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During my freshman year in high school, I felt like the only red bird among hundreds of yellow ones. My parents treated me like dirt. No one even knew I was there. I was invisible, no matter how hard I tried to be noticed. I couldn’t stand it any longer, and the poems about committing suicide didn’t do a thing. I left them all over the house, but it seemed as though they too were invisible. I stopped eating and started cutting, but no one noticed. The day after I turned 18, I ran. I got help and am now recovering. During that year, I learned that there is hope; you just have to hang onto it and never let it go.