I was eleven, maybe twelve years old the first time I cut myself. She never noticed. Could have waved my slashed wrists in her face & she’d never have noticed. I was gone two years later. She threw me out of the home I shared with her, my stepfather & half siblings the same day I was expelled from my first high school. Fourteen years old & I remember being so angry. I think that was the first time she broke my heart. I’d only been disappointed & confused by her up until that point. I was fiercely loyal & protective of her before that.
At fifteen, I made the first attempt to take my life. There was no plan, no note, what could I have even said? I believed that I’d be doing the whole family a favour considering I was the one who didn’t fit anywhere, the one nobody wanted, the one causing so many problems & who nobody could control. I’ve never made a plan nor left a note. I was very near successful, my organs were giving up,my heart had in fact stopped. They had to use a defibrillator to restart it. To shock the life I tried desperately to leave behind back into my veins like there was something to even fucking save.
They kept me as an inpatient, once I awoke from the three day induced coma the doctors had put me in hoping to save my young life. She didn’t visit, hell, she didn’t even call. Not a single blood relative did, and in fact nobody came for me at all. I had to call them to come collect me, which was another disruption I would cause. My Nan sounded so pissed off, “Oh Christ! Hang on Lexy – let me call ya Auntie Trish to see if she can make the drive.” she stammered into the phone “why can’t you get public transport?” They had to cut me out of my clothes Nan, remember..? I’m only wearing a hospital gown.
© AleCat 2017