My name is Emily, and I’m sixteen.
In case any of you were curious, this is pretty much my life story.
My mother was bat shit crazy. I suppose she wasn’t always like that, but I don’t know anything different. She drank, a lot. She weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet, and she drank literally five gallons of wine or beer in one sitting. Every single night. She was a very mean drunk. She yelled, said vile things that destroyed everyone once of self confidence I had, and would beat me. She would slap me so hard it would leave scratches from her nails on my face. She would punch and kick and choke and burn me with cigarettes. A few times, she nearly killed me. I lived with her for fourteen years, until my best friends talked me out of it, and I went to live with my dad instead.
From there, she would call me and harass me, every chance she got. Raging voicemails, texts, and of course, she was always completely wasted. I couldn’t take it, and when I was fifteen, I tried to kill myself.
Obviously, it didn’t work, or else I would be here. Since then, I have developed an addiction to cutting myself. I’ve cut for the better part of a year, though I quit for several weeks, before recently relapsing worse than before. I’ve seen doctors and shrinks, I’ve taken numerous medications. I’ve been there, done that.
Because of what I’ve been through, which isn’t as bad as it could have been, I don’t judge. Because I am not you, I cannot tell you what to do. I don’t believe in violence.
I am here for absolutely everyone.
I love you, my darlings, and I’m very impressed if you’ve actually read this.
Also, I don’t promote self harm, eating disorders, or anything like that. However, I also have to right to force you into stopping, though I would suggest never making the first cut. It will consume you, no matter how much you think you can control it.
<3 Stay strong.