I began writing my own story a few months ago, and it’s been helping me to reflect on everything that has happened in these past 2 years. Here’s what I’ve written so far!
Autobiography
I was 14 years old when I first thought about suicide.
After countless nights, I soon became used to crying myself to sleep, choking back my sobs so my parents wouldn’t hear from their room down the hall.
I was a mess. I knew that much. I was broken, and I knew that nobody could fix me. I was just another problem, and I didn’t want to burden anyone else with my issues.
But most of all, I knew that nobody could find out about the real me. I didn’t want other people to look at me the way I looked at myself. It would hurt me too much.
I was a mess, but thankfully no one cared enough to realise it. I had become so good at pretending to be okay, that I even fooled the people that claimed they loved me the most.
Unfortunately, my acting skills weren’t good enough to trick myself. But I was never the one that really mattered the most.
They were.
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It was only until I was 15 that I realised that I didn’t need to be that person anymore. It was only until I was 15 that I realised that I didn’t want to be that person anymore.
Change sounded so easy. But with a past like mine, and a fear that limited my future, change seemed impossible.
But the biggest mistake I ever made was thinking that change was bad. I thought that in order for me to be happy again, I needed to go back to before the “trauma” even started. Before I lost my identity, before I crushed on him, before…
But the real trauma had begun way before that ever happened. I just hadn’t realised it yet.