When I was a child my father wasn't the greatest parent, and my mother was never around. My mother told me that the day I was born my father was drunk with his friends, and only came to the hospital because the person that was going to drive them home drove him there.

When I grew up my mom had twins then a girl. I was always nice to them, according to my mother, and I was always there to help her. Then my mom had to work when they were old enough to be left home. My father never got a job, and left the entire weight on my mothers shoulders. Later in life he would start to punch me, kick me, abuse me saying it was my fault he never had a life.

My mom told me stories where she'd come home and find me and my fellow siblings locked in a bedroom with the window open, my father nowhere to be seen. I only recently found out he was found getting drunk.

Once I was around the age of five, I started taking responsibility from my siblings actions, only to result in more abuse that my mother and siblings weren't aware of. (My mother always suspected it to be that I was a child and I got hurt a lot.) One day my father left me in a house with my siblings. Of course being the idiot child I was I managed to spill some kind of liquid all over the floor. I fell on my face and my bottom row of teeth went through my tongue and lip, and I had to wait for my mothers return.

My siblings on the other hand, where never abused, because they weren't the oldest they didn't 'start' that mess. So in secret my father would abuse me, and I would have to suck it up. Around the age if eleven I was introduces to cutting and I found it a quick relief of getting the pain away, which may seem stupid.

Everyday at school people called me fat, and stupid for always wearing a baggy sweater and jeans, even in gym. I was hiding the scars and brusies. Kids would shove me around sometimes, but that really wasn't all that happened. My first friend was actually in Kindergarten, but we separated in middle school, and I grew more depressed. I found it harder and harder to face the days but somehow managed to go to school everyday, and smile for all my friends.

My fathers abuse never stopped, I would be home first, while my siblings were at school and my mother would work, and first thing I would see was my annoyed fathe . I've never invited anyone to my house in fear that he would show his dark side. I found my escape in books, but sometimes even they weren't enough.

Later in life I lost my home. My mom lost her job, and that resulted in that. My father never went to work, in fact it spent more money for my siblings while we were broke. We lived with my grandma, away from my farther for a month, I can never stop thanking her. Then we went to the Salvation Army. Surprisingly I was bullied there even, people would make fun of my appearence and question my 'scars'.

On thanksgiving my father called the cops, and demanded my mother give my brothers and sister to him. Once the cops were involved, my mother had no choice but to let him have the children. He was trying to kidnap them and take them to Chicago without my mothers permission, but he couldn't get past the front desk without my mothers permission since they were signed under her name, and not his.

After a while, my mother found out about his doings, and well kicked him out of her life and mine. Its been four years since I last spoke to him, but I wouldn't say my life is perfect, but I will say it's better.

That's not the end, when I thought I was living happily, one of my "Friends" texted me and told me I was worthless. The whole reason was because I posted drawings on Facebook. She claimed her father called her worthless, and so she wanted me to feel the pain, so she kept calling me names. Then she stole my stuff, and never returned them, and to this day she calls me a "attention whore" she was the only person I told about being homeless.

I'm in high school now, and I know how to handle stuff a little better. I'm back with my best friend, and I can trust one person in my life. My mother found out about my depression, and I know my story hasn't ended, she tells me I'm not going to kill myself, and that I'm lying and being an attention whore. All I know is its official my one year of being cut free, and I wanted to tell my story. It's kind of a weird story, but it happened, and all of its true. I understand if no one believes me, but I wanted to get it all off my chest.

I'm CountryXReader, and my story is real I promise. If you asked me how the inside of the Salvation Army looked like, I could tell you. If you wanted a picture of the bump that rests on my face since five, I could show you. My scar on my wrist remains, I'd show you in person (its a pale white scare against non-tan skin it doesn't show well in colors.)

I'm not doing this for a book idea, nor am I doing this to show attention to myself, I needed to get this off my chest. >..