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.