You think that things are hard, but they’ll get worse in new ways. Yes, you’ll no longer be abused in the various forms you are, but you will have to battle yourself and it’s so much harder. When your mom or her boyfriend or someone else hits you, you can just say “it’ll be over soon. I won’t feel this soon.” But when it’s yourself you never know when it will be over or if it will ever be over. Will you ever stop wanting to hurt yourself? Will you ever stop being suicidal? You’ll wonder if you’re bipolar like your mom and all you’ll want to do is drink, despite having classes and horrible hangovers (so far, you haven’t been introduced to actual alcoholism, but have you met your parents? There’s a good chance…) When you were in ninth grade you said you’d never do any drugs but four years later you boast that you’d totally try cocaine if given the chance. You’ll reflect on your life and wonder how you didn’t swallow that bottle of pills back in 11th grade or how you never managed to slit your wrists when you self harmed all those times. You’ll think about how you wore wrist bands and long sleeves every day and how you know that three of your teachers were aware, but thank god they didn’t tell your parents. You’ll be an avid church goer for a few years, but you’ll become an atheist when you consider all the suffering in the world. Your mother will finally really like a guy but you’ll be hesitant and wonder what the fuck is wrong with him because they’re all messed up in some way. So yes, whether you’re 9, 12, or 15, you’ll hope that things would have gotten better by the time you’re 19 and in college. But it hasn’t. Not yet. I don’t know what will happen but at least I warned you.