Personal Narrative: My Life As A Victim

One of the many mysteries of life is how you can overcome so much and still come out “normal”. Many of us have run into many obstacles and was stuck as they say between a “rock and a hard place”. Throughout my life, many obstacles were thrown at me starting through my early childhood all the way to the day I am writing this. I Have gone through forever changing experiences. From being the victim my entire life, I have learned what I wanted to be when I grew up. My past has made me no longer a victim. This is my life, my story, and my destiny. As a young child, you look up to your parents to protect you from anything and everything that can be harmful. When you look up and your parents are not their, or they are the ones causing …show more content…
I didn’t want this life. I didn’t ask for this life. Somehow I was dealt this life like a hand of cards for poker not knowing if I would win or loose, but somehow I was walking away with a lot more than I bargained for. I had my first failed attempt at committing suicide at the age of 14. I overdosed on thirty Tylenol pm. When I awoke in the morning in my room I was mad. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to live the life of misery anymore. I was tired of being the victim. I was tired of being everybody’s escape goat. It was the first time I took a razor to my wrist. I soon realized that cutting myself was my way of escaping. It was my way of taking charge of how I get hurt and who causes it. My second attempt was with twelve Vicodin, and a whole bottle of sleep aid. This time I awoke in the hospital with tubes in my mouth. I survived again was all I could think. When Crisis Intervention came in the room I pretended I didn’t know what had happened. I lied through my teeth, but not out of fear of being locked up. I lied because I knew that if I told the truth I would not have another chance to successfully kill myself. The truth is I didn’t want help. I believed I didn’t belong I this world. I was released two days later with a promise to go to therapy. As soon as I got home I went to my room. I was embarrassed that everyone knew what happened. They saw me being taken away from the house in an ambulance. That night when everyone went to bed I grabbed a razor from the shelf. I cut the left wrist has hard as I could. It started bleeding badly. I layer their crying because I finally felt like I was going to be free from all the pain everyone has ever put me through. Then for some reason, I regretted what I have just done. My shirt was saturated in blood. I grabbed a towel to get it to stop bleeding, but it wouldn’t stop. For once I was actually scared of dying. I called my friend I actually trusted and she