If you looked at me from a strangers point of view what would you see? A girl who likes to read and has more books than friends. A girl who shovels the snow off driveways and sidewalks for her neighbours. A girl who gets perfect grades. A girl who’s always smiling and laughing and doing funky things with her makeup. In short: a normal 17-year-old girl who seems to have it all together; who seems to have a perfect life. Naturally, of course, you’d be wrong.

If you hear the stories about me, you’d maybe take a closer look. You may listen to the story of how I survived physical and emotional abuse from a women who was supposed to love me. You may hear the story of how people used to push me into lockers and call me "ugly" or "fat". Of how sticks and stones didn’t break my bones, but how the words made me starve myself until you could see all of them. You may hear the story about how I let a boy sweet-talk his way into my heart and manipulate his way into my pants even when I didn’t want him there. But according to him, I was his girlfriend and I should want it. You made be made aware of the story of how one day I decided it wasn’t worth it anymore, and attempted to take my own life.

Now, if you looked more closely what would you see? A girl with old scars all over her body from being abused by her own mother. A girl who shy’s away from any sort of conflict and flinches when a voice gets raised, a reaction left by years of bullying at the hands of her peers. A girl who fears sex and anyone touching her, the only evidence left of the rape she suffered over and over again. A girl with scars carved into her wrists which were put there by her own hand, her own blade. A girl who takes a plethora of pills which keep her "normal". And, most importantly, a girl who refuses to allow any of that to define her.

I am a Buddhist. I believe in that everything happens for a reason. So allow me to tell you the story of the girl who is taking back her life. Sure it’s hard somedays. I’m not going to lie somedays it seems like dying was the smart move. But you know what? I am still alive and I am happy about that. I have a network of people who love and support me. I know very well that they want me to get better and be the best me I can. I’ve let down the walls around my heart and have been rewarded with a boy who never misses a chance to tell me he loves me. Who truly loves me for who I am not for using me to get in my pants. I’m graduating high school which is more than I ever thought I’d do. And I am grateful for what I’ve been through because I’ve become a stronger person for it. So what if I’m still fucked up? We all are. 

To anyone who doesn’t want to be here: yeah, it’s cliche, but I want you to know it does get better. Never be ashamed of your story for it makes you who you are. Shout it from the roof tops! Be proud of it. Own it! Never ever let it own you. Smile. Be brave. You can do this. :)

By trisaratop.

Next Chapter: 12 - dementia12 - How I Came To Believe