When I was 13 I wanted to be dead. It was the year I told about the abuse. I finally stood up for six year old me and suddenly I was the bad guy because of it. It was the year that I learned how much self-hatred a person could possibly possess.

When I was 14 I wanted to be dead and I wasn’t afraid to show it. I had more scars on my right arm than I had friends. I had old ones that were barely little white lines, I had baby pink ones that were barely healing, and I had ones that were still bleeding. It was the year of hoodies because I was to embarrassed to show my arms.  It was the year of 3 hospitalizations and countless medications.

When I was 15 I wanted to be dead. It was the year I got out of the residential treatment center after 147 pointless days. It was the year that I was homeschooled because I couldn’t take the pain or the bullying anymore. It was the year of one more suicide attempt.

When I was 16 I convinced myself that I didn’t wanted to be dead. I focused on school and getting A’s. I focused on being 200 days clean from self harm and from medication. It was the year that I had to keep busy, because if I didn’t I would start thinking and thinking was dangerous for me. It was the year that I became anorexic because I couldn’t look in the mirror after a shower without wanting to slice away all the fat.

When I was 17 I realized that I couldn’t hide behind a smile anymore. I stopped keeping track of the days that I was clean  because I just didn’t care anymore. It was the year that my best friends became the two voices in my head called Anna and Mia. Anna would tell me that I was too fat to eat and Mia would reassure me that I could eat as long as I through it all up afterwards. It was the year that I found myself knocking on Death’s door but he never answered. It was the year that I was embarrassed of still wanting to be dead. It was being scared to tell my mom that I wanted to go back on antidepressants because she always looked so proud when she told people that I hadn’t been on them since March of 2015. It was the year I never thought I would see. I never planned on making it to 17. Don’t you get it? I’ve wanted to be dead since I was 13.