charlotte

the first time I tried to kill myself I was about four years old.

it's quite easy to pass it off as a mistake, as if I didn't know what would have happened. that's what the people who would've examined my body would have said.

such a shame, she was so young, couldn't have known.

I knew.

after all, every action has an equal or opposite reaction.

four years old.

I couldn't spell.

I couldn't count.

I couldn't tie my own shoes.

but I knew.

I knew if you held something over your mouth and nose long enough you wouldn't be able to breathe, you would die.

most people develop depression as they grow up, I guess I was just born with a chemical imbalance.

at four years old I knew a lot,

I knew what was expected of me,

I knew I was supposed to marry, but it had to be a boy,

I knew I was supposed to have children, I didn't find out how that was supposed to come about until I was six though,

I knew I had to get a job,

I knew I was supposed to be pretty,

be skinny,

be nice,

be quiet,

be agreeable.

I knew quite a lot.

I feel now, as an eighteen year old, that I don't really know much of anything.

how does college work?

do I have classes everyday like the last 13 years of my life?

how do I fill a tire?

how do I get a credit card?

how do I make an appointment at a doctors office?

how do I ride a bike?

are they really my friends?

do they really truly like me?

when did birthday presents stop being a thing?

am I pretty enough?

am I skinny enough?

how could I know everything and nothing at such a young age?

how had I already decided this life was not worth living? that it was time to move on to the next one?