Matters began to deteriorate rapidly when I moved from El Paso, Texas, to Kansas City, Missouri. Every single day, I was mocked and humiliated for what I was and am: different.  No one ever seemed to care; no one ever stopped to help me off the ground when I fell. No one came to my aid. I was left, shatterered adn fragile, to fend for myself.

I began to cut at the end of second grade. I lived through the days, struggling, my only incentive the blood that was to be shed that night. The only thing I could seem to focus my time, energy and thoughts to was self-mutilation. Was there something wrong with me?

Now, I realize that some people suffer through longer, tougher days than mine. In no way, shape or form am I denying that. Maybe it's because I't too weak to end it, or that I'm strong enough to hold on. I'll never  be entirely sure. Thus, I stand, exposing my deep, dark side to the entirety of "To Whom It May Concern,".

In third grade, things rose to a bearable level when I moved from Kansas City to St. Louis Missouri.The new people I had befriended her were blind; they only saw the mask I put upon my melencholy face every morning. I was completely and utterly determined to conceal my deep, dark side from the new enviroment I seemed to thrive in. So I hid everything and anything that had any chance at depleating my act of normalcy. But did I really want to be "normal"?

Third grade eventually crept by at a less than legato pace, until the summer arrived, bringing with it a state of bliss that soon encased me in warm, short days.

That summer, my family began to witness the reminisce of what used to be long, deep gashes in my flesh. No interorrogations were ingaged in however. Had they not suspected their little girl capable of such mutiny? Apparently, not until the fourth grade did they even begin to comprehend what was unleashing it's writhing form within my soul; a monster.  

More to come..creating another page so it's not a huge page to read. It will be titled "Am I Still Me? 2"