At the age of 6 I learned to wrap a cast around my heart into and seal it tight behind four walls, because that was what a child did, because that was what someone did when they where hurt I hide behind a mask of fake smiles and laughs so thick that I couldn’t even remember the last time anything was real. The last time I was real. At the age of 12 I learned the meaning of pain when I walked through the school doors and the first thing I heard when I walked to my locker was "hey fatty do you ever stop eating''. They judged me, not because they knew my situation at home but because I was a little too big around the midsection for a kid my age. They taunted me, pushed around the words that I hates so much that at times I swore I heard myself chanting with them. The strangers at home the ones that were meant to love me set me aside for a sister who didn’t have a problem with drugs but a problem with wanting to be number one, but they never looked my way not even when I got a medal in the fifth grade for keeping up with the other kids or when I got a trophy for being the kindest person in a school that not only made the situation worse but the truth even more so, but what set me off in the ninth grab was when my mother, my sister, my teacher told me to "get over it” when they told me that every little thing I do wont matter because I’m going just another drop out like my parents. That I will never amount to anything, that I would never make it. I almost believed them.  At the age of 15 I learned what the color of my blood was, I learned that no matter how hard I tried to hide the wince every time the words I hated the most where slapped onto my face. It was useless and a year later I found myself so filled with pills and people’s ideas telling me that I was okay. That every time I talked all I heard was a ghost of every person that was there, every person that told me I wouldn’t make it. To this day I still hear the hunting echo’s, I still chant to them, but the strength I found in the room with the white walls and the locked door saved me. And that little girl that was a little too big around the midsection made it. I made it I want to see other make it to. I want to see others graduate not form the class of “we made it” but the class of “ be proud of who you are because you are beautiful”