The Summer Of My Life

My Life Before

My life hasn't been the greatest. My mother abused me and my father was a drug addicted alcoholic. I was taken from my home when I was seven and haven't been in a single home for more than two months. All of the foster families I have been in have kicked me out and I have been in and out of rehab. I have cut and burned myself since I was ten. So, obviously no one wants me because I'm that "Emo freak" and I scare people. I normally can hide all my scars; but, having over 47 scars, it can be hard sometimes.
When I first started to feel like no one cared was on my tenth birthday when I was in a group home. No one remembered that it was my birthday and I realized I had no one. All of the girls in the home laughed when I said it was my birthday. I honestly never thought anyone could be so rude. When I realized how cruel the world was I didn't want to be human: I wanted to die. My time was well past. I had no one. I had nothing. I was a waste of space. I then started burning my hands. I burnt my palm so much on my left hand that I started wearing fingerless gloves to cover the burns. I had no one to stop me.
One day I was switched to a foster home because I fought with my room-mate. They took my gloves and all my other tattered clothes and bought me clothes from the thrift shop(,which were absolutely the ugliest thing I had ever seen.) They saw the burns and called my case worker. She sent me to a local rehab center. I spent two months in there and I met people who scared me. One man had cuts an inch deep on his thighs. There is where I started to cut.
Once a week we received razors when we showered to shave. I started cutting my wrists, and since we always wore long sleeves no one noticed. I never got caught. Once I got out I started on my stomach. I had more than twenty cuts on my stomach at any given time.
After I turned 14 I was sent to a rehab center in Atlanta, Georgia. I was in that center for 7 weeks and I convinced them I was better and everything was okay. But, as soon as they released me, I started smoking as well as everything else I was already doing.
The very last foster home I was in before getting sent to a juvenile detention center was a home of a councilor and I police officer. They both tried to help but made it worse.
I'm now battling everything as well as more. I'm 16 and reunited with my parents. They regained custody of me, but my life took a turn for the worst.