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For The First Time

Date Written: November 1, 2017
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I was 6 when I first recognized what anxiety felt like.

I was 8 the first time I looked at myself and noticed my imperfections.

When I was 10, I began to criticize my actions and appearance.

I was 11 the first time I cried as I stared into the mirror,

11 when my parents separated;

When I decided I needed to be perfect.

 

I was 12 the first time I made myself throw up

and made my legs bleed with a pencil;

12 when my sister tried to kill herself, twice. I blamed myself.

13, a knife;

14, a razor. Still no one had a clue.

 

14 when I found out my little breakdowns were called panic attacks;

That I had an anxiety disorder.

14 when I first drank alcohol.

I was 14 the first time I melted plastic into my own skin.

I was 15 when one of my best friends died in a tragic car accident.

I was 15 when I first took pills; did drugs.

 

I was 15 when I overdosed and was diagnosed with depression.

15, in a psych ward, wondering why I was the way I was.

When I was 15, I was drugged and violated by two guys at a party.

They told me it was my fault because I drank.

I didn’t tell anyone how much it affected me.

 

I lost my virginity to a boy who said he loved me, when I was 15.

A boy who cheated on and dumped me the next week.

When I was 15, I was first called a slut.

At 15, I was put on antidepressants.

I still tried to kill myself again.

It didn’t work.

 

When I turned 16 I decided to get better.

A few months later I was raped.

When I was 16, my best friend sided with my rapist.

Told everyone I was lying.

The bruises on my hips were only hickies and my wrist was just fractured because I fell.

 

16, getting a rape kit.

16, on a hospital bed wondering why I was the way I was.

Wondering how I could have ‘wanted it’.

“Willing little slut”

“Lying little slut”

I was 16 when I couldn’t find it in myself to testify.

16 when my rapist walked, despite all of the evidence.

 

I was 17 when I first truly felt regret.

I was 17 when I decided to move forward.

When I was 17 I met a boy.

17 when he held me through the nights;

Told me I would be alright.

And I fell in love for the first time.

17, laying with a boy thinking maybe life could have a purpose.

I am almost 18 and I am trying so very hard to be happy again.

Almost 18 and I have finally found some hope.

 

One comment on “For The First Time”

  1. River.Ophelia     November 1, 2017

    explicit honesty & rawness
    I loved it
    …better to find your life’s purpose in yourself instead of another

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