Glen Coco.
New member
i LuV nY said they were curious cause of my other question I said I wanted to get this out, but I didn't know how. So, here goes.
When my mom was pregnant, her mom would hit her stomach to try and make her abort. She's hated me from day 1.
When I was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck. My mom's mom ran into the room, and started tightening it around my neck so I was suffocating even more, they had to drag her out so they could save my life.
At age one, my mom walked in on her supposedly giving me a bath, but she was really trying to drown me.
Aged 5. I started school. I was instantly picked on because I was a chubby child. But aren't we all? I was happy. And I thought that I was just like them all, you know? I'd finger paint, and sing the songs. But no, they'd pull my hair, ruin my art, draw on the walls and blame me for it.
Aged 6, I moved to New Zealand, and made some friends. Eventually they turned on me, and picked on me like everyone else.
Aged 8 I moved back to England. Back to the older versions of the kids who picked on me. Which, was worse. They would throw things at me. Chairs, food, books. That sort of thing.
Aged 9, I moved back to New Zealand. By that time my mom's mom lived here, and she would beat me with a belt. Every time I did a small wrong thing.
Aged 10, she moved up north and I started primary school. Where I was still picked on.
That's when I changed from this confident girl, into this shy, emotional girl.
I had my first boyfriend at 11. (Yeah, real young I know.)
He was my babysitter's son. He was 17. Yeah, I know. Too old for an 11 year old. Whatever. It's in the past.
One day, I went round there because my parents were both at work, and after my friend Jasmine went home with her mom, my 'boyfriend' took me into his room and said that we were playing hide-and-go-seek with his mom. And that his room was the safest hiding place.
He then took off my clothes. I was 11, I had no idea what he was doing. My parents never told me these things. No one really talked to me, so how was I to know?
He threw me down onto his bed and raped me.
I still remember that day. Every agonizing detail. I didn't know, but his mom was out in town, doing shopping or whatever. So, she couldn't hear my screams.
He then moved to Australia or something so I don't know what happened then.
When I turned 12, I started cutting. My wrists, my legs. Anything that no one would see.
Still the hate continued. Getting worse, as everyone got older. I don't know why I was so hated, I tried to hard to please everyone.
I was a good student. I did my work, I was nice to people. But still the hate continued.
Aged 13, I tried commiting suicide. I missed the major vein in my wrist, and I lay there bleeding on the floor until my mom came to check on me and found me laying there. She called the ambulence, and they came and helped me.
I was put into councelling which I absolutely hated.
But then I made friends with a boy named Bryan. He was sweet, funny, charming, everything I dreamed of in a boy.
We dated a bit, and he helped me. We'd been through the same problems, basically. So we helped eachother.
I know we were young, but I loved him. And I was smart enough to know what I was getting into.
But then he cheated on me, and I watched it happen.
Then he broke up with me, and I was shattered.
Before that, he'd introduced me to a friend, Seth, and we'd become quite close. He helped me get over Bryan and one day he told me that he loved me. I dated him for a year. When I was 15, I broke up with him. Because my friend had told me that he'd lied about who he was. His name was really Jeremy, and I cut again. And I cried for 3 days straight, until no more tears would come.
I tried killing myself again. This time, I knew what I was doing.
I tied the rope correctly, hung it to my ceiling, stood on the chair, and kicked it out of the way.
Just as I fell, the rope snapped. And I lay, again, on the floor.
This time, gasping for breath and filled with joy that my parents weren't home to see that I had failed, yet again.
The next day, I went to school. Acted like everything was normal. No one commented on the scar on my neck.
No one noticed that I was in tears practically every time they saw me.
No one cared.
They never did.
Then, for some strange reason I got back together with Bryan. I don't know why.
It turned out bad, and now he's dating some other chick who only wants him for his sexual organs.
After all that, I was still cutting. I'd also added to it. I'd burn myself every time I took a shower, or a bath. Using boiling hot water.
But one day, I met a boy named Gage.
He helped me. I stopped cutting. And burning. I had no reason to die anymore.
It's still bad though.
Now, I still burn myself.
Gage is the only thing keeping me alive.
If you read this, thankyou.<3
I'm also pansexual, and no one will understand.
There's more if you want, but it wouldn't fit. :\
I know my life doesn't seem THAT bad compared to others, but it's worse that it seems if you're just reading this.
