I'm thirteen years old again. Sitting in the doctors office answering the question, "have you ever thought about committing suicide?" That questions hard for me. I've thought about dying. never doing the act myself. If I was hit by a car tomorrow never waking up, I would be ok with that. The doctor ended up telling my mom I should probably talk to someone. Crushing the "perfect family, my kids are flawless" picture she wanted a second opinion. Two years went by before I got that second opinion. In those two years I cut I stopped I cut I stopped. Doctor number 2 told my mom I should talk to someone, before I hurt myself. Doctor I'm 15 years old now a freshman in high school I've been talking to someone yet I still hurt myself. No one knows! I do the walk of shame, wearing sweatshirts and long sleeves in the summer. My answer to "why" was always, "I guess I'm just cold." My mom read my poem once it mentioned cutting. When she asked me I said no, she believed me. See I was scared my mom was going to lock me up in a psych ward. Tell everyone I was in boarding school, forgetting all about the ******* child who couldn't do anything right! I'm 18 years old now, I haven't cut in 3 years. I talked to the old me today, I thanked her for letting me live. But where were you, when you found out your child was imperfect?