Story of My Life

By my first birthday I knew I would be a child with little joy.

By the second, my great grandmother fell ill with cancer and my father was sleeping with another woman.

For my third birthday we shed tears on her grave and I, the still innocent child, could not understand why they were locking her in a box as my father locked up his own box and disappeared from my life.

By my fourth, my life was a living hell of endless abuse with my new dad.

Then at the mere age of five I toyed with the idea of death. For my tormented and for myself.

Now at the age of fifteen I glare down at a knife as I contemplate the idea of tearing at my own skin.