I am fifteen years old; end of my sophomore year, my name is Jennifer. I know I may seem selfish to many people for cutting, scratching, picking, hitting, biting, the occasional burn; I guess I am in some ways but it is all I know in the way of coping. My whole life is a joke, some cruel sick joke played by whatever deity decides they need entertainment at the moment. When I was younger, I lived with my mother and father and older sister, my mother was zoned out on Prozac most of the time my sister spent her time looking after me, and my father was an abusive asshole who only cared about himself and his drugs.

My first memories were of him hitting me with the metal end of the belt for breaking a cat toy. I used to cry a lot, I would sit in a corner of my room scratching my skin, pulling out my hair banging my head on the wall and I would cry wishing someone would come save my mommy and sister. I was about three or four.

when I was six we moved away from that house and we moved into a house we eventually couldn't afford.my dad kept hurting my mom and would threaten that if she tried to leave he would kill himself, he then held a handgun to his temple. at this time I was going to a new school, and well I very much the minority there one of three white kids in my grade, not trying to be racist but its true, and I used to get regularly beaten up because of that mixed with good grades. I soon learned being smart was not a good choice. I forgot to mention that my moms sister is married to my dads father making me in turn my own cousin and my dads cousin and my mom my aunt and my grand aunt and my aunt is my grandma and my grandpa is my uncle... they married when I was six.

my mom finally left him when I was eight and we moved into an apartment with help from my, then, would be step dad- he and my mom had been high school sweethearts and then they broke up because he got someone pregnant, they found each other again 20 years later.

My mom got pregnant a couple of months later and we ended up moving in with my step dad. Now you would think everything would be fine from then on right. wrong, a month or so later my dad visited me at school, now you would think I hate him but I felt sorry for him and he was my dad sp I still loved him, but his talk about 'it wasn't your fault don't blame yourself' pissed me off. 'Of course it wasn't my fault ass hole it was yours!' I wanted to scream.

I feel bad thinking this now, because a few months later not a month after my little sister was born, he did what he always threatened except this time he shot himself through the mouth. My life now isn't as bad as all that I guess, my family teases me endlessly, and its hard seeing how loved my little sister is, she's 5 now.I have a bunch of good friends now though and all but, I still feel like shit. In English, we have discussions on why a character wanted to commit suicide and I have to force my mask up and not scream at them just to leave it alone and accept that their life was shit.

I have trouble with my mother who is no longer on antidepressants, she seems to think I should be happy about everything and accept it all in stride; she got to go to a psychiatrist not me. She does not accept that I am not a druggy or that I do not have sex (though most people at school think I am a slut for some reason) she thinks I am a deviant child and then my sisters can do no wrong. I am getting sick of it and I have thoughts about suicide more than once, a day, I do not do it though if only to make me different from my father.

I guess this whole story is a way of excusing that I cut myself, and I guess I am being selfish and all but hell I have not done it in a month I am proud of that. I know this whole story is a jumble of confused sentences and paragraphs nothing really working together and everything getting confused, but that is what my life is and I am sorry if I wasted your time.