âAt 10 years old, I was a chubby child with not a care in the world. I ate my cupcakes and drank my soda, because I was taught to eat what is served. At 11 years old, I did not understand what the other girls covered their faces with. You should love yourself and how you look, not hide behind a mask. At 12 years old, my mom denied me ice cream for dessert. I did not understand why and I was too scared to ask. At 13 years old, the girls in my class started laughing at me behind my back. Instead of taking two portions of food, I barely took one. At 14 years old, I saw that a boy in my class had arms covered with scars. While showering, I used the razor to leave a red mark on my wrist. It was wonderful. At 15 years old, my parents told me they were disappointed in my bad grades. I hit my hip on the cupboard, hard, because I was disappointed too. At 16 years old, my parents took me to a hospital. I worried about the school work I was missing rather than worrying about my hip bones sticking out. At 17 years old, I attempted my first suicide. My mom found me in a puddle of my own blood and I apologized for staining the carpet. At 18 years old, I got buried underground in a coffin. The girls who used to laugh at me was at my funeral crying, wondering if there was something they couldâve done different.â
â iâm sorry for the pain youâve endured (via my-wrists-are-itchy)
