention Deficit Disorder [ADD]. I took Ritalin once or twice, and the rest of the time I carefully hid the pills or pitched them. Take that.

Hmmm . . . okay, fifth grade I get to stay at the same school [goody!] but things still aren't 'peachy.' Imagine this--your parents live in the same house, yet they don't communicate. Dinner is strained, if it happens at all. You run out of things to say. As soon as the other one gets home, they fight.

Not a happy year at all.

They separated, I barely passed the rest of the year's course work. Quite frankly, I didn't care.

All through these years I've been consistently harassed, and by two girls in particular.

In sixth grade, things were okay. My parents were back together. I did okay in school. But, one of the above girls is a real bitch to deal with. She got my home ec. class to turn against me--i.e., they all vocally gave their opinions--all negative--on me, or dragged up every nasty thought they could. Love you too.

As to the self-injury part of this, in fourth grade I first tried to cut my wrists, but couldn't. I've been walking down this road for a long, long time. When I was very little I would cut my hair and bite my fingernails until they bled. I still pick my face badly--until I see blood. In the summer of 2000 I first learned how to cut with a razor.

I guess that's the basic story, minus my emotions.