I know my story is nothing like most of the ones here - it may seem like an alright life compares to some. I guess it all started in year 9. I'm the oldest of four children, and the only girl. I love Superheroes and Transformers and have short hair that I streak with purple and blue. I'm always reading and writing. I hope to be a published author one day. But last year, I gradually lost interest in reading and writing. You see, there were thes girls in the class - the ones who though they were all that and you were the dirt they walked over - who thought I and my group of friends were prime targets. Me and my friends are all social rejects that kinda decided to stick together. Anyway, the other girls weren't overly bad, just the subtle name calling and mockery that, on occasion, escalated to yelling at us from across the designated eating area. I was struggling through some personal troubles at well. You see, out of me and my three brothers, I'm the academic one. Connor's the sporty one, Brandon's a special needs kid and Beau the adorable eight year old who gets whatever he wants. What was hitting me hard was that I was struggling and failing Math. Mum was okay with it - she was happy as long as my effort mark was up there - but Dad made it clear he wasn't happy. Suddenly, I went from being his perfect angel to being a selfish, idiotic, lazy girl who was never going to amount to anything. So, I found myself stressed and starting arguing more with certain teachers. But the mean girls decided I was the perfect target for them. It was the start of spring ans the weather was warming up nicely, but I had started scratching my arm with Lego. Anyway, I was wearing long sleeves and apparently that instantly meant I was emo. So my previous reputation of being a geek changed to me being emo. Wow... This is long. I started cutting my thighs not long after that rumor. I grew sick of everything - my Dad, kids at school, myself. I hated how I looked with cuts and scars - I still do - and wanted it all to just end. I also felt guilty, because my life is soo easy compared to so many other lives. I was going to end it - I was so weak - until a teacher who I am extremely close sat down next to me. He could see I was upset - I was reading a particularly abusive email and was on the verge of crying. I had woken up that morning and hear Dad complaining to Mum about me. I also happened to be wearing shorts and had recently cut a little further down my thigh then usual. He helped me through a lot. He became my go to person. It's never really faded - the urge to cut - but I know if I need to talk, he's there. I also graduated from that school - it only goes to 10 - and left with some strong friendships. And I'm here. For anyone who needs to talk too.