I need someone to talk to, but I'm scared.
When my mom was pregnant, her mom would hit her stomach to try and make her abort. She's hated me from day 1.
When I was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck. My mom's mom ran into the room, and started tightening it around my neck so I was suffocating even more, they had to drag her out so they could save my life.
At age one, my mom walked in on her supposedly giving me a bath, but she was really trying to drown me.
Aged 5. I started school. I was instantly picked on because I was a chubby child. But aren't we all? I was happy. And I thought that I was just like them all, you know? I'd finger paint, and sing the songs. But no, they'd pull my hair, ruin my art, draw on the walls and blame me for it.
Aged 6, I moved to New Zealand, and made some friends. Eventually they turned on me, and picked on me like everyone else.
Aged 8 I moved back to England. Back to the older versions of the kids who picked on me. Which, was worse. They would throw things at me. Chairs, food, books. That sort of thing.
Aged 9, I moved back to New Zealand. By that time my mom's mom lived here, and she would beat me with a belt. Every time I did a small wrong thing.
Aged 10, she moved up north and I started primary school. Where I was still picked on.
That's when I changed from this confident girl, into this shy, emotional girl.
I had my first boyfriend at 11. (Yeah, real young I know.)
He was my babysitter's son. He was 17. Yeah, I know. Too old for an 11 year old. Whatever. It's in the past.
One day, I went round there because my parents were both at work, and after my friend Jasmine went home with her mom, my 'boyfriend' took me into his room and said that we were playing hide-and-go-seek with his mom. And that his room was the safest hiding place.
He then took off my clothes. I was 11, I had no idea what he was doing. My parents never told me these things. No one really talked to me, so how was I to know?
He threw me down onto his bed and raped me.
I still remember that day. Every agonizing detail. I didn't know, but his mom was out in town, doing shopping or whatever. So, she couldn't hear my screams.
He then moved to Australia or something so I don't know what happened then.
When I turned 12, I started cutting. My wrists, my legs. Anything that no one would see.
Still the hate continued. Getting worse, as everyone got older. I don't know why I was so hated, I tried to hard to please everyone.
I was a good student. I did my work, I was nice to people. But still the hate continued.
Aged 13, I tried commiting suicide. I missed the major vein in my wrist, and I lay there bleeding on the floor until my mom came to check on me and found me laying there. She called the ambulence, and they came and helped me.
I was put into councelling which I absolutely hated.
But then I made friends with a boy named Bryan. He was sweet, funny, charming, everything I dreamed of in a boy.
We dated a bit, and he helped me. We'd been through the same problems, basically. So we helped eachother.
I know we were young, but I loved him. And I was smart enough to know what I was getting into.
But then he cheated on me, and I watched it happen.
Then he broke up with me, and I was shattered.
Before that, he'd introduced me to a friend, Seth, and we'd become quite close. He helped me get over Bryan and one day he told me that he loved me. I dated him for a year. When I was 15, I broke up with him. Because my friend had told me that he'd lied about who he was. His name was really Jeremy, and I cut again. And I cried for 3 days straight, until no more tears would come.
I tried killing myself again. This time, I knew what I was doing.
I tied the rope correctly, hung it to my ceiling, stood on the chair, and kicked it out of the way.
Just as I fell, the rope snapped. And I lay, again, on the floor.
This time, gasping for breath and filled with joy that my parents weren't home to see that I had failed, yet again.
The next day, I went to school. Acted like everything was normal. No one commented on the scar on my neck.
No one noticed that I was in tears practically every time they saw me.
No one cared.
They never did.
Then, for some strange reason I got back together with Bryan. I don't know why.
It turned out bad, and now he's dating some other chick who only wants him for his sexual organs.
After all that, I was still cutting. I'd also added to it. I'd burn myself every time I took a shower, or a bath. Using boiling hot water.
But one day, I met a boy named Gage.
He helped me. I stopped cutting. And burning. I had no reason to die anymore.
It's still bad though.
Now, I still burn myself.
Gage is the only thing keeping me alive.
If you read this, thankyou.<3
I'm also pansexual, and no one will understand.
There's more if you want, but it wouldn't fit. :\
I know my life doesn't seem THAT bad compared to others, but it's worse that it seems if you're just reading this.
I need someone to talk to, but I'm scared.