So, if I’m being honest, there’s not much inspirational about me. For as long as I can remember I’ve struggled with OCD and anxiety, things I inherited from my family. Thanks Mom and Dad! And while I love my parents and they are my world, they don’t understand, constantly calling me over dramatic and selfish, as if I asked for this. When my OCD got really bad, we would stay up all night arguing, launching insult after insult. They blamed my little sister’s insomnia on me, and because she knew they were on her side, she ratted every little thing I did to them, the little birdie whispering in their ears. My father is a psychiatrist, so he constantly threatens to have me committed if I don’t get my sh*t together, as he puts it. One of my most vivid memories of an argument was on Christmas morning, when my father started yelling at me and calling me a freak and a bipolar b*tch because I started crying, since my mother had just yelled at me over something stupid; I don’t remember what. Another memory I have is of my father locking me in my room after I got in an argument with my sister, refusing to punish her just as he was punishing me, and calling me a freak and telling me that no one will ever love me because of who I am. That hurt. It left a mark, and I’ve been very tentative around boys ever since, terrified of getting my hopes up. Sometimes, I think he’s right. After all, who would be crazy enough to love someone like me? I fall too hard, trust too much, care more than I should, and forgive too easily. I started feeling suicidal and depressed not long after, when I was 10 or so. I’ve been suicidal and depressed for 3 years and I honestly feel like everyone would be better off without me and no one would miss me. And the worst thing is that I know that there’s light at the end of the tunnel, but at some point, you just get sick of the damn tunnel, you know? Anyways, after a tough experience with a guy that had told me I wasn’t good enough for him, I started picking again. That was in November. I had been picking for 3 years prior, but only on my legs and arms. But after that, I started picking my face, making the relationship between my family and me even more strained. I’m 13 now and they still don’t understand that it’s a form of self harm and not for attention. A few nights ago after yet another argument, I started feeling suicidal again and tried to suffocate myself, but it’s almost impossible when I knew that if I raised my head an inch, I would be able to breathe. I miss my old self, the little girl who could feel happy for longer than a day and loved life, loved herself. I miss loving myself. I’m very self conscious about my looks and personality and constantly wish I looked more like her or had as many guys falling for me as she does. But I refuse to give up. I want to stay alive, and I believe that everyone here does, too. If you’re here, it’s because there’s a sliver of hope left inside you, and I hope that I can help extend that hope and help you conquer your struggles. To whoever is reading this, remember: This doesn’t define us! I believe in you, and I hope that one day, you believe in you, too.