Looking For Hope

Chapter 1: Different? Yes.

Chapter 1

No one really does understand me. To be honest, I don't even understand myself. I see things about myself differently. I hear and see things other people do not see. Does it frighten me, you may ask? No... not really, I am used to it. My name is Imogen and I am different. I know I stand out and sometimes I try too. Society makes us out to be all the same but, we deserve to have our own rights, opinions and decisions. I try to not care what others think about me, even though it is one of the hardest things to do. Being opinionated is not my cup of tea you could say. So, making decisions is one of the hardest things for me. Well... usually.

 

When I was born my Dad didn't like me. He wanted to put me up for adoption but after my Grandmother begged them not to by saying 'how beautiful she will be and how proud you will be to have a daughter'. I would've been happier being sent to an orphanage, because if I knew how my life was going to be affected by my parents. But, at the same time I love my Grandmother dearly. My Dad physically, sexually and mentally abused my Mother and I. I have battle scars, let me tell you. Lots of them, probably too many for that matter. I loved my Mother dearly too she was one of the only people I loved and to this day I still love her even though she is no longer alive.

 

I went to my first day of Elementary School happy and excited but, came home crying, covered in blood and bruises. My Dad was the first to see me and laughed hysterically at me. I then walked up to my Mother's Room who ended up cleaning me up. At the time she was bedridden and had been for four months. I fed myself, usually making a PB and J sandwich. While my Mom was in bed and my Dad usually doing drugs, partying or at a bar.

 

Abuse from my father kept happening and so did the severe bullying. When I was nine my Mother couldn't take the pain anymore and committed suicide. I was the first to find her lying dead on the floor with empty pill cases surrounding her. I could'nt believe it. I stared at her body with scars lining her arms and legs and, that was the first night my cutting addiction began. You could see each one of her individual ribs, she hadn't eaten hardly anything in many months. My Dad came home and saw her lying dead on the ground and said "It's all your fault you bitch. You are a murderer, I knew it. I hate you so much you faggot." The worst of the abuse was that night. I called the cops though and told them what had happened luckily they believed me, and they came with an ambulance and took my Mother away to the hospital. After setting up my own Mother's funeral, I was put on a restraint order from my Father. But, that didn't really help at all.

 

My Grandmother began to live with us or should I say I, because my dad should not  be and hardly ever was home. But they didn't know that I was struggling with. I cut deeply in my arms and legs every night, started to isolate and then began hearing voices and seeing things that were not there. I heard my name and all the swears people would call me, people would also tell me what to do. I had a best friend who is named Nine, she was a cat with one blue eye, one green and black and white splotches. She was one of the only friends I had besides my Grandmother at that time. But, Nine could actually hear me and would talk back and give me advice.

 

Soon I told my Grandmother what was going on and she brought me to the doctors to see what was going on. That is when I was first diagnosed with anxiety, depression, PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and  self-harm. I was put on anti depressants and anti anxiety meds. They didn't really work though, the doctor told me to come back if the mental health disorders got worse, but I did not. My Grandmother asked how I was doing and I said "I am fine." Even though it was getting worse and I knew it.

 

At age 11 I began Middle School. I dyed my hair blue because I liked the color blue, the voices told me too and I wanted to be able to express myself. I was in complete shock when my Grandmother said she loved it. But she was... different like me. Though even from being on restrain from my Dad he got to me and abused me. I listened to hard rock to calm myself down. But, eventually I spit out all that was going on to my Grandmother.

 

It was the end of the year of Sixth Grade, the last month to be exact, I missed it all. I was housebound and part of the time bedridden like my Mother was. I wanted to commit suicide like her but, I told no one. My Grandmother soon had a crisis team come in to evaluate the situation. I was put into mental health support groups and programs all that summer, except for a few weeks. I talked to Nine a lot that summer and met some actual human friends named Raven, Sky and Jakie. We hung out those last few weeks at my house. I introduced them to Nine but they were confused and didn't understand. The girls were going through similar problems though too. The next thing I knew I was staring at a Seventh Grade boy, I never knew how that was going to change my life.

The same problems were still going on but, I tried to stay strong. I needed hope. I hoped that things would get better.