Growing up with an alcoholic father and a lying, irresponsible mother is tough shit that I am still trying to accept and move on from. The little childhood I had was filled with loving memories filled with many people that I'd swear would never leave me. I was a pretty good kid, I guess. I loved reading. I loved learning. I was very smart and had so much energy. I was always a quiet kid. I did not like attention and sometimes thought of what others think of me. I was an awkward child that stared at people for too long, because I always tried to guess how that person must be like. I attached myself to people I felt so much care for; I'd say I was totally over-attached. I was pretty weird. I was insecure being the chunky, overweight kid I was that wasn't necessarily the most beautiul little duckling of all. I got picked on for being pretty ugly and humiliated in front of a group of kids which scared the shit out of me. I was such a closed person, but in sixth grade, it all changed. I straightened my hair, wore clothes that I thought made me look cool, and I talked about people behind their back not knowing the consequences. To sum up that year, I lost my friends' trust, I was hated by nearly everyone, and school was terrible for me. I was hated so, so much. When I was absent, it would make people happy and I know this because the only true friend I had at that time would tell me everything she heard about me. In seventh grade, I fought for regaining the trust of the people I truly cared about. I fell pretty hard for a boy who did not like me at all, but I learned so much about myself and everything I thought I'd give up to have something give me the positive attention other girls were getting from guys, since we were at the beginning of our developing phase. I met some people that I swore would be with me forever, but I was tormented by the shit going on at home. My mom left me, my dad, and my two siblings for another man when I was in third grade. I felt like I must have done something wrong. I watched ny dad fall to pieces and rely on alcohol to put the pieces back together. My mother took most of our stuff, and to make this short, she cared about that bastard more than her kids, but he left her and she came back to live with us after all the pain she had caused. I was forced to grow up too quickly and in a way, act as a mother to my little sister. By eighth grade I had gained a lot of weight. I was nearly 160 pounds. I did not see myself as being too chunky, but it wasn't until my dad refused to make me food and forced me to look in the mirror that I began to see myself as a worthless pig. I began to hate ths person I was, and all that hate was mixed with the guilt and unresolved emotions that my mother left me to figure out all alone. I became so, so sad. I would sit in school thinking of death. I wanted to die. I didn't have motivation to move on and it was too hard. I thought of killing myself all the time. To top it all off, my dad kicked my mom out for good because he found out she had another guy once again. Our relationship was slowly mending itself, but it was all gone. I cried all the time and my friends turned against me. They left me for a group of kids that were much more outgoing. I was about 13 or so, and I had begun cutting myself in sixth grade, but it was progressively getting worse as ths months went on. My freshman year of high school was a scary experience. There were so many beautiful, rich people there and I still hated myself and my body though I had starved myself to lose 24 pounds. I was so afraid of everything. I was so afraid of people and everything turned into a huge problem for me. I was still cutting a lot, and once my entire left arm was filled with scars, I had moved on to other parts of my body. I found life to be so tedious and I hated my routine of a life. I hated school though good grades had always come easy to me. I wore a lot of makeup to hide the fact that I absolutely hated every feature about myself. I still thought of death and everyday was a struggle for me. The year went by pretty quickly, and now I am 15 and in my second year of high school. I was recently diagnosed with anxiety and depression and have been taking meds since about three months ago. I have come to realize that cutting my flesh won't resolve shit and even though life isn't great, I have to push through because I have no choice. I have given up on one day killing myself, becausd I know I won't. I am possibly too harsh on myself and try to be the most independent a fifteen year old girl can be. I struggle to find any meaning to anything at all, and a part of me still believes I should have never been here. I hate hearing people tell each other that they have a meaning, and that everyone has a meaning, but if you think about it, we're not that important. This sounds kind of cliché, but no one cares unless you're dead, attractive, or rich. But my life goes on whether I think it has a meaning or not. As for my relationship with my mom, she is still the same lying woman she was and is very inconsistent and irresponsible. I still struggle with choosing if I need her in my life or not. She causes me to feel more pain than happiness. My dad is great, except he drinks all the time and it bothers me so much. He's a drunk, but when he is able to think straight, we talk about his story of coming to this country and everything he has overcone which causes me to feel like I can get through this since he struggled so, so much. My anxiety has progressively gotten worse, and I hate it so damn much. It sucks to sum it up, but what can I do? I have to move on and push through even though life keeps throwing rocks at me along the way.

