This Is Me, And This Is My Story.

You see that picture over there on the side? You don't know how much that picture means to me.

That picture kept me from killing myself.

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My mom had gastric bypass about eight years ago. She always told me that she had it done so that she could be there to watch me grow up. But there were problems.

She kept getting these adhesions, which are bad things. They kept making her sick, but there wasn't a specific pattern to when she would get sick. You just had to notice the symptoms.

Well, about seven years passed, and things were alright. She still got sick occasionally, but she hadn't been sick like that for two years.

And then it started again.

She got sick, out of the blue. It was a random day, just any other day on the calendar.

April 25th, 2011.

She was so sick and in so much pain that she demanded that we take her to the hospital. They did what they could for her, and within a week she was back at home.

And then the next month, the same thing happened. Again, they did what they could and she was back home in no time at all.

After about a month, it was finally July, and only three days before my birthday. And she got sick again. But this time she new that it was my birthday soon, so she didn't go to the hospital. The next day she was still a little sick, but not like she was.

And then it was my birthday. We celebrated, spending time together as a happy family.

A week after my birthday, she got sick again.

At 1 o'clock in the morning, we were up and driving my mother to the hospital, pajamas and all.

She was there for two days, had a surgery and was there for three more before she came back home. We were all so excited that she was home and that the surgery went as planned and that hopefully everything would be better.

My mom's birthday is March 8th. At 3:30 in the morning on that day, I was so rudely awoken, only to find out that it really wasn't over. Seven hours later, she was in the middle of a three-hour emergency surgery.

She got out of the surgery, on the road to recovery and then about a week later, she had another surgery. Her whole body had to be changed. As she got better, she was able to come home, but I was so depressed from the emotional rollercoaster that I sat down at the kitchen table, got out a pad of paper and a pencil and just started writing.

I wrote a song about my feelings toward the situation, and then I got the box cutter from the pantry and 'took a shower'. I was really cutting. I took out all of my emotions on my wrists, and then calmed down to see what I had done to myself.

I'm not even going to try to explain what my wrists looked like, but I know for sure that they were slightly mangled.

The next day the cuts were already starting to heal, and a girl I know that's very close to me started to get me addicted to One Direction. I listened to all their songs, watched all of their Youtube videos, and even made covers of their songs.

I was planning on killing myself, but that picture over there on the sidebar kind of threw me off track.

Ever since I was little, I've always had little fantasies about meeting my favorite celebrities. I know everybody else has done that at least once in their life, but I used to do it all the time and I still do.

I guess since I'd become such a fan girl, I had come to love these five boys so much that I started fantasizing about meeting them. I would lay in bed at night, hoping and praying that the next day, they would somehow magically appear on my doorstep. Oh, how wrong I was.

Every day when I came home from school I got my hopes up. That maybe they were sitting on the couch waiting for me, or hiding in my room. But of course, as all of you know, it never came true.

And that's when I started thinking about actually killing myself.

On the way to my bus stop in the morning, I almost walked out in front of an on-coming car. Outside my house.

Crossing the road from the beach, I almost walked in front of a car. Right in front of my parents.

I wrote my friends and family suicide notes that are still hidden in my room to this day.

I was so depressed, I didn't know who I was.

But one day, I found that picture of One Direction on Facebook. Knowing I just had to save it onto my iPod, I did.

I sat in my room for about an hour, thinking about all the different ways to kill myself. But then I turned on my iPod and glanced at the picture, and that had me on the floor in a pile, sobbing.

I knew from the first time I heard their voices that I wanted to meet them, but I was so keen on dying that I had mostly forgotten about it. But when I saw all of their smiling faces looking up at me from the screen, I knew that if my dream was to ever come true I had to stop what I was doing to myself and get a grip.

So I did. I really tried. And it's still working. Sort of.

Occasionally I break down and cut, but as of lately I've been a good girl and I haven't harmed myself in any way, shape or form.

I give myself a good, solid pat on the back.

And I know there are some of you who are reading this whole thing thinking, "What the fuck? Her mom was sick and she almost died over THAT? How pathetic! And a stupid boy band saved her life? Who the fuck does this girl think she is?"

Well, first of all, my mom being sick is about all I've ever known, and I don't think I'll ever be able to get used to it if it happens again, let alone figure out how to handle it. Second, yes, a boy band saved my life. But I can't help dreaming. Besides, I'm sure each one of you holding a negative opinion against me have something that you've always wanted to do, see or go to. We all do, so don't judge me just because you might be tougher than me.

Thank you to all of the people that have diligently sat through and read this whole thing. It means alot to me that you actually care about someone you don't even know.

I'm glad that someone actually tried to understand.

Thank you.