I remember the first time
I tried to take my own life.
I was about or nine years old.
I'd forgotten a project in
mister McCollough's class,
and he gave me a failing mark.
I was devastated, but
my friends told me they
received failing marks
on occasion.
Even my teachers
assured me that this
would not be the death of me.
I felt better, but when
I told my mother about
it, I was accosted.
I had never heard
her scream in such a way.
She was so angry she
debelted herself where
she stood and began
to whip me with it.
She told me that I
was a failure and
how disgusted she was
that she had such a child.
I was utterly shattered.
I tried to take my own life.
I was eight or nine years old.
I don't think I've really
been functional since that
day. My grades fell and
so did my ability to arti
culate my words so well
and i fell into a deep slu
mber of sorts that got dee
per with each passing year
and suicide attempt and
mental break and my friends
were so patient but ev
en they lost hope on me
after a while and no
thing could be done for me
and it all goes back to
one memory.
Now every time it gets
just about to the breaking
point, I hear my mother's voice
telling me how disgusted she
is that she had such a child.
I was eight or nine years old.
