My life was never awful, it wasn't good, but it wasn't awful. A bit of bullying in elementary school here and there but that's how it is for most people, besides, I've repressed most of my past memories anyway. Either that or else I'm extremely forgetful.
Even though it wasn't exactly fun being bullied in elementary school it was how I met my best friend, she was mean to me at first but she was so determined to be my friend afterwards that I couldn't help but love her. Especially when she was being so persistent, but in middle school she sort of left me alone.
My social life started to thrive in middle school, though. So that was nice. High school was just fabulous too, I had strings of friends and various boyfriends. Some people would call me a "slut" but I don't think I was, I cared about each person I fucked.
Over all my life was doing pretty well. It was only this year that everything started to spiral downhill. This isn't a story about how I got sucked into drugs and alcohol and started having sex with to many people, then about how I gave birth at 15 and married some old pervert because I needed the money and my dad kicked me out of the house. None of that happened, and I have never tried drugs in my life. It's just that sometimes bad things happen to good people.
I do have a couple of problems though, I won't deny it. I suffer from bi-sexuality, anorexia, severe depression and I have an addiction to cutting. There are a lot of people out there who would take offense when I say "Suffer" and "bi-sexuality" in the same sentence, but for someone raised in a very hetero-sexual home it really is something to suffer from.
When I look at myself I will see all my flaws, which isn't uncommon in a teenager. I see fat where I'm told there sin't any, I notice any bit of flab there is and exaggerate it because that's what my mind does. I starve myself throughout the day and I feel sick or sad when I eat anything; healthy or unhealthy.
If I am not chatting to someone or being given fairly large amounts of attention I become depressed or empty, I am constantly second guessing everything I say or do and have this feeling of remorse hovering about my mind at all times. I used to cry every fifteen minutes or so over anything and everything, even if I just dropped a pen. I'm positive you've heard the saying "don't cry over spilt milk", because everyone is familiar with it. Anyway, I can guarantee you I have cried over it.
My cutting isn't a problem in my eyes. I'd probably try to quit it otherwise. It's relaxing, and I only give myself a couple cuts a day. I'm so used to it that I killed the nerves on my arms so now I have to cut on my legs and thighs, except I can't remember when I started. I've cut for as long as I can remember, there was never any trigger to it. It just sort of happens. I carry my razor blade around with me everywhere I go, and to be honest with you I cut almost everywhere I go too. So long as no ones looking, it's just so easy. The blade is so small and even if anyone was to look it might appear as though I'm scratching my shoulder or something. even though I don't feel anything anymore I actually and quite literally crave it, my skin will itch for it if I go a day or more without splitting it open. The only thing that upsets me about this dirty little habit is that in the beginning it used to burn, and I miss that burn. Now it doesn't feel at all.
Most people say that my cutting is a problem, my dad walked in one day and decided I needed help. He sent me to a therapist. He also says I am a suicidal whore who has no respect for him or anyone else because I am so selfish. He never used to talk to me that way until this year, a couple months before he walked in on me cutting. Jee, dad. It only took you over half my life to finally realize I was cutting. Except, the problem is that you say it's for attention and for suicide. I promise you I had no intention of anyone finding out, especially you, and I can also promise you i'm not suicidal.
Not all the time at least, suicide is only a thought that passes my mind when I stop caring. I noticed most people worry about those who are depressed and crying out for attention, or just crying. Yes, they probably need someone to worry about them, but I think it's not the depressed ones who are going to do anything to end their lives. When someone is depressed than they still care, it's when someone has stopped caring that you should worry. This is something I've noticed about myself, at least. When I'm upset and depressed then I still care to much about everything to actually do something about it, but when I truly am suicidal I'm extremely calm. When i'm in that state of calmness, or emptiness, nothing matters anymore. It's hard to snap out of that.
I keep getting sidetracked, I should probably get back to my story.
My name is Rizz. Or at least that's what I like to be called, because my real name is Reece. It's a boys name, really. So just call me Rizz. Or Rize, whatever you prefer.