They say when you are thirteen your body under goes a stage where you become an individual, you take control and you own it.  Throughout my thirteen years of life I became  “your not so average teenager”, of course any hormonal girl would say that, but within my walk of life, I have created scars on my heart that cannot mend. Eight years into my life my obnoxious Father decided to be unfaithful and shatter my fragile Mother. Who knew being so young could create an impact so strong? Who knew that I would be raising my brother and myself? As I progressively got older, my Fathers words were no longer “playful teases” but “discipline”. During my seventh grade year I shut down. I became a grey cloud of sadness that moped. I maintained a 4.0 GPA so everyone assumed I was doing super and I was on top, when in reality I did not mind stepping off a bridge. They say seventh grade year you find yourself, and you mature and develop into what you want to be. By seventh grade year I had despised my Father and had enough. I finally got the courage and the voice to speak out and against him. I was rich with words and untold stories that kept untold and close to my heart. I was no longer a victim, but a survivor.
I questioned why I existed. I did not want to live any longer. Suicide coursing though my veins. June 17, 2012 Father’s Day, my least favorite holiday; throughout the years of my parents divorce I have yet to spend a Father’s Day with him. What man deserves the love and appreciation when they neglect their daughter? Father’s Day 2012 was my time to speak up and stand up for myself. It was my time to be happy and breathe the in happiness. Father’s Day I denied his visit and I of course got in trouble and was repermanded. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to have my name on a headstone and my favorite flowers resting peacefully on my grave. My head never stopped thinking. I was a severally depressed teenager with the abusive Father, an amazing Mother, and a hard headed Brother. Age was just a number, but the matured thoughts were what drove me AWOL. I explained my feelings to a beautiful lady wearing blue scrubs that saved my life. I went through a series of tests to determine my capability. I was the thirteen year old girl being admitted to a Mental Hospital because I could not be happy.
Mental wards are not like what you see in movies. My roommate did not try eating my face off or try to kill me, but simply liked my clothes and hair. College Hospital was white walls that remained neutral after witnessing attacks and soulful cries. White walls that have with lasted screaming patients and sleepless nights. College Hospital you are not allowed to have anything: any mouthwash, wire in our bras, shoe laces, absolutely nothing because they are “a danger to us”. On the flipside, we had amazing meals: fresh cut lettuce, diced tomatoes, crunchy chips, fresh seasoned beef, all put together to make a taco salad. I did not eat much but I devoured that taco salad at least 40%. Since I was not eating enough I was put on “Mighty Shakes” they were to basically make me gain weight. I never knew fat could taste so good! We had several group times and bonding activities. It was the first time I had ever felt safe and wanted. I felt heard in a place where it sends off a negative vibe, but positive ones are being taught.  I was in control. White walls watched my every move, every phone call I made on the rustic payphone, and every tear shed from my sorrowed eyes. Visiting hours came and went and became the highlight of my day. My best friends came and snuck me candy and hidden notes and books to read so I was not bored. I got to choose who got to visit me and knowing that I was in absolute power made feel like I was unstoppable within the white walls that kept me caved in.
In order to achieve the greatness of leaving the white walls you have to create a safety plan. The safety plan basically is a summary saying I will not swallow a bottle of pills with liquor or I will use razor blades responsibly. I had to convince the social worker that I was not a phony . After several attempts of clique answers, I had to dig deep and be personal. I had to pour my feelings out just like blood gushes from a wound. Before my Mom could get me released she had to take a drug test because Father says she is “to skinny”, so she must be on drugs. I was removed from my fathers home due to the circumstances of emotional, verbal, and mental abuse. Adjusting to Mother’s house was strange because I did not get yelled at for smiling or reading or breaking my arm. Within a few weeks I went from a grey cloud to a white cloud, no longer moping but smiling and passing on my happiness.
As time passed I learned from my experiences and have helped others. I won a pageant and shared my story for the first time. I continued to be active in school and lived life. I learned to always speak the truth even if it hurts and you struggle from within. Never be ashamed for how you feel, and never let anyone make you feel ashamed for having feelings because you are entitled to have them. Two years have passed and I am going strong and loving life.