I was born in Spring, Texas to my parents. I had no brothers or sisters. We moved to Conroe in 1994. I hated it. I was shy and no one would talk to me. I stayed in the corner in the nice darkness. When I started elementary though...it got bad.

I started Kindergarten in 1996. I still had no friends. At recess I would walk around singing songs...usually of pain or death. I watched Homeward Bound that year and would run around saying lines from the movie and acting like an animal. In class kids stared at me, teachers didn't like me. First and second grades were pretty good years, my best so far. I had popular friends I was very smart. Then third grade happened. My father who had been a rebel Christian from his late 20's to late 30's started going to church again. He became an extremist. I wasn't allowed to dance, read, or watch certain things because they were 'works of the devil.' Fourth grade was difficult. I was made fun of for no reason. My so-called-friends started ditching me for no reason. They started lying to me and avoiding me. One girl, Jenna, bullied me from 1st-4th grade.

Fifth grade was hell for me. I had one friend, Chelsea and she moved in the middle of the year. After she moved no one talked to me. I was making F's in all my classes. I cut school almost half the year. My father started truck-driving and when he was home my parents would fight all night. I was diagnosed with major depression. I started to self-injure. I found joy in this. At first I just hit myself until black and purple bruises showed. I bit my self and pulled my hair out. Yet, no one noticed. Sixth grade got worse.

In sixth grade I had no friends. My parents fighting heavily again. My hitting, biting, and hair-pulling turned into cutting. I would cut shallow into my skin. Blood would pour and I felt happiness. I did all this on my legs so no one would know. I cut deeper on my forearms later in the year. My secret. I was still failing that year, and I cut more school. I started using drugs that year...but I wasn't addicted. I went to a psychiatrist every Thursday. But it made it worse. I felt so alone.

Seventh grade, my current grade. I have friends. All who self-injure. I'm made fun of a lot because I'm 'gothic' and I have a series of cuts and scratches on my arm. My parents ignore me. I am currently trying to stop SI. I have good grades this year and my parents fight less but ignore me. But I still find the joy of bleeding. Bleeding is an art.