I was born in the big city of Seattle, but lived in the small town of Edmonds. We lived in a small house, with two bedrooms, right next to a cemetery. By "we," I mean my older sister Lainey, my younger sister Maddie, my mum, my dad, and I. When I was two years of age, Lainey was four, and Maddie was one, one of us got our own room; you would think it was Lainey. Maddie, even as a baby, was the favourite. She got her own big bedroom, whereas Lainey and I shared a "bedroom" in the basement.
My mum was always at work, and my dad was either at work or sitting around the house, watching the television and drinking. My mum worked at the cemetery next to our home, but it was like she was never there. I always asked myself why, but now I know the answer. She worked her arse off to keep the family fed because my dad made little to nothing at work, when he actually went. Most of the time we had to go to churches to get a meal, and very often my dad had taken my mum's car, so we had to walk.
Walking, walking, walking. When we were age enough, she walked us miles to daycare/pre-school every day. I don't remember much of anything from those times in pre-school, except for bitchy girls always hogging the dolls, so I ripped the heads off of every single one. No one but me wanted to play with them after that.
I remember clearly how my family became un-whole.
Drink.
Creak.
Quiet.
BOOM.
CRASH.
Screaming.
Sirens.
Silence.
Loss #1
My dad as a drunk. A druggie. And an asshole.
He was drunk when my mum came home from work. I'm not sure what happened due to the fact that I was four years old at the time, but I know that he hit my mum and choked her. I hate him for it. I don't remember him being arrested, but I know there was police; he ran. He's barely been in my life since.
For 17 years, I have hated him. I hate him more now. I already knew that he is an egotistical, drunken, drugged, easily-tempered meth-head, but my mum told me something I didn't know until three weeks ago. That night he hurt my mum, she was a few weeks pregnant. She had a miscarriage days later. That asshole killed my littlest brother/sister. I even strongly believe in my heart that he named me after one of his favourite drugs.
Molly.
AKA ecstasy. And people wonder why I prefer to be called by Olly now.
I grew up without a father. I was forced to grow up too soon. I forced a smile on my face from day one to make everyone believe that everything was okay, that my life was okay, that I was okay.
I'm not.
Primary School.
I started going to school too soon. I was five years old and a first grader. I never got to go to kindergarten.
Even from the start, school was absolute shit for me. On my very first ever day of school, I was late, I was bullied, and I was alone.
I walked in excited, and left crying.
Now, before I get into detail, I must tell you that I have a hungarian background in me. Hungarians live in the middle east where it is very hot in the summers, but very cold in the winters. That's why most hungarians have very thick, dark, and coarse body hair. Even as children.
The very moment I walked in, I was called names like "gorilla girl" or "monkey" or even just "hairy" which later turned into "Harry." That was my name to the other kids. So I ate my feelings instead of facing them or telling an adult. I didn't trust adults.
By fifth grade, the names had gotten worse. "Harry" and "gorilla girl" continued but now I was getting "fat" or "fatty" or "ugly" or "pig."
Sounds pretty normal for bullies to say that shit, but to me it was new, and it hurt. I avoided all the kids that were in my class, and just played at the special kids area during recess and was in the bathrooms at lunch. But I didn't eat lunch anymore. I had started to develop an eating disorder at age 10.
Mid-semester, I was at recess after lunch, and decided I needed to go to the bathroom. One of the special kids, a boy, followed me. He had somehow gotten a hold of some teacher's scissors. You know, the big ones with the orange handles that had the teachers name on it. Well, as soon as I had my panties down, he went for it. He raped me with the scissors. I told no one, and to this day I haven't told a soul who it was.
"Progression"
In my sixth grade, I was excited that it was my last year at that dump. By then, I had been skipping breakfast and lunch, and playing basketball with myself at recess to maybe shed more weight.
People were still calling me all of those names, but they seemed to keep coming up with more creative ones. I had no friends, shitty grades, and an anger problem. I guess it seems to run in the family.
I hated my life, I hated who I was, and I hated everything. I started self-harming.
Beating, biting, scratching, pinching, pulling out my own hair, biting my nails. I grew to enjoy it.
Middle School. I was excited to go, thinking that now I could start over, everyone there doesn't know me. Maybe I could make friends.
Maybe was wrong.
Still the same people, some new people, but who I was quickly spread throughout the school like a wild-fire, and suddenly almost everyone hated me. I had few friends. I can name them all. Parker, Rebekah, Shelly, Rebecca, Mitch, Krysta, Kendra, and Keiva.
We don't talk anymore. None of us.
I started smoking.
By this time, the self-harm progressed to cutting and burning as well.
This year was the first year I had tried to kill myself. By hanging.
The rope broke and I felt fatter than ever.
Worse.
As kids, a lot of us have imaginary friends.
I'm 17, and I still have them.
I would talk to those friends everyday, making myself feel like I was "popular" and had friends. Then the bad ones came.
I saw them as demon-like creatures. They would stare at me at night, and inch closer to me as I drifted to sleep. So I never slept.
~
By either grade, the bullying got heavy.
I was now getting beaten up at school, in the bathrooms, in the hallway, in the "cougar-bowl" and even on my way home. I came home with bruises, bloody noses, and sometimes a bad injury. I was always in splints or a brace, though I told my family, friends, and teachers that I fell, got hurt in gym, or it was an accident.
Everyone knew me as a huge klutz, though I am, these were not my own.
I was now skipping breakfast, lunch and as much of dinner as I could. The cuts got deeper, and the burns got more frequent.
This was 2010. This was the year my grandmum was diagnosed with esophageal cancer.
Freshman.
I knew if I was excited for middle school, the same bullshit would happen. And it did. The beatings I took became more frequent, as the campus was much bigger. I was now skipping every meal, making excuses and purging (making myself throw up) when I was forced to eