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So I really don't know how or where to begin when the subject is about my past. I mean you can say I had a good childhood and good relationship with my parents, only if you weren’t on the outside, a mere passerby, you would’ve seen the real me, the hurt me.
I grew up in a southern baptist household where we would go to church every Sunday morning and night and sometimes Wednesdays as well. I was a good kid and never really had any troubles (that I remember) until around 4th grade. That was around the time my great grandfather (pa), who I was super close with, was diagnosed with leukemia, and my great grandmother (nan) with early onset Alzheimer's disease. I remember going to a few of Pa’s chemo treatments but waiting in the waiting room while eating Sonic. At the time, I was only 10 and I didn’t comprehend how bad he was getting until he was at home on hospice. After seeing that, I stopped doing homework every so often and I don’t know why I did, maybe to make my parents stop to see that I was hurting? I don’t know. Around that time I had started up ballet classes and was showing Pa some of the things I had learnt that day when I had to go to the bathroom. After I came out of the bathroom, my mom was checking on Pa but he wasn’t breathing any longer, he had passed. Nan passed only a few months after, I guess she literally couldn’t live without him.
I stopped doing my homework completely after seeing the person I was closest to dead and started having issues with sleeping. My parents found out I wasn’t doing my homework at the next parent/teacher meeting but I got nothing but being grounded and yelled at. I mean yeah, I guess, what did I expect? I barely passed 4th grade.
Onto 5th grade, now it starts to get wild. Again I’m not doing my homework, but now my parents ask me every night if I had any and I’d just make an excuse as to why I didn’t. The teacher starts sending home notes with me for my parents to sign saying that I hadn’t done any homework all semester so far, and I forged their signatures because I didn’t want to be grounded again but I also just didn’t have the energy or motivation to actually do the homework. Obviously I was found out because what 11 year old can sign a name like a 30 something can? Things kept spiraling for me mentally, so I did what I thought was right at the time because I was hurting so bad that my heart physically would hurt too. I started panicking at school and just not in a good metal state, and that’s where I first hurt myself. I started scratching at the back of my hand until I was bleeding and the teacher later noticed it and asked me what happened. I didn’t have the guts to tell anyone I was hurting badly enough that I was hurting myself so I simply just said “Oh! I just cut it on a sharp part of my desk”. I ran with that story for so many years, until my mom noticed more scabs on me that looked just like the first one, only this time I was now homeschooled and so we don’t have metal desks like that at home. One day she was asking me about my scabs and I just kept coming up with different stories, but I later on found out that was a bad idea. She had dad come talk with me cause he had hurt himself in the past as well, but I was still trying to stick with my stories, but that’s all that they were. Mom put 2 and 2 together and finally just let me have it, she started yelling at me about how I should tell her about the scabs/some now scars and about how if I was hurting myself they should send me off to a mental institute. That is when I started to hide who I really was from them and be really sneaky. Also when I lost all hope in religion, I was 12.
(end for today)
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