If you really knew me.

If you really knew me, you would know;
I started cutting myself in seventh grade. I didn't stop completely until the end of ninth grade. I found out about my parents pill problem when I was in seventh grade, too. Pain killers. I've starved myself and made myself throw up because I didn't feel good enough anymore, and it was something I had control of. It made me feel good. You would know that my dad a mental disorders. You would know a lot of nights are spent watching him nod off because he's depressed again, too depressed to even stay awake. You would know I watch him spend his entire day sad and pacing around, a lot. I've seen him go off of his medicine, and go completely insane. I've heard him threaten suicide more times than I can count; I took the gun out of his hand that he was gonna shoot himself with. He's had a gun to my mom, and himself. He's been in a mental hospital three times so far. He's 38. Yet, still, even after all of that, I still love him more than anything in this world. You would also know that I've written three suicide letters in my life. I've seriously considered suicide. You might know that I lost a friend to suicide in March 2011. I've cried myself to sleep way more than my share of nights. I was there the night my dad was on a rampage, I saw him grab ahold of my mom. I've had to tell her to call the police, just to make him stop. Sometimes, people see me on the outside and judge me for being the way I am. But they don't know any of that, do they? They don't know that I have to go to school everyday and pretend it's all okay, even when it's not. I've turned to pot to make it go away. If people took one step in my shoes, they wouldn't survive a week of it. In time I learned to not judge a book by it's cover, because you never know what someone has been through.