This is the story about a girl named Rebekah. The description tells you all you need to know about her for now. pg-13 just because it involves cutting and eating disorders.
I always knew that I was worthless. I was the oldest girl in my family of six, three brothers, and my mom and dad. To put it simply, my brothers were all child prodigies at sports and my dad loved it. My dad was a helicopter pilot. He worked one week on and one week off so I really did not see him all that much. My mother worked at my school, and I hated it. I missed being a normal kid, and having my mom be a stay at home mom.
Anyway, I guess it all started towards the end of the eighth grade. My brothers were in the middle of their o-so-important baseball seasons, when I suppose you could say i finally snapped. I was on the way home from one of their tournaments, someone was running along the side of our sidewalk when my dad turned around and said to me "Rebekah, that's what you and me need to be doing every day. Then maybe you wouldn't be the slowest person in your class when they run the mile." I suppose looking back that he didn't mean to sound like he hated me, or that I was worthless to him because I was un-athletic and so un-like my brothers, but that is how my thirteen year old self took these words. So I nodded and stared out the window the rest of the way home.
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When we got home I walked to my room as calmly as I could. I gently closed the door and laid down on my bed. Then I started to cry. I hated this feeling. It felt like it had been with me all of my life, the feeling of being fat, un-wanted, un-loved. Though looking back now I know that I was crazy to think so, I simply could not shake this feeling of helplessness. After about five minuets I got up and went to my bathroom. I pulled out my razor and slit my wrist, and then, for what felt like the first time in my life, I was proud of myself. I had done it. I had not chickened out, I had slit my wrist, and as I felt the blood ooze down, I was truly happy. That night I didn't eat anything. I fiddled around with my food and then told my parents that I wasn't hungry, and I went to bed.
It was the beginning of everything and soon I would give anything for it to end.
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I loved the feeling of having a terrible secret the next day at school. I wore my sweatshirt, even though it was the middle of May, to cover up the scars that were left from where I cut myself. At lunch I loved the feeling of my stomach rumbling. It meant that I was actually doing something, and I felt a sense of accomplishment wash over me.
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Soon the school year ended. I graduated from Saint Leo School, and in the fall I would move onto High School at Lexington Catholic. Over the summer it was even easier to keep up my charade. My mother got a summer job and worked 8 to 5 Monday through Friday, and when she could she would pick up overt time on Saturday and Sunday. My father was still on his regular work schedule, and when he was home he usually went to go practice some type of sport with at least one of my three siblings. I was almost always alone, and I liked it.
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