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I. The first time I ever wanted to die, I was eleven years old. I even wrote a poem about it and everything, my mother found it in my drawer one day. She just hugged me, but that didn’t make the sadness go away.

II. I never really knew what suicide was until I turned twelve and googled what I wanted to do to myself. It was always in the back of my mind, like a book begging to be read, sitting on the shelf.

III. When I was thirteen, I had a best friend and one day I told her how I was so sad I couldn’t take it anymore. She told me about her cousin, the one that overdosed three times and died the fourth, she said he felt that way before.

IV. At fourteen I remember arriving one day at school and rumor had it this girl had killed herself last night. I felt my stomach turn and twist inside, I mourned her spirit and acknowledged her fight. While most of the kids made jokes about how her wrists were cut open, and how she had it coming because she was “emo,” I choked back tears. I didn’t know her but I knew what she going through after experiencing it all these years.

V. One night when I was fifteen I took a blade to my wrist and watched as the blood rushed out, in that moment it was the only way I knew how to cope. I lost all sense of hope. Months later it became too much of a bad habit I couldn’t dare stop, I felt like I was losing control of the knife. So that’s when I decided to down the bottle of sleeping pills and take my life. I had shaky hands and sweaty palms, my eyes were watery and I didn’t know if this was wrong. So I set the bottle down to think it over, it shouldn’t take this long..

VI. A year later when I was sixteen I still went back to that night inside my head, no one knew that right now I could’ve been dead. I finally told my mom how I felt inside, and all the horrid feelings
I tried to hide. She took me to a doctor and I was put on pills, I thought my life would be better, happier, and filled with thrills… I was wrong because they only could help so much, I still had to fight each and every night.

VII. I’m seventeen now, I am left with scars on my body and a fragile heart. I am better than I was before, because I’m teaching myself this illness won’t dare tear me apart. I won’t give up this game of tug of war inside my brain, because it’s taught me things about myself that others can’t attain. I will fight and never give up, this is a promise to me and you. If you’re going through the same thing I am, promise me you will fight too?

i.c. // “I have battled this for so long, I can’t give up now.” (via delicatepoetry)
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