i remember the first time
someone had called me
ugly, i cried in the elementary
bathroom stall and took my
emotions home with me.

i remember the first time
my body was criticized and
i was told that it was not good
enough by the boy who sat
next to me in music class.
he’d told my sixth grade self
that my arms were too hairy
to be girl arms, so i went home
and took a razor to my my skin
and ripped out pieces of me
to please someone whose name
i can no longer recall.

i remember the first time i had
felt worthless, i took a blade to
my wrist and watched in awe as
the specks of blood soaked
into my grade 7 floral sheets.

i remember the first time i felt
like an outcast, the feeling stuck
inside my gut throughout my
middle school and high school
years. i would hear my friends
talk about how mental illness
was not real, and how people
would only act sad and harm
themselves for attention.
i kept my long sleeves through
the heat.

i remember writing my first
suicide note, alone in my bedroom
awake in the wee hours of the
morning, my tears smearing
the goodbyes i had written
in purple marker. i went into
school the next day as if
nothing had happened.

i remember the first time i
had sex, with a boy who
would not accept “no” for
an answer, and then bragged
to his friends about me the
morning after

i remember the first time i had
told my parents that i needed
help, they did not listen to me
until i told a general physician
that i wanted to die and i had
everything planned out. this
scared them and they sent me
to a religious-based therapist
who told me that i was given
this gift from god.

i remember the first time i
met my true best friend,
someone who was farther
away than i’d liked, but
someone who was always
there to listen to me and
really did care about me.
forget the girl i’d grown up
with who never paid any
attention to what i was
going through because
it did not concern her.

i remember the first time
i was clean, the skinny lines
were fading from my wrist,
and i promised myself that
i would never do it again.

i remember the first time
i broke, completely shattered
and helpless. not because of
what was going on in my head
anymore, but because of what
was going on in my life.
my brother had been thrown out
on the streets in the january cold
and i heated myself up with a
nice burn on my wrist.

i remember the first time i had
been glad i was alive, high with
my best friend and we’d cried
over how we made it here.

i remember the first time i
fell in love with someone
who was not scared off by
who i truly am. someone who
wraps me up and holds me when
i cry, someone who squeezes my
hand a little tighter when i get
shaky inside. someone who does
not ask questions, but accepts,
because he loves me, and i love him.

(via clitterly)