December. I get weird around December. Not because of the holidays, but because that's when it all started. In December of 2012 (6th grade) my mood drastically changed. Whenever I wasn't at dance or school or voice I would be locked up in my room reading books about World War 2 and listening to music. My mom really didn't like what I was reading because she thinks it's gory. Which is true but I love reading about it. So basically that whole month I was reclusive and stayed in my room most of the time. When school came back around in January I was worse. I didn't think anything was wrong with me though. But then again, who does? 

     In January I started attempting to selfharm. I tried some pretty stupid ways to cut myself that didn't work. So I got fed up with that and tried other means of hurting myself. It would occur almost every morning and that was punching walls. Now back then I didn't know how sensitive hands are. My right hand was badly bruised. I would sometimes go to my neighborhood park and punch the bathroom walls because they were harder. I guess part of me was hoping I could break it because I ended up telling my mom I hurt my hand. They took me to the doctor, nothing was broken. Well my sister is very into the medical field and she knew that my excuse was bull. The excuse was "...I fell...". So believable, Amanda. Soo believable. She asked me what actually happened and I stupidly told her the truth. And she told my parents. They snooped around my room and found my journal hidden in my mattress. Now let me tell you, that was the last time I tried keeping a journal. Because they called EMQ. What is that you ask? It stands for Eastfield and Ming Quong. Those were two orphanages that opened in the 1860's. EMQ is a California children and family service thing. So some creepy dude showed up at my house and talked to me and my parents. And he set some rules. He asked me "do you like living here?" and I said "yes". He asked "do you know what the worst consequence of cutting is?" I said "Bleeding out?" "No. Infection." I don't remember those rules he mad but I know I didn't like them. So that experience left me with a psychiatrist. And that was the first worst day of my life.