Growing up with an alcoholic father and a lying, irresponsible mother is tough shit that I am still trying to accept and move on from. The little childhood I had was filled with loving memories filled with many people that I'd swear would never leave me. I was a pretty good kid, I guess. I loved reading. I loved learning. I was very smart and had so much energy. I was always a quiet kid. I did not like attention and sometimes thought of what others think of me. I was an awkward child that stared at people for too long, because I always tried to guess how that person must be like. I attached myself to people I felt so much care for; I'd say I was totally over-attached. I was pretty weird. I was insecure being the chunky, overweight kid I was that wasn't necessarily the most beautiul little duckling of all. I got picked on for being pretty ugly and humiliated in front of a group of kids which scared the shit out of me. I was such a closed person, but in sixth grade, it all changed. I straightened my hair, wore clothes that I thought made me look cool, and I talked about people behind their back not knowing the consequences. To sum up that year, I lost my friends' trust, I was hated by nearly everyone, and school was terrible for me. I was hated so, so much. When I was absent, it would make people happy and I know this because the only true friend I had at that time would tell me everything she heard about me. In seventh grade, I fought for regaining the trust of the people I truly cared about. I fell pretty hard for a boy who did not like me at all, but I learned so much about myself and everything I thought I'd give up to have something give me the positive attention other girls were getting from guys, since we were at the beginning of our developing phase. I met some people that I swore would be with me forever, but I was tormented by the shit going on at home. My mom left me, my dad, and my two siblings for another man when I was in third grade. I felt like I must have done something wrong. I watched ny dad fall to pieces and rely on alcohol to put the pieces back together. My mother took most of our stuff, and to make this short, she cared about that bastard more than her kids, but he left her and she came back to live with us after all the pain she had caused. I was forced to grow up too quickly and in a way, act as a mother to my little sister. By eighth grade I had gained a lot of weight. I was nearly 160 pounds. I did not see myself as being too chunky, but it wasn't until my dad refused to make me food and forced me to look in the mirror that I began to see myself as a worthless pig. I began to hate ths person I was, and all that hate was mixed with the guilt and unresolved emotions that my mother left me to figure out all alone. I became so, so sad. I would sit in school thinking of death. I wanted to die. I didn't have motivation to move on and it was too hard. I thought of killing myself all the time. To top it all off, my dad kicked my mom out for good because he found out she had another guy once again. Our relationship was slowly mending itself, but it was all gone. I cried all the time and my friends turned against me. They left me for a group of kids that were much more outgoing. I was about 13 or so, and I had begun cutting myself in sixth grade, but it was progressively getting worse as ths months went on. My freshman year of high school was a scary experience. There were so many beautiful, rich people there and I still hated myself and my body though I had starved myself to lose 24 pounds. I was so afraid of everything. I was so afraid of people and everything turned into a huge problem for me. I was still cutting a lot, and once my entire left arm was filled with scars, I had moved on to other parts of my body. I found life to be so tedious and I hated my routine of a life. I hated school though good grades had always come easy to me. I wore a lot of makeup to hide the fact that I absolutely hated every feature about myself. I still thought of death and everyday was a struggle for me. The year went by pretty quickly, and now I am 15 and in my second year of high school. I was recently diagnosed with anxiety and depression and have been taking meds since about three months ago. I have come to realize that cutting my flesh won't resolve shit and even though life isn't great, I have to push through because I have no choice. I have given up on one day killing myself, becausd I know I won't. I am possibly too harsh on myself and try to be the most independent a fifteen year old girl can be. I struggle to find any meaning to anything at all, and a part of me still believes I should have never been here. I hate hearing people tell each other that they have a meaning, and that everyone has a meaning, but if you think about it, we're not that important. This sounds kind of cliché, but no one cares unless you're dead, attractive, or rich. But my life goes on whether I think it has a meaning or not. As for my relationship with my mom, she is still the same lying woman she was and is very inconsistent and irresponsible. I still struggle with choosing if I need her in my life or not. She causes me to feel more pain than happiness. My dad is great, except he drinks all the time and it bothers me so much. He's a drunk, but when he is able to think straight, we talk about his story of coming to this country and everything he has overcone which causes me to feel like I can get through this since he struggled so, so much. My anxiety has progressively gotten worse, and I hate it so damn much. It sucks to sum it up, but what can I do? I have to move on and push through even though life keeps throwing rocks at me along the way.

