Hi, my name is Serenity. Serenity Scott. I hope this will make a difference in you, but it doesn't have to. This is my story, throughout all my life until now. The first thing I remember was going to the hospital because my face was torn up. I had gotten stitches in my face. So, starting first grade, I wasn't a good kid but I wasn't a bad one either. Kids made fun of me and I'd fight back, I wanted them to feel my inner pain. But my mom requested me to switch classes, and they did. They gave me a new class immediately. This teacher would yell at me even for getting to throw away a fucking tissue. A tissue?!?!? This same teacher threatened me, saying I should be afraid of her. I wasn't. I was angry. But I did nothing. Then at home, I had to deal with not being heard, like my input meant nothing. They told me. "Kids are to be seen, not heard." But I kept trying to say how hurt inside I was. But they ignored me. I drew pictures and colored things for my family and they didn't accept them. My dad wasn't there and I felt like a disgrace and I had nobody there for me. I was alone. This continued bullying by the teachers went on until 4th grade. The girl and I were friends but I said something rude, and she tried to choke me. I was almost dead, but the teachers did nothing. In fact they were enjoying it. They wanted me dead. But my friend pulled her off, and I was okay. I switched schools afterwards. I was great all the next year. Then I made this friend. I believed I actually loved this boy. We were best friends, and when graduation came, he said we'd keep in touch. Never once did this boy respond. I'm sixth grade, I think I cried so much, he said I was weird and creepy and he hated me. But later on I met this girl, Summer. And me and her became friends. But one night, she almost died by suicide. I stayed up all night begging her not to. I felt like she was everything to me and I couldn't loose all I had. Finally, after years without a word from my dad, I called. The next morning I was at his house. Then the next month I was practically living with him. During the break of sixth grade for summer, my dad decided to have a drink, and another, and a bit more. He was drunk. He said things, and did things. I was very scared. But this drunk thing happened over and over again. Until the time I almost committed suicide. That night I tried to overdose, I obviously failed. So I cut, I cut so fucking deep. I wanted to cut a vain. I wanted to parish. Then one court thing after another, more cuts, more problems. Then someone I knew told me to kill myself. So I cut, and cut, and cut.  Then someone who wanted to help came along. There was a few incidents here and there, but overall everything was good. Until I tried to commit suicide again. I thought everything was my fault so I should pay. I failed again and I sat for hours cutting. Hoping I'd die from it. But here I am, and my current boyfriend fucking saved me. I can't thank him enough. If you read this, don't be sad about what happened to me, be happy that someone out there is recovering. That someone is still fighting. That some awesome motherfucker is still living another day. If you are like me, or even not like me.
           You go show the world what you're made of. I'm rooting for you.