13

13 pills.

13 years old.  

I’m not sure how I managed to block this memory but once someone directly asked me if I had ever attempted suicide it all came flooding back. 

The tears as I swallowed each one. 

The shame I felt when I admitted what I had done to my stepdad. 

The disappointment in his face. 

The thickness of the charcoal I drank. 

The sharpness of the catheter.  

But most of all, the sadness. 

The overwhelming loneliness I felt, as a child. 

They always cornered me in the stairway- called me “mosquito bites” for my underdeveloped breasts, wrote LD (for learning disabled) on my shoes, and taunted me with the word “virgin” when I had no clue what it meant.  

When you are in a class with a total of 14 children, nine of which are boys, there are few places to hide.  

I was easy prey.  

Knowing what I know now, as a mother and a teacher, I no longer feel shame for that little girl. 

I feel so sorry for her.  

I wish someone had helped her before she felt like dying was better than living.  

And if by sharing my story, I prompt anyone reading to look someone in the eye and ask, “Are you ok?”, then the courage to put this into words was worth it, after all. 

If you or a loved one is having suicidal thoughts please reach out for help. You are worth it. https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org

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