“Zoey! Zoey wake up! Zoey!” My vision blurred, leaving black spots to dance across my vision. I was then consumed into darkness.
     My eyelids felt heavy to open. My body felt weak and sore. Finding the energy, I opened my eyes. Looking around, I notice the white walls, the smell of chemicals, and the machines around me. I sit up realizing I was laying in a bed, checking my surroundings one more time I realize I’m in a hospital, but how did I get here? The sound of the door opening startles me, looking I see my mom and a man in a white lab coat, who must be the doctor.
     “Ah, you’re awake. How are you feeling Zoey?”
     “Sore and tired.”
     “Okay, that’s normal due to the medicine.”
     “Okay.” I replied.
     “Sweetheart.” I look over to see my mom, who looks like she’s about to cry.
     “I’ll give you some time. Zoey is allowed to leave in a few hours.”
     “Okay.” My mom replied.
     The doctor leaves and closes the door behind him. My mom takes a seat in the chair besides the bed. She grabs my hand and runs her fingers over my bandaged wrist.
     “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to get bad.”
     “Sweetheart, why did you start cutting yourself in the first place?”
     Well, that’s where my story begins. The name Zoey Adaline Cole was given to me on February 14, 1998. Yes I know, Valentine’s day. My parents planned this so I would be born on the day where everyone could show how much they loved and cared for me. Yet, Valentine’s day was the day I hated my entire life.
     Growing up in an average family with my parents, was never hard. Going to school, was a different story. In school there is always the main girl, you know the girl that is perfect in every way possible. Well, that perfect girl at my school was, Abby Lopez. Abby made my life a living hell, ever since in second grade when I supposedly broke her favorite doll. Since then, Abby turned every student in school against me. Abby told our classmates lies making me become the cliche outcast at school. I dreaded going to school every morning, terrified of what Abby and her friends would do to me. The torture continued all through high school since that day in second grade.
     My father divorced my mom in January when I was a sophomore in high school. Living in a small town everyone knows all the gossip and well, my parents getting a divorce was gossip. When the school week came along, Abby had walked up to me and started make snide comments. Abby pulled the last straw when she told me that I was the reason my father left. I was a disappointment to my father which gave him a reason to leave. I left home early that day convincing the nurse and my mom that I was sick. Soon, after that incident Abby seemed to get worse. Abby would attack me verbally everyday, causing me to leave home early most days. Other days, I would lock myself in the girls bathroom to cry.
     My first birthday without my father was the day I first cut myself. My mom had taken me out to dinner for a celebration. When we got home, my mom went to bed and I layed on my bed staring at the ceiling. After about thirty minutes, I walked into my bathroom and got my razor. I popped out the blade. Holding the blade in my hand, I was scared at what damage this blade can do. Taking a deep breath, I held out my hand and cut my wrist. The cut was small but still noticeable. The past year I would cut myself at least three times a week to release the stress from school. After the first time I bought myself long sleeved shirts to cover up the scars. My mom never questioned my actions, thinking changing my clothes was a phase.
     On my seventeenth birthday, I couldn't handle the stress any longer. I cut myself to the point where the bottom of the sink was covered in blood. I started to cry just staring at the blood. Soon I started slip into unconsciousness when I heard my mom close the front door. The noise of me falling to the ground alerted my mom and she came bounding into the bathroom. Lowering herself, she held me. I became very tired, looking at my mom one last time, I closed my eyes.
     “I’m sorry.” I whispered.
     “Zoey! Zoey wake up! Zoey!” Then I was consumed into the darkness.
     Well, that brings me back to the beginning of the story. After telling my mom the story the doctor came in to tell me, I can go home. When we arrived home my mom sat us down to talk.
     “Sweetheart, I called your father. He is coming down to help us get through this.”
     “Okay.”
     “Your father and I, love and care for you. We want you to know that we will get through this together, as a family. Okay?”
     “Okay.”