Conversations with my 13 Year Old Self

   (Yes, I would like to credit my blog title to the P!nk song from her I'm Not Dead album)

 

I was cleaning out my closet the other day and I came across all of my old journals. I have kept a journal since I was about seven years old, as I have always found it therapeutic to write. I came across a journal that I kept from age twelve to age twenty-three.

      I read through it for a few hours and was heart-broken by the girl that I once was. There is so much anguish in my writing. I was a distraught teenager, just desperately trying to belong. I know that the thirteen year old me wants to blame my parents. The thirteen year old me wants to blame all the what nots, maybe’s, broken promises, and empty hopes. Being a teenager is one of the hardest things we experience in our lives. The sudden surge of hormones has you laughing one minute, crying the next, and before you know it you are so angry—you could scream. Maybe not every teenager felt this way, but I know I certainly did. I decided to share one of my journal entries from December 1^st, 1999.

                I know this was supposed to be a “grateful” journal, but now I think I want it to be a diary. I really haven’t had the time to sit down and write what’s really going on. So, now I have the chance…and I feel like it needs to be written.

This summer I tried to commit suicide…twice. I thought it would never happen to me, but it did. I don’t really know why I wanted to, but it was just mainly because I felt like I wasn’t loved, nobody listened to me and I felt lonely and desperate. I still have thoughts about it, about doing it. But, I don’t think God wants me right now. I mean all I have to do is….I DON’T KNOW!!!!! Another reason was because I was told, I couldn’t be an actress.

     If there was a way where I could put myself up for adoption, I would. You know all my parents do is yell, yell, YELL, YELL, YELL!!! I HATE IT!!! I wish I could live with Grandma. These past few weeks Aunt Chrissy asked me what I changed so much and what I was such a…..I can’t remember what she said.

Anyway, I wish I could move out for a few weeks away from my parents to find a way to be a better person and a way to respect them. Or, a way to find out something.

     Today, a teacher gave me a really sweet card about how she “wonders what the future holds for me,” and “how sweet I am in class.” If only my parents understood how I felt. If they could understand that I need to I get away. But, I CANNOT runaway. It’s not right. I do not know what to do.

 As you can see, I never succeeding in killing myself—even though I attempted it a few more times and eventually became a cutter—a terrible cutter, or just lucky that I have very few visible scars. Sometimes, I am constantly reminded of the thirteen year old me and how far that I have come along. I am happy. I have a good relationship with my parents now. I have a good family. I have amazingly, wonderful friends. I have a job—even though I hate it. I have enough money to pay bills and splurge a little—it is tough…but it is life. I have my health. I have a home.

    I sit here writing, I know that I am meant for something more than just the corporate job and a cubicle space…I believe I am meant to help others. I believe I am meant to share my story. I believe I am meant to write. I am a driven, passionate, hard working person—I will do everything in my power to accomplish my goals. My life is what it is and was what it was. I am not defined or know by my past---I just had to go through it to be who I am today….a beautiful, strong, confident woman who loves endlessly and stops at nothing. I am moving forward and not holding back. I am who I am. I have a right to be here. I have nothing to prove.

 



SCARS AND SOUVENIRS

“Maybe our old wounds teach us something….they remind us of where we’ve been and what we’ve overcome. They teach us lessons about what to avoid in the future.”

                                                                                                            -Grey’s Anatomy

At first glance you would not see them, maybe even after a second or third glance you still wouldn’t see them; but, I know they are there. If I held out my palms to you and you carefully glanced in good lighting, you would see the self-inflicted wounds of escape. The wounds of my teenage years are ever so lightly sketched on my wrists. 
               As a teenager, I was a cutter. I never cut too deep, only enough to draw a little blood and cause minimal pain. The blood was almost the screams I couldn’t scream. I would raise my hands and let the blood pour down my arms to my elbows until it reached the floor. As sick and twisted as this may seem, the cathartic release you get when you press the knife to your skin, is only something a fellow cutter would understand.
I cut for about two years off and on; then, once I realized life wasn’t so bad and it was only going to get better I stopped. Embarrassed by the marks I had caused I wore bracelet and long sleeved shirts…I did anything I possibly could to cover up my scars.
This all took place over ten years ago. I am much wiser. I am much stronger. As a lyric in a P!nk song goes, “I wouldn’t trade the pain for what I’ve learned.” And I truly wouldn’t.
I have a story to tell. I have people that I need to help. There is so much hurt and pain in this world, if I can be a living example to someone else that no matter what you fight, maybe this world will not lose another person to suicide.
            The tattoo on my shoulder is my symbol, a reminder I wish I had when I was struggling. But, now I can share this beautiful work of art on my body as a reminder. I have Katy Perry to thank for the beautiful lyrics, “You’re original, cannot be replaced.” I put a lot of thought into this tattoo before I went and had it inked on me forever. I wish I could snap a picture of it, put it on a card, and send it to the world.
I want to get another tattoo. I want to get a tattoo on my wrists. I want it to read, “I am who I am. I have nothing to prove.” I am not a 100% sure if I want that or to quote P!nk again ( I love P!nk, okay?) “You’re perfect.” There is no way I could ever get “F**kin’ Perfect,” as much as the little devil in me is screaming yes.

            The tattoo isn’t something I am doing out of conceitedness, I am not that type of person. It is to serve as a reminder to myself and others, that no matter what we’ve been through we take the struggle, the pain, and the mess and turn it into a work of art.

So, friends and dear readers of my blog I leave you with this, if you are struggling please do not give up. There are people out there who care about you. I care about you. There are numbers you can call, centers you can visit…there is help. Life gets messy, but you can choose to turn the mess into the best and live your life to your full potential.