The Lies That Kept Me Silent

Chapter One

I hit my breaking point a long time ago. November of eighth grade to be precise. It was the day the verbal abuse became clear to me. That November was my first suicide attempt. My mother she had blown up on me again. She blew up over me having a two failing grades. Which is a seemingly valid reason, but the way she blew up, pushed me to my breaking point. At the time I was hiding severe depression and social anxiety, along with two extremely severe cases of P.T.S.D. That night she kept calling me stupid, comparing me to all the other teens which she has the impression they all have straight A's. That "lecture" went on for three hours, lasting late into the night, leaving me no time to do my homework. And that night when I was trying to sleep as my mother's words echoed in my head. I realized how wrong it was. She had just watched me cry and tremble for three hours showing no remorse nor apologizing. She didn't even flinch while watching her child cry over something she said. It hit me like a train. I was never the same. A few months later I became addicted to self harm, cutting specifically. Every time she yelled at me, that night after my shower I would cut. First using a set of haircutting scissors, then getting a blade out of a pencil sharpener, and lastly a knife I stole from my cooking class at school. The next two times I got pushed to my breaking point was in my freshman year of highschool, again my mother blew up on me. The first time on the fact the I had come out to a councilor at school as bisexual, the next after I came out to her as genderfluid. Neither of which she accepted. After she found out I was bisexual she threatened to homeschool me and took me out of the volunteer work at church saying I would "force my twisted ideals on the children".

Then after I came out as genderfluid she went through my closet throwing any even slightly masculine clothing away even though the night I came out she told me she accepted me. After each of those times I broke the cuts on my hips and stomach got deeper. The night she threw away every piece of masculine clothing away, I vowed not to speak again until I got over everything. I lost many friends once I stopped speaking. I allowed myself one loophole, a beat up black white board that I would write on to communicate. My mother's treatment of me progressively got worse throughout highschool, causing my self harm addiction to escalate at a deadly rate. To the point where I would give myself stitches. I truly believed I wouldn't make it to my escape. Yet here I am preparing to leave the night after my graduation.