I am only sixteen years old. I know by every standard a child but still old enough to have a story or at least the start of one. I was the happiest child you had every seen, always smiling, forever happy. That all changed when my sister started middle school and completely changed the makeup of my family and suddenly my once, if a bit ill tempered, exploded into a volcano of rage that was to my dismay directed at us. This year was by far the worst of my life but all through it I stayed the loyal supporter of my best friend, my daddy. That was the year when I didn't have friends and stopped doing any schoolwork and just reading all the time.
My first suicide attempt was in the November when I was eight. I remember the leaves turning and it being gloriously beautiful. I don't remember what prompted it but I went to my window and opened it even the wire that hadn't been opened in years. I sat out there on the window of my second floor window so overwhelmed by it all. I desperately tried to do it but like all my other attempts didn't have the courage to ultimately go through with it. My mom found me like that after a while and for some reason she did nothing. She's never had the strength to deal with me so I got down. I could never leave my mom she needed me too much. After that year it got a little better. The fighting was still terrible but not as terrible as it had been and it was easy to pretend that everything was okay.
I was turning into a different person by middle school. I still didn't have friends and I was very angry. It's a very real thing the anger that teenagers have and one that most right off as normal but I know my anger was not normal it was all consuming. It nearly swallowed every last bit of myself into it's gigantic maw but I survived to recount it. I must end my journey a bit short today but you can be sure I'll be back to finishing it tomorrow.
Until then have a good day and stay happy