Growing up with an alcoholic father and a lying, irresponsible mother is tough shit that I am still trying to accept and move on from. The little childhood I had was filled with loving memories filled with many people that I'd swear would never leave me. I was a pretty good kid, I guess. I loved reading. I loved learning. I was very smart and had so much energy. I was always a quiet kid. I did not like attention and sometimes thought of what others think of me. I was an awkward child that stared at people for too long, because I always tried to guess how that person must be like. I attached myself to people I felt so much care for; I'd say I was totally over-attached. I was pretty weird. I was insecure being the chunky, overweight kid I was that wasn't necessarily the most beautiul little duckling of all. I got picked on for being pretty ugly and humiliated in front of a group of kids which scared the shit out of me. I was such a closed person, but in sixth grade, it all changed. I straightened my hair, wore clothes that I thought made me look cool, and I talked about people behind their back not knowing the consequences. To sum up that year, I lost my friends' trust, I was hated by nearly everyone, and school was terrible for me. I was hated so, so much. When I was absent, it would make people happy and I know this because the only true friend I had at that time would tell me everything she heard about me. In seventh grade, I fought for regaining the trust of the people I truly cared about. I fell pretty hard for a boy who did not like me at all, but I learned so much about myself and everything I thought I'd give up to have something give me the positive attention other girls were getting from guys, since we were at the beginning of our developing phase. I met some people that I swore would be with me forever, but I was tormented by the shit going on at home. My mom left me, my dad, and my two siblings for another man when I was in third grade. I felt like I must have done something wrong. I watched ny dad fall to pieces and rely on alcohol to put the pieces back together. My mother took most of our stuff, and to make this short, she cared about that bastard more than her kids, but he left her and she came back to live with us after all the pain she had caused. I was forced to grow up too quickly and in a way, act as a mother to my little sister. By eighth grade I had gained a lot of weight. I was nearly 160 pounds. I did not see myself as being too chunky, but it wasn't until my dad refused to make me food and forced me to look in the mirror that I began to see myself as a worthless pig. I began to hate ths person I was, and all that hate was mixed with the guilt and unresolved emotions that my mother left me to figure out all alone. I became so, so sad. I would sit in school thinking of death. I wanted to die. I didn't have motivation to move on and it was too hard. I thought of killing myself all the time. To top it all off, my dad kicked my mom out for good because he found out she had another guy once again. Our relationship was slowly mending itself, but it was all gone. I cried all the time and my friends turned against me. They left me for a group of kids that were much more outgoing. I was about 13 or so, and I had begun cutting myself in sixth grade, but it was progressively getting worse as ths months went on. My freshman year of high school was a scary experience. There were so many beautiful, rich people there and I still hated myself and my body though I had starved myself to lose 24 pounds. I was so afraid of everything. I was so afraid of people and everything turned into a huge problem for me. I was still cutting a lot, and once my entire left arm was filled with scars, I had moved on to other parts of my body. I found life to be so tedious and I hated my routine of a life. I hated school though good grades had always come easy to me. I wore a lot of makeup to hide the fact that I absolutely hated every feature about myself. I still thought of death and everyday was a struggle for me. The year went by pretty quickly, and now I am 15 and in my second year of high school. I was recently diagnosed with anxiety and depression and have been taking meds since about three months ago. I have come to realize that cutting my flesh won't resolve shit and even though life isn't great, I have to push through because I have no choice. I have given up on one day killing myself, becausd I know I won't. I am possibly too harsh on myself and try to be the most independent a fifteen year old girl can be. I struggle to find any meaning to anything at all, and a part of me still believes I should have never been here. I hate hearing people tell each other that they have a meaning, and that everyone has a meaning, but if you think about it, we're not that important. This sounds kind of cliché, but no one cares unless you're dead, attractive, or rich. But my life goes on whether I think it has a meaning or not. As for my relationship with my mom, she is still the same lying woman she was and is very inconsistent and irresponsible. I still struggle with choosing if I need her in my life or not. She causes me to feel more pain than happiness. My dad is great, except he drinks all the time and it bothers me so much. He's a drunk, but when he is able to think straight, we talk about his story of coming to this country and everything he has overcone which causes me to feel like I can get through this since he struggled so, so much. My anxiety has progressively gotten worse, and I hate it so damn much. It sucks to sum it up, but what can I do? I have to move on and push through even though life keeps throwing rocks at me along the way.

