Sunday, March 23, 2014

I'm Hannah and this is my story...
I’m Hannah. I am 16 years old. I have had a pretty shit past. I had to face italone. I had no one. No one listened and no one believed me. I lived with my mum and dad. My mum became a heavy drinker. I hated it when she was drunk, she was a completely different person. Her and my dad used to argue almost every night. I’d watch them beat the shit out of each other. The venom in their words. I’d sit in my room and cry, trying to drown out the banging from downstairs. The worst argument I will always remember. My dad stayed in the kitchen listening to his music with the door shut. Nobody spoke for hours. My mum asked me to check on him but when I entered, the kitchen was in darkness with the music still on in the background. I turned the light on but he wasn’t there That’s when I turned round to see his lifeless body slumped in the corner. He looked up at me, his eyes all teary. That’s when I saw the blood. The colour drained from my body and I took a step back. It was everywhere. I ran into the living room screaming for my mum. We both ran into the kitchen and she put her hand over her mouth. Quickly, she placed wet cloths on his arms The slashes were engraved into his skin and there was a knife beside him. He had self harmed. I was 11 years old I didn’t understand. What I did know was that it wasn’t his fault, he had serious depression and mourned the death of his mother and son, my little brother who died at birth. I often wonder if I had met him,would things would be different. He’s in a better place now, away from all the evil and betrayal that this world has to offer. My dad got help though, but that didn’t make him the perfect dad. He was constantly walking out on me and my mum. That’s what caused New Year 2012 to be a disaster. He had walked out on my mum again. I came home to my mum in tears. I hugged and hugged her. She kept asking me to text him but every time I did I got no reply. She walked into the kitchen to calm down, she was in there for a long amount of time and when she came back in she looked so pale. I knew something was wrong. I walked into the kitchen and she had overdosed. I was scared, at 13 years old alone I didn’t know what to do. I googled the tablets that she had taken and was alarmed to see that they could kill her if I didn’t ring an ambulance and fast. I had no one to turn to so I rang my brother, he was round in a matter of minutes. It was nice of him to be there as we have different mums yet he still saw my mum as his mum. He called an ambulance while I watched her collapse to the floor, She kept reaching for more tablets and I stood behind the sidelines watching. Was I to blame? Did she want to die because of me? She didn’t want to be here, with me, she wanted to die that night. I sobbed and sobbed with my brother’s arms around me. There was a knock on the door, it was my nan. The ambulance didn’t come until over an hour later and when it did, I watched her get taken away from me. Her arms reached out for me and she repeatedly said 'I'm sorry'. Did I believe her? I didn’t know what to think. I was a little girl who had to watch all these painful things slowly kill her. What hurt the most was that my so called dad didn’t text or call to see if we were okay. The next day my mum came home. I was so emotional and hurt because I had everything running through my mind. Was it my fault? What’s going to happen next? She had me yet she still wanted to die, what could I do? The weeks after that were hard- I was passed around the family looking for somewhere to sleep because home didn’t feel like home anymore. My mum needed a wake up call and my nan was the perfect person. She told my mum that if she didn’t get her act together then she would take me to live with her in Liverpool. Of course I didn’t want to go and leave my friends and family behind but I didn’t want to watch everything I love fall apart in front of my eyes. I had to go to school and put a smile on even when I wanted to cry to someone, anyone for that matter. My mum and dad were on and off after that and then my mum went to The Birch Recovery Hospital for a few months to get help. My family was falling apart. My mum came home and things started to get better. I was getting older and started to make my own decisions. My dad had walked out, again. He took his money. medication and phone. He didn’t come back that night. Or the day after that, or for months even. We didn’t hear a word from him. How could you turn your own family away? Just leave without a reason? It hurt. The only person I told everything to was my best friend. She understood and she listened, the only one that did. I saw my dad when I was out with her, I ignored him. He was coming in and out of my life as he pleased. My mum was an idiot for taking him back. I didn’t speak to him. I hatedhim. Now you’re probably thinking why I have so much hatred towards him and the reason is because I watched him batter my mum, I watched him cut, I watched him tear my family apart. The main reason is because when I was 7 years old, I was raped by someone he knew. My mum walked in and stopped it before it got any worse but my dad didn’t believe me. He thought my mum was deluded and made it up. My mum didn’t want to call the police because I was at such a young age and she didn’t want me to go through it all and I’m glad she didn’t. I still get flashbacks of what happened though. It’s always there. In my head. Haunting me. Ever since then I’d come home and sit in my room all by myself. I liked being alone. I became very independent but what my parents did impacted me a lot. It was 2013 when I first started going downhill. I was bullied through primary school. I was clever and I got the typical 'nerd' most days. Then again in high school. ‘She’s ugly’I felt worthless. I had problems at home and I got it in school. After watching my dad self harm I never thought that it would be me who was doing it. I’m nothing special, nor beautiful or important. I’m just an average girl. You see, I’m the girl who talks everyone out of suicide, but has a hard time doing the same for herself. I assure everyone of how beautiful they are because I don’t want them to feel the way I do. I’m beginning to realise how little I mean to some people and it’s pretty fucking painful. Cutting helped me shut everything out. Using pain to relieve pain. Their words hurt me so much that I believed them. I was 'worthless' 'ugly' 'mental' 'fucked up' 'weird' 'emo'. What I saw as a child has never left my mind, it was okay for my parents to self destruct so why couldn’t I? You always hear how self harmers are 'emo' or ‘attention seeking’ but it’s not a joke. It takes a lot to get to the point of turning mental pain into physical pain. When you sit there and make fun of them, you’re just making them pull down their sleeves and hide their skin even more. You’re pushing them further and further into a hole and if you don’t be careful with what you say, that hole will turn into their grave. So why do I do it? I needed a fast way of escaping. When I saw the blood I felt alive, I felt numbness. It was easier than having to watch the people I care about suffer. If I hurt someone, I automatically felt like I deserved to hurt myself. I’ve been hurting for years, this was the same. I think scars are so beautiful because they hide so many secrets, each one means something different- hate, loss, sadness, beauty. When it’s cold my scars reappear, small purple lines decorating my wrists and thighs. Alls I can say is I’m sorry. I’d rather bleed than cry. I just want to be free. I don’t know when I will be able to fix my broken wings and fly away but I hope it’s soon because this world is too cruel for me…
I’m Hannah and that is my story...  ▲▼

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