The Real Story
- Reads 24
- Votes 4
- Parts 4
When I was only 7 years old, i committed suicide. I was being abused by my aunt and uncle on our farm in Kentucky. I was too young to understand anything else other than the fact that I wanted to die. Now I love in a beautiful place where pain isn't a word, where souls are never broken, and hope never lost. I live in heaven, but this isn't the story where I'm going to describe what it looks like here. I'm going to start way back at the beginning. This is my story, this is the real story.
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My Diary
This is my real life and real situations. I hope you all enjoy.
The Rich Emo: Ouran High School Host Club
Loneliness. Depression. Broken. Scared. Devastated. Hopeless. Mournful. Disheartening. Bleak. Joyless. Somber. I have no one. Depression and Loneliness are the only things I feel. My family tries to make me happy, but I just put on a fake smile and cry about it in my room. They act like everything is alright, but everything is not. They KNOW I was devastated about Mom's murder. They KNOW I was heartbroken about Dad's sickness that eventually killed him. That's all I've thought about. Devastation and heartbroken. Just because of those two things. Never in my life I have been this devastating. Dayton, Hayden, Angel, or Monica know how to make me truly happy. Not even my own siblings know how to make me show a real smile. Suicide is all I can think about day to day and I've almost died because of that. DEPRESSION IS A REAL THING. NO ONE KNOWS HOW I FEEL EVERYDAY. NO ONE CAN JUDGE OTHERS ABOUT DEPRESSION OR EVEN MAKE JOKES ABOUT IT BECAUSE ITS A REAL THING. DEPRESSION HAS KILLED PEOPLE. EVERYONE IN MY LIFE JUDGES ME JUST BECAUSE I DON'T SMILE, LAUGH, HUG, OR DO ANYTHING NORMAL PEOPLE DO. I CUT MYSELF, I CRY, I YELL, I VENT, I PUSH PEOPLE OUT OF MY LIFE. Those are the things people are worried about me. "Go kill yourself and join your parents in hell." They say and I just shrug it off and find a private place to hide and cry it out. "I CAN'T DEAL WITH LIFE ANYMORE!!!!" I say and I use my sharp nails and cut myself then cry some more. A gun is buried within my arm for defense from my dad, but I use it in case I am tired of society. Then that's when I met the Host Club. They saw my sadness and made me a part of it to repay my debt for accidentally breaking a vase. I am now a Host for men to flatter them, but how can normal guys want me to be a Host when I wear lip earrings, eyeliner, chains, and have a gun in my arm? I'm the definition of Hell. Then he made me smile again, something that I thought I would never get back. Happiness.Complete
The Way We Used to Be
I lost my mom at 11, that's when it started. My dad became a drunk and I was left to take care of my 3-month-old baby sister. Now I'm 23, graduated a few years ago and my sister, now 12, can understand what happened. She never fully understood when I needed someone to and I didn't have many friends that stuck around afterwards. Until I met him. We were friends first, then the feelings got deeper. He asked me to be his girlfriend. He was my first kiss, first date, first real friend, first love, everything. I loved him and I do. I've said it. Now all we do is fight. I don't know why we can't figure things out, but I can't take this fighting. I just want things to go back to the way things were. The way we used to be... Happy, carefree teens that pretended we had the whole world figured out.Complete
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You think just because my father is a pastor I should be perfect or my life should be great. No it's the total opposite. I was abused and raped by my father. My father is an alcoholic. Every night he goes to the bar and drink. My life is not perfect. I have become a prostitute but everyone only knows me by the pastor's daughter. I was judged, beaten, hated by so many felt unloved until I met a man named john. I didn't want to trust him since he's also a pastor .I tried to push him away but he refuse to leave me. My name is Nelly and this is my story.Complete
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Trust me. I'll catch you.
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The Forgotten Child
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Poems
The first poem i wrote for creative writing. The rest is my life and what I feel or what I think, so please don't judge. Thanks!Complete
In the Valley
I knew somewhere out there, my parents were worried sick. Somewhere out there, my friends wondered about me. I knew that a world like this wouldn't last forever, and I had to make it last. But I could always retell it.Complete
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