Growing up with an alcoholic father and a lying, irresponsible mother is tough shit that I am still trying to accept and move on from. The little childhood I had was filled with loving memories filled with many people that I'd swear would never leave me. I was a pretty good kid, I guess. I loved reading. I loved learning. I was very smart and had so much energy. I was always a quiet kid. I did not like attention and sometimes thought of what others think of me. I was an awkward child that stared at people for too long, because I always tried to guess how that person must be like. I attached myself to people I felt so much care for; I'd say I was totally over-attached. I was pretty weird. I was insecure being the chunky, overweight kid I was that wasn't necessarily the most beautiul little duckling of all. I got picked on for being pretty ugly and humiliated in front of a group of kids which scared the shit out of me. I was such a closed person, but in sixth grade, it all changed. I straightened my hair, wore clothes that I thought made me look cool, and I talked about people behind their back not knowing the consequences. To sum up that year, I lost my friends' trust, I was hated by nearly everyone, and school was terrible for me. I was hated so, so much. When I was absent, it would make people happy and I know this because the only true friend I had at that time would tell me everything she heard about me. In seventh grade, I fought for regaining the trust of the people I truly cared about. I fell pretty hard for a boy who did not like me at all, but I learned so much about myself and everything I thought I'd give up to have something give me the positive attention other girls were getting from guys, since we were at the beginning of our developing phase. I met some people that I swore would be with me forever, but I was tormented by the shit going on at home. My mom left me, my dad, and my two siblings for another man when I was in third grade. I felt like I must have done something wrong. I watched ny dad fall to pieces and rely on alcohol to put the pieces back together. My mother took most of our stuff, and to make this short, she cared about that bastard more than her kids, but he left her and she came back to live with us after all the pain she had caused. I was forced to grow up too quickly and in a way, act as a mother to my little sister. By eighth grade I had gained a lot of weight. I was nearly 160 pounds. I did not see myself as being too chunky, but it wasn't until my dad refused to make me food and forced me to look in the mirror that I began to see myself as a worthless pig. I began to hate ths person I was, and all that hate was mixed with the guilt and unresolved emotions that my mother left me to figure out all alone. I became so, so sad. I would sit in school thinking of death. I wanted to die. I didn't have motivation to move on and it was too hard. I thought of killing myself all the time. To top it all off, my dad kicked my mom out for good because he found out she had another guy once again. Our relationship was slowly mending itself, but it was all gone. I cried all the time and my friends turned against me. They left me for a group of kids that were much more outgoing. I was about 13 or so, and I had begun cutting myself in sixth grade, but it was progressively getting worse as ths months went on. My freshman year of high school was a scary experience. There were so many beautiful, rich people there and I still hated myself and my body though I had starved myself to lose 24 pounds. I was so afraid of everything. I was so afraid of people and everything turned into a huge problem for me. I was still cutting a lot, and once my entire left arm was filled with scars, I had moved on to other parts of my body. I found life to be so tedious and I hated my routine of a life. I hated school though good grades had always come easy to me. I wore a lot of makeup to hide the fact that I absolutely hated every feature about myself. I still thought of death and everyday was a struggle for me. The year went by pretty quickly, and now I am 15 and in my second year of high school. I was recently diagnosed with anxiety and depression and have been taking meds since about three months ago. I have come to realize that cutting my flesh won't resolve shit and even though life isn't great, I have to push through because I have no choice. I have given up on one day killing myself, becausd I know I won't. I am possibly too harsh on myself and try to be the most independent a fifteen year old girl can be. I struggle to find any meaning to anything at all, and a part of me still believes I should have never been here. I hate hearing people tell each other that they have a meaning, and that everyone has a meaning, but if you think about it, we're not that important. This sounds kind of cliché, but no one cares unless you're dead, attractive, or rich. But my life goes on whether I think it has a meaning or not. As for my relationship with my mom, she is still the same lying woman she was and is very inconsistent and irresponsible. I still struggle with choosing if I need her in my life or not. She causes me to feel more pain than happiness. My dad is great, except he drinks all the time and it bothers me so much. He's a drunk, but when he is able to think straight, we talk about his story of coming to this country and everything he has overcone which causes me to feel like I can get through this since he struggled so, so much. My anxiety has progressively gotten worse, and I hate it so damn much. It sucks to sum it up, but what can I do? I have to move on and push through even though life keeps throwing rocks at me along the way.