My life isn't very interesting. I've lived in the same apartment my entire life, it's the same shit every day.

Well, I grew up being forced in solitude. Due to my mother's paranoid nature, I was never allowed to leave my house. Because of this, the other kids who lived around me always made fun of me. It got so bad that I didn't even want to go outside. I knew there was a group of kids waiting so they can shout harsh words at me as I passed by. School wasn't any better. It wasn't so bad my early elementary years, but suddenly a rumor began to spread throughout the school that I was contagious with something. Groups of other kids at a time would insult me as they walked to their seats, or passed me in the hallways. For years.. School was nothing but tourney for me. Until eventually, they stopped making fun of me and just started ignoring me. I think it was because I was sick of it and one day just told my teacher. The group got in trouble and I wasn't messed with again. Or spoken to for that matter.

Returning home though? That never stopped. And I'd have to hope my mother remembered to take her pills in the morning, because if she didn't, me and my brother were like targets to her. She didnt care what she said or did. I mostly caught in the line of fire. She would throw things at me, smack me across the face, punch me in the gut, kick me in the ribs.. I don't blame her for it all. She has something wrong with her that she needs her medicine for. Half of time, she never remembered what she did. I endured it all, but eventually, I faught back. I was sick of getting hit all the time for stupid shit. I snapped, blacked out. Apparently I kicked her ass. And she kicked mine right back. But that day made us closer. We had a long talk after that, and that stopped the years of abuse.

Then, something strange happened. My mom let me go outside. The few group of people I talked to at school became my friends, we were like the small outdated group of kids you saw sit together at lunch. We all started hanging out my 7th grade year. And summer came by, and I fell in love for the first time. I mean, I had online relationships that I snuck right under my mom's nose. But I never truly understood what love was until then. I never experienced having someone to love in real life. And I was so trusting then, I made the mistake of trusting him. And after only a month into our relationship, he broke up with me for a girl he cheated on me with.

I was so broken. I took it too hard. I mean, yeah, it was only a month. But it was my first real relationship. and I was so young and thought it was the end of my world. I didn't take it so well. I avoided everyone. I stopped hanging out with the group of friends I had and stayed at home, crying for hours. I outcasted myself from the crowd. For almost a year.

But then, highschool started. And at first, it was so amazing.

I saw him there, but was so overwhelmed by how many nice people I met I didn't care. I saw him with her and didn't give two shits. I made so many new friends that year, and was so happy.

Until I met another guy. Someone I got super close with. We met by dating, but I broke up with him due to my first love destroying my trust. I was too scared to get close at the time and ran away. But we became friends over time, it was kind of hard not to be friends since he sat right behind me. Me, him, and a few other students were the ones who never stayed silent. We were always talking, always asking the teacher questions, always making jokes. Then one day, he admitted to still having feelings for me. And I honestly felt the same. Because unlike my first love, I developed these feelings by getting to know the person. My first love was me acting upon impulse. I saw what he looked like and just wanted to date him. I made the mistake of asking out a stranger with an attractive face.

But this guy was my best friend. And he wanted to be more then that.

He asked me out in class the very next day, and of course I said yes.

Everything was so perfect for a while. I had friends, people who didn't even know me still talked to me in the halls, I had an amazing boyfriend who did amazing things for me. He helped me get through an addiction I had. Huffing. It was my escape. It's so terrible for you but at one point all I wanted to do was die. But there was No more abuse, bullying, nothing. I can honestly say I was happy.

But the fighting started. He became more controlling. I couldn't do certain things, such as smoke anything smokable. In fact, he accused me of smoking in his own bathroom. Why would I even do that? If I was doing it behind his back, which I wasnt, I would not have been dumb enough to do so in his own damn house!

We broke up on and off for a few months. Fighting over one thing, breaking up, getting back together, then repeating the cycle a few days later. Until eventually, he just snapped.

'I'm done! I can't do this anymore!'

...and I agreed. I couldn't do this to myself any longer anymo