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I told him everything, starting back from the beginning:

Both my parents died when I was too young to even know. 3, I think. I was their favorite child, they loved me, I was their little baby. But a while after I turned 3 years old they both died in a car crash. They left almost everything to me, their most valuable items, their money, all of it. My siblings got a few things, but I got most of it. They began to hate me, when I was old enough to live on my own we stopped talking. I started staying at a motel, the one I was found at, because I didn't want to bother buying a house just to kill myself. I barely ate because I didn't want to go out and buy food. I just stayed in that dirty motel room, cutting myself everyday and stealing meds from my neighbors for when I was going to kill myself. At thirteen I started cutting and knew one day this would be my life, waiting till' that one day where I had the courage to overdose, to end everything. I felt like pain was what I deserved, I still do. Finally I actually attempt suicide and I'm brought to the hospital and put under constant watch. Great.

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⏰ Last updated: Sep 20, 2016 ⏰

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