Post by rose on Aug 12, 2012 21:39:29 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; height: 250px; overflow:auto; border-left: 10px solid #657f86; background: #FCFEF5; opacity: 0.8; border-top-right-radius:60px; border-bottom-left-radius:60px;] rose patricia miller  Seventeen || Level Two || Self Harm || Ashley Benson || Female I was always a bit of a wild child when I was younger. My parents often times did not enjoy having to chase after me all over the place, because if anything, I wouldn't be one to stay in one place for once. Being a small little eight year old child running out into the street merely to follow a strange liquid trail was never good. It drove my parents wild with worry, but regardless of that fact, we were still always together. We were like any normal family. We loved each other, no matter how many times they wanted to say that I was the one thing that made their lives hard every day, because I know that they really did love me and were glad they'd had a child. Despite the fact that I seemed to cause trouble wherever I went, I did have a normal enough childhood. I had plenty enough friends, because I was never too much of a rude child. In fact, I could have quite the mouth whenever I felt I had to say something, and yet my friends still stuck with me, although I'm not really sure why. Maybe it was because I was always kind to the closest of my friends, respecting them as they respected me as my parents had often taught. I had good grades in school too, so there wasn't anything to complain about. Things were fine back then. I often miss those times nowadays. It was so much better back then, so much simpler. But that was before the accident. I was around thirteen when it happened. We had been heading home late one night from some sort of parent meeting at school or whatever, and I had fallen asleep in the back seat. It was as if almost out of nowhere that the driver appeared, slamming into the side of the car with such force that we were sent rolling across the road. Truth is, I hardly remember any of what happened that night. All I know is that when I woke up in the hospital I was bruised, hurting and discovering that both my parents were killed in the crash. After that things were really hard for me. I honestly wasn't sure how well I would make it, and half the time I spent moping in the hospital. By the time they released me, I wasn't exactly as cheerful and peppy as I had once been. In fact, I was much more rude than I used to be, and often was a bit of a smart aleck to anyone who tried to council me. I was just kind of....there, but I wasn't at the same time as well. I honestly didn't react all that much the first day I was thrown into an orphanage either, seeing as how most of my living relatives didn't want to take me in. Some said they didn't want the responsibility of having to take care of a child on their shoulders. Others simply said that they had never really liked me, and so they chose to just simply decline the offer to become my legal guardian. I spent a good three years in the orphanage while waiting to be adopted, although it was quite obvious that no one really wanted to adopt anyone with as much gloom and doom as I had at the time, not to mention my attitude at times. But, of course, there was that pity couple that came in and adopted me one day, and so I had gone home with them. By that point in my life, though, I had begun to let out my pain in different ways, and it was often through cutting my wrists. The physical pain took away the emotional, and it was something that I thought could honestly help me, and so I kept doing it. My adopted parents often wondered why I wore long sleeved shirts all the time, though I never told them why, and for a while, it worked. Part of the reason they never really bothered me was simply because I was quite snippy and touchy about most things by that point, for although I had lost my parents three years prior, I never really accepted this family as my new one. But it was a few months ago that I accidentally slipped up and my adopted mom caught sight of the scars from my cutting, both recent and old. Immediately they tried to seek help for me, and eventually came across this place called White Springs. They shipped me off to here, and I've been stuck ever since. I wish I wasn't though, because truthfully, I'm getting real tired of these shrinks. Lexi || Fifteen || 6+ Years || Yes! |
