My life minimized by x10

Hello. My name is Remarkable_Bridge487. I hope you’ll stay for a couple minutes to read my story. If you don’t, have a good life. I just wanted a place to publish my thoughts.

From the beginning, I loved the arts. Heck, I was writing poems and drawing diagrams at the 5th grade. I miss it. I missed not thinking, I miss having fun. When you’re a kid, you don’t care much about the world around you. or at least, I didn’t. Around 4th grade, I‘d gained some sort of consciousness. My dad would abuse my mother daily. But I didn’t know that. Mom couldn’t take it. We escaped for a short while, returning back only 1 year after. I hated it. Fast forward to middle school, and now my Dad reverts back to his abusive self. I’m scared of Dad. Siblings are scared of Dad. I‘m 12 and I get my period. Fuck, fuck.. I wasn’t supposed to grow up. Now my dad gets to yell at me now. I find out now that I’m scared of men. So, 12 year old me writes rules: I can‘t make friends. I have to study, grow up quicker, and protect my family. I can’t have friends and study. So, I recluse myself alone. 8th Grade passes in a blur, and suddenly I’m a freshman in high school. And for some reason, it’s okay for me to have friends. My mom has leveled up- she fights back now. The abuse gets worse. But at least I have.. friends???? Maybe not. My grades slip and slide, is it because I have friends? No. I can’t lose my friends. I’m in too deep. I have to be happy at one place at least. I begin the first phase: I start to starve myself. Dad yells at me, depending on his mood, I’ll get threatened to get sent to boot camp. When they fight, I now make slashes on my arms. 14 year old me feels grown up now. The Anorexia plan fails, and the weight I’d lost bounces back. I’m horrible. I can’t do anything. The next year comes. Everything I’d just experience is happening at the same time in tenfold. I crack open the window. It’s about a 10-15 foot fall, by my guess. Since I am 15 years old, I am now the age marker that is allowed to get abused by my dad as well. At the time, I am secretly glad that he yells at me. Because it makes me feel special, since he didn’t care to interact with me once I’d gotten my period. Since my Anorexia plan failed, I begin to cut more frequently. I’m half ashamed, half proud. I feel like a bird wearing tiger stripes, it’s out of place. I want people to see them, because I’m wired wrong. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop it. I want someone to notice. I want someone to ask me what’s wrong. Nobody does. So, I crack open the window again. And I plan for the next few months. How I will die.