I have always felt that I never truly had a child. I felt I had to grow up fast due to circumstances and/or to foolish decisions. I hated my family as much as I loved them, for they are all that I had. During my sophomore year of high school I was careless of my fresh and old wounds running down my arms. People considered me a danger to myself. Yes, I did the whole Journaling thing, just as I am now.Back then it was about depressing poems, filled with metaphors hinting at the addiction that tears into me; literaLly. From school I was taken to the nearest hospital by an on-campus police officer and had been restrained to the bed. I had to use the restroom, but they wouldn’t let me. Instead they put a bucket underneath me and stuck a catheter inside of me. I was still pleading with them because I had to switch out my tampon. I was so mad, that I started banging my head against the ramp, until they injected a sedative. I did not awake until I was at the gate to the psychiatric hospital. Not to be cliché, but It was in the middle of the night and it looked scary as hell. I might’ve slept through the entire ride, but I felt groggy and bloody literally. I bled through my tampon and I was in soaked through my hospital gown and still dampened sheets. This nice female employee allowed me to change, shower, and deal with my lady business. Of course, not until after intake. There were real people there who had real problems and weren’t the least bit crazy, unless my opinion doesn’t amount to much in this situation. I didn’t take my treatment, but found ways to have fun. I was kissing and groping both male and female teenagers there. This place just confirmed that I wasn’t crazy, but just wallowing in my depression. I had major insecurities, father, authority, defiant, cutting, anorexia, bulimic, ptsd, sexual abuse, relationship, boundary and many other issues. I wanted people to fix me, but at the same time tell me how psychotic I was. I am contradicting myself in wanting control, but allowing others to assume that role. Just like people get used to jail and juvenile facilities, the hospital was my fallback. I didn’t want to be a part of society. School was a struggle enough. I fell so far behind and barely scraped by due to my teachers’ pity who knew the real reason why I wasn’t at school. My friends thought I was dead, but I never contacted them. This is how I slowly lost my friends, who I’ve known a long time. I make acquaintances, maybe even friends, but now I’m used to letting them go. I am alone because I don’t want anybody to have any concerns over me and/or whatever image they had of me. I didn’t want to ruin it because it can never be as it once was.