December 6, 2007 was the first day of Hell for me. My parents were fighting again and my mom was in my room with me. She was yelling back and forth from there – my room is always her battle station -. Their fight was because of me and my sister. That was made clear to both of us. I was told by my mom that she hated me and that she wished she had never had me. She left for a while so the fighting could stop. I grabbed my coat and tried to just get out of there. My dad forced me back into the house. He kept saying how this was her fault, but somehow it came back to me and my sister.(It was our fault that it was her fault I guess.)I sat on the bathroom and injured myself. I hid this for a while until a girl at school noticed. Her exact words when she saw it were,”Hey, you got some kind of emo thing going on there?” I denied it because I was the last person anyone would expect to hurt themselves. I’m the straight A’s all my life, never been in trouble, follow the rules, never cry in front of people type of girl. She bought it because she saw what everyone else saw – the organized girl who has it all together. Later, I told her the truth. She was fine with it because she injures too.( She still does.) Honestly, now, I can’t stand this girl and I think she’s more poser than anything. On February 28, my life changed. One of my friends guilted me into going to the school counselor. She told him how she stopped two months ago and stupid me told him how I stopped two days ago – a record for me. – He kept trying to call my mom, and when he asked me what I used, I was stupid enough toshow him!! They wouldn’t let me go home on the bus because I was dangerous or something. I was going to hold the bus hostage and then jump out of it right? They finally got my mom to come pick me up after I begged them for hours not to call my dad because he has multiple sclerosis, which is affected by stress. I also begged them not to tell her so that I could tell her myself. She came in the room crying and I hated them for telling her. They suspended me for ten days and filed a police report on me. The cop – we are forced to call him “Detective”- called my house at 8 a.m. the next day demanding that my mother tell him the last time I tried to commit suicide and insisted that I go to a certain counseling center. This man was – to be completely honest – a disrespectful, annoying, abusive jerk. He threatened to put me in jail and hung up!! I went to the youth director’s (from my church) house. She’s a certified counselor and she does this stuff all the time. I stayed there for one night, and my mom picked me up the next day because the school and the police wouldn’t accept that treatment. I went for intake at the new counseling place the next day. They were nice enough there, but I still couldn’t tell them the whole truth, so, basically I lied my way through ten appointments at this place. I only relapsed once, and not during or after treatment. They sent me a letter to help get the “Detective” to leave us alone, so I hope he’ll just take it and not even think about thinking about me ever again. I deal with impulses every day and some days are harder than others.