My mom called me into her bedroom. She held up my English notebook. I was in ninth grade. I knew in that instance what her snooping had discovered.
I had been very depressed over the course of my time in high school. I had a lot to be depressed about. I was being sexually abused in my home.
I had stopped eating and was barely hanging on. The only thing that gave me solace was my daydreaming about dying by suicide.
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