Every Ending Is A New Beginning

Trust

Trust is a funny thing. It's easy to lose, hard to gain. Learning to trust is one of life's most difficult tasks. For a girl who's lost all sense of trust, it's even harder.

It started when I was young. Maybe it was the time my best friend and I got in a fight in kindergarten. Maybe it was when that kid in first grade cheated off my spelling test. I'm not really sure myself. I don't know why I cant trust people. But maybe its better not to trust.

All I know is, in the past years, I've suffered more emotional stress than half of America all put together. Let me start at the beginning.

I grew up in America, a nice house, and had an even better famliy. I was sent to a private school for my entire life. My mom was an accountant. My dad, a business owner. I had one little sister, nine years younger than me. I was involved in lots of sports. I had plenty of friends. I was a dancer. Things started to fall apart in fifth grade, though. A lot of my friends left my school, so I was left with only four or five close friends. Popularity became suddenly important, and the guy that I had been "dating" had decided to call it quits when we transferred schools that year. I was swinging one day at recess, when I guess the swing set decided it was tired of me. The chain snapped, and I fell 7 or 8 feet down to the ground. When I tried to get up, a burning pain emitted from my knee. I had sprained it. The doctors were almost sure I had torn a muscle, until I had a catscan. I didn't tear anything, but it was a terrible sprain. After a month of physical therapy, I went back to dance. I quit dance shortly after, because my knee couldn't take it. I quit all my sports. It seemed like the end of the world. I couldn't run on my knee anymore. I couldn't do a lot of things. So I fell towards the bottom of the social ladder. My friends were angels for staying with me, though. In sixth grade, my previous "boyfriend" came back to my school for after school care, a place where children went when their parents couldn't pick them up right after school. He and his friends ridiculed me. I felt like crap during most of that year. Seventh grade, a new girl came to my school, and she made it her personal mission to make sure that my friends and I were in a living hell. I stood up for us. I took most of the hard hits from her. She left after that year. The summer of seventh grade wasn't any better. I was a camp counselor, and I became reasonably close with one of the other counselors. We got in a fight one day, and that night I recieved a text from him saying that he was going to commit suicide. Of course, I fell apart. It had been my fault. I was the reason he was committing suicide. But he didn't, thank God. A few weeks later, we got in another fight, and what do you know, he suddenly became suicidal again. This happened a few more times before I realized that he was using me. He wanted pity. He wanted attention. He never actually committed suicide. That was a bit of trust down the drain. I confronted him about it, and he called me things that I won't repeat. There goes most of my self-esteem. In that same summer, two of my cousins confided in me that they were suicidal. What was I to do with that information? That's a lot for a 13 year old to handle. Eigth grade, I returned back to school. People began to remember that I had broken a swing three years back, and some of them started calling me fat. The worst part was that some of my friends were there when other people called me fat. They didn't say anything. They didn't look at me. They just sat there and remained silent. I lost all but two close friends that year. Since quitting dance, I had taken up music. It was a way to express myself, a way to let go of everything. But it wasn't enough. I needed something else. Something else to help me relieve my pain. And so I turned to cutting. I was 14 when I cut for the first time. To this day I wish I hadn't. At that point in my life, my self-esteem was dwindled down to less than nothing. I didn't trust anyone, not even my closest friends or family.

Now I'm 17. I still cut. And still, no one knows. I still only have the friends that stuck with me through eighth grade. I'm 17, and I have two close friends. You don't have to know my story for that to say something to you.