September 8th 1997
It was the last night I slept in my old shabby cold bed.
It was a lot better then what I am in now but but I will get to that later.
I was abused, my family hated me, I've been suicidal since I was seven, and I was adopted when I was four.
The only days I was ever decently happy was on the weekends.
Every weekend my parents would leave and I could just sit at home alone, and cry.
But sometimes when I was alone it wasn't always a good thing...
My parents knew that, but they just didn't care what I did to myself.
It always took all of my power to not self harm, but it's not like anyone would have cared anyways.
I finally decided it was enough, my damn family wouldn't care if I left so I planed it all out on Friday night.
When they were tipsy I would tell them I needed to buy something and I would take their debit cards and empty out their bank accounts, then I would stash the money and go back home.
Once I get to my room I will empty out my pockets and pack up my clothes, on Saturday morning when my parents aren't home I will run away.
I'm not to sure where I will end up, but it can't be any worst then where I am now.
I have a little brother, and a little sister. my brothers name is David, and my sisters name is Faith. They are both adopted, of course, but they have it much better then me.
it's not so much that I'm jealous, but I mean who wouldn't want to have a proper bedroom, your bed made for you, all your meals cooked and your room cleaned for you.
it's better then sleeping under the stair case, in a ratty old storage room, cleaning your room every day, alone. and if there was one spot of dirt, you would be beaten.
the fact that I'm a 14 year old girl,
who needs to do everything alone,
including cooking my own meals,
buying my own food,
with no money at all,
it sucks.
I starve myself.
I cut myself.
and I tell myself I'm worthless everyday.
I thought that being adopted would be the best thing that ever happened to me, I would be brought into a better home, a family that loved me more then the world itself.
but no.
all my damn "parents" care about is beating and starving their 14 year old daughter.
as much as I've thought about running away, I've never gone though with it.
maybe this time, it's gonna be different.
but, if I leave, what kind of example am I setting for my little brother and sister.
not a very good one I guess...
lately I've been hearing these strange
voices, almost like a sign telling me to leave.
I have a therapist who I trust very little but also very much.
My therapist often asks me how I am, I always say "okay..."
she never believed me.
Earlier today when I went to see her I lied to her, she asked me how my depression was, last time I cut, and how I'm feeling.
"Good, okay, bad," I replied.
I didn't answer her question about cutting or how I was feeling,
Not because it was all bad, which it was...
But I didn't want to embarrass myself by saying I'm 24 hours clean and I wish I was dead,
I think she figured something was going on, but funny enough she didn't say anything.
I came home and the first thing I thought of was suicide.
later on that day I wrote a suicide note, and tied a rope to the ceiling, if my parents saw me hanging there I wonder what they would think, I hope they would know this is all their fault, their daughter is hanging here because of all the hell they put me through!
When I first stepped foot into their home I knew it would be a horrible life!
I knew they would abuse me!
I climbed onto the chair tied the rope around my neck, and just as I was ready to let go,
Faith walked in, dragging her teddy bear behind her,
asking if she and her teddy could play too.
I climbed down form the chair in tears hugging her for what seemed like forever.
