“Truth. Balled tightly in my fist. A secret. Forever a secret that I can’t share. Caught in the middle and I don’t dare open my palm for all to see. The truth is ugly, they think. The lies are comfortable. It is what they all want. Who am I to think differently? Who am I at all?

     I wish I could fling the truth into the deepest part of the sea, lost … gone. But I know one day … one day as I walked along the seashore, it would reach out and swirl around my ankles, pulling me in until I drowned along with it.” pg. 125 Scribbler of Dreams, by Mary E. Pearson

I feel like lying about my SI is the best option, no one really wants to know about it. It’s not something that really pleases people when they hear their kid is SI’ing. For awhile I went to a psychologist and a psychiatrist but they didn’t help. I could never say what I needed to, to the psychologist. Because I’m not 18 I had to have an adult sit in with me when I I went to the psychiatrist. So my dad would go but he’d talk the whole time and never let me say anything. He’d spend the whole session saying how bad I was and how much he, my mom and siblings didn’t understand why I was such a pain. So we quit going because it cost so much. And now I find I’m back into SI’ing and there’s no real outlet or person to turn to. I just find it’s really hard to open up to people.