Scum
two.
The first time was about seventh grade. I was thirteen years old and had tons of friends. I had a roof over my head, clothes on my back and a family that couldn't care more about me. I was completely ignorant towards the fact that I was living a life that many kids around me dreamed for, but I didn't know that at the time. I was complaintive and arrogant and stupid in ten different languages. Well I guess in all languages, but it sounds cooler when you add a number to it.
So why did I ever want to hurt myself in any kind of way if I had everything? I really don't know completely. Of course there was that self loathing thing, but that wasn't always the case. Some thing would just happen in the day that I really didn't like. So I went home and threw my guts up to make myself feel better. Then that went to just not eating at all, then that led to the cutting, then that just led to the straight up attempt to kill myself. But I'll give a back story before you start to think I'm less of a shit than I really am.
So middle school. I think it started around the time I realized all the shit I ever got from anyone, I only asked for. I never worked for anything. I never had to ask twice. I was always just asking and receiving till I realized what I was doing to myself. I began to make myself sick. I could no longer talk without being disgusted by my own voice. I was realizing what my life was becoming. By that point, I was completely codependent. I had no Idea how to take care of myself. That was when I figured I just wouldn't take care of myself at all I suppose. Then I really made myself sick. Going home so disgusted with what people saw me as, that I literally had to go home, and gag myself to self recovery. That was the year I lost my friends, and became a weekly patient at Encore Psychiatric Help. Some high class yuppie shrink factory where you never got casual Fridays or got to eat in your office. I bet the doctors there, had doctors. But that didn't help. I was just given more help. I had to learn to take care of myself, and having someone tell me how to take care of my problems is not the way to do that.
So why did I ever want to hurt myself in any kind of way if I had everything? I really don't know completely. Of course there was that self loathing thing, but that wasn't always the case. Some thing would just happen in the day that I really didn't like. So I went home and threw my guts up to make myself feel better. Then that went to just not eating at all, then that led to the cutting, then that just led to the straight up attempt to kill myself. But I'll give a back story before you start to think I'm less of a shit than I really am.
So middle school. I think it started around the time I realized all the shit I ever got from anyone, I only asked for. I never worked for anything. I never had to ask twice. I was always just asking and receiving till I realized what I was doing to myself. I began to make myself sick. I could no longer talk without being disgusted by my own voice. I was realizing what my life was becoming. By that point, I was completely codependent. I had no Idea how to take care of myself. That was when I figured I just wouldn't take care of myself at all I suppose. Then I really made myself sick. Going home so disgusted with what people saw me as, that I literally had to go home, and gag myself to self recovery. That was the year I lost my friends, and became a weekly patient at Encore Psychiatric Help. Some high class yuppie shrink factory where you never got casual Fridays or got to eat in your office. I bet the doctors there, had doctors. But that didn't help. I was just given more help. I had to learn to take care of myself, and having someone tell me how to take care of my problems is not the way to do that.