I was an accident. My mother kept telling my dad she was on birth control, but she has a lying streak. When my dad found out, he wanted an abortion. He hated the idea of fathering an infant girl. And most of all, he hated my mother.

Not because she was pregnant. No, he hated her for a different reason. They would fight a lot and only stayed together so they could parent me easily. But my father warned up to the idea and was overjoyed when I was born. But my mother didn't hold me. About a year after, they had my baby brother. It turns out they had only wanted him so I wouldn't be lonely, but I was always treated as the second priority. I was only a year older, so why was I suddenly thrust out of babyhood and into crying on the floor while my mother held my brother? I didn't think it was fair.

Of course it wasn't fair. While my brother would be sucking on a warm bottle my mother would prepare milk for all the other babies she was watching. When I was two years old I was already a babysitter. I loved helping mama though because, well, we all want approval from our parents, don't we?

One day though, my mother disappeared. For four months she had only seen us twice. That was in the beginning. When my father submitted a file to the court saying he would no longer pay child support to my mother for her absence, she didn't return. And she never returned. My dad tells me he wishes she had been there for me, but I can tell when he lies. He stiffens up a bit and looks to the left, never looking me in the eyes. It's an obvious giveaway. I don't mind her missing, no matter what he says. I have great grades, a few good friends, and some great hobbies! As well as a close bond with my brother. I wish it was as perfect as it seemed.

When I was ten my father held his hand over my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe.

When I was eleven I ran away from home. I was caught by an officer.

When I was twelve my father caught me cutting.

And when I was thirteen he caught me again. Four times. Out of the many times I had cut, that was only a small fraction. My brain had stopped registering the pain and I did it only to see the blood trickling down my arms and legs.

I don't remember when this started, my life seems like a blur. I don't really remember who I am anymore. I started so young, the picture of who I used to be hadn't even fully developed before I destroyed it.


**Reminder**
--This is fiction!! I do not use my real-life traumain my works except for the concepts. I have gone through cutting and depression so these descriptions are as real I they can get, but otherwise this is fiction--

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