**Everything you read in this is completely true. Please understand that I absolutely do NOT in any way promote self-harm, anorexia, mental disorders, or anything else I may mention.**
I'm Emily, a thirteen year old girl questioning my sexuality (pretty sure I'm lesbian, polysexual, or novasexual) and often questioning the meaning of life and whether it's all "worth it". This diary will be something I'll try to update daily, as I've been told by many people that writing my feelings down helps. Writing on paper didn't work out-I was dissatisfied with the look of it and the knowledge that my words were doing nothing-so I've begun to write here. This introduction will tell you a bit about me and my struggles with depression, but the diary entries will talk about my unsteady recovery. Please, know that if you are struggling with self harm, depression, suicidal thoughts, or eating disorders, I will help you in any way that I can. Just contact me.
Well, I guess I'll start when I was in sixth grade. My parents had been divorced for three or four years and I had a step mom and sister who were soon to move in to my dad's apartment. In school, I was in all honors classes and had a fair amount of friends. But honestly, my school is in the ghetto. The kid who sat next to me in English smoked weed and absolutely reeked of it. Being asthmatic, I complained to the nurse who freaked out and almost immediately had him tested for drugs. He of course tested positive and was forced to snitch on his dealer. I had told the nurse confidentially that he smoked, so nobody knew that it was my fault, but when he and his dealer were kicked out of school for two months and punished in some other way, I'm not quite sure of the details, my classmates were pissed. They started saying that they'd kill the snitch and I was so afraid they'd find out. I knew that I had to make everything right but I didn't know how and I panicked. I went home two weeks after he got kicked out and cut the word "sorry" into my wrist with an Xacto knife. God, I remember crying and telling myself I would never hurt myself again.
Things sort of died down when they got back, but I had become addicted to harming myself. When people yelled at me or were disappointed in me, I would use that Xacto knife and just reek havoc on my skin. It wasn't deep at all, barely broke the skin, but it was everywhere. Seventh grade I recovered pretty well for a while and didn't have to worry about hiding scars because there were none, but this year, things have started to get much much worse.
I've begun to question my sexuality and I've come out to several of my friends as lesbian, but possibly nova or poly. I've become more and more addicted to harming myself and I use much sharper and more effective blades, but I'm careful to stay only on my hips chest, shoulders, inner thighs, and bottoms of my feet-a few months ago I was caught with cuts on my stomach and I lied and said I did it subconsciously.
A month ago I reached out to my cousin and told her that I had set a suicide date. She in turn told my dad who is currently trying to get me counseling. He only knows that I'm suicidal, but I'll work up the courage to one day tell him the rest. That's where I am right now, tomorrow I have a screening which will help the doctors refer me to a counsellor. I'll write about it as soon as I can.~Emily.