Normal day at school. Sat by myself on the bus, cried at lunch at a table by myself, and got bullied walking home.
When I get home, I cut my wrist. I cut my thigh . It gets me one step closer to saying goodbye. I hate myself.
Around 7 pm, my fiend calls. It is a bloody mess, so it takes me a few to get to the phone.
"Hello?" I ask. They can hear me crying.
"WTF" they say.
"What are you doing?!" I was confused what they were talking about. I have kept my secret of cutting forever now, and I thouht no one knew. I mean, no one should know, right?
So instead of telling them the truth, I just say, "What are you talking about?"
"Ummm, your Instagram page.." , they say. What the hell where they talking about?! I told them I had to go "eat dinner". Hah, in a million years would I eat. I have to starve myself, duhh. So i just got on my Instagram page to find, over 200 notifications, of hate. What the FUCK I thought. I then went on my home page. Someone had hacked me. Hacked. Why did that word sound so.. i dont know. I thought of it again; hacked. I dont know. I just ignored it.
Right, my page. Someone hacked me, and posted pictures of my scars. I shut down, then and there. How could they find pictures of my scares? I thouht over and over. Only on.. my phone. My phone. Someone HAD gotten on my phone, but who? I didnt know WHAT to do. I couldnt tell my parents; A) i wasnt supposed to have Instagram and B)umm. my scars...
