One Person One Experience

One Person One Experience

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Wed, Dec 9, 2015
"Every time I close my eyes, all I see is you. I feel scared and so afraid inside that I cannot breathe no more..." Samantha silently sang as she played a melancholic tune on her acoustic guitar. She was only sixteen years old when she finally realized what was happening to her, depression was eating her alive. A few years ago, her mum fell in love with a co-worker, he appeared like a good man, but as time passed Samantha knew something was strange in him. She never approved their relationship. She was taken as a slave in her own nuclear household, cleaned, cooked, raised her younger brothers Jacob and Isaac, and took care of her studies. She always hid her sadness under a bubbly smile, no one ever knew she was so broken inside. Samantha was raised by her maternal grandparents, Kimberly and John, who called her their little angel, even though her heart was filled with sadness and anger. She didn't have much friends, the reason behind it was her shyness, but ever since her depression started, she became asocial, closed up in her own little world, making it even harder for her to socialize with people; the little friends she made, she never put effort to maintain the friendship, so they always leave. Samantha Joan Bernard is a suicide attempt survivor. Not many people know about this, since she rarely talks, but to the little group of people she has told about, they were shocked. And so her story continues...
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I was kicked around like trash on the streets. I was the book that nobody could understand or read, but without a care, they were quick to rip out the pages. I screamed for attention, but time after time, I was ignored. Nobody noticed me, so I made myself at home in my own shadow. They say there's light at the end of the tunnel -- I searched and searched for it, but it could never be found. Therefore, I lost hope as I hid in the shade and endured what seemed like everlasting pain. The little hope I did have was snatched from my arms. My baby brother was my life, and they took my glimpse of hope away. Home. Is that a word? Maybe for a family of some kind, but for me, I never had a place to call home. I moved from place to place. Unstable foster care, fighting for my life in group homes, barely surviving in detention centers, and running away from being mistreated as I made many benches my temporary home. The only thing that I was familiar with was a black plastic bag containing my dirty rags. I am too young to know what it feels like to survive. These are the cards life has dealt me and I am not meant to win; however, I easily lose without trying. It is hard for me to find peace. I am paying for my mother's reckless actions. I am trapped in a world where the sun has died because I am unable to feel love. I am unable to dream. Sorrow is my aura, and the sadness hugs me. My eyes are closed shut by the barbed wire fence from my eyelashes as they prohibit tears from falling. I am damaged. When will the morning come? Did the sun put up a fight last night, like I do every single day? If I can survive the day, I know the sun isn't dead. One day, I will awake to a glorious sunrise. Until then, I hope my brother keeps blowing his pinwheel, and I will keep making wishes with every dandelion I come across. For now, all I know is that everything was taken from me, and the only thing I own is my name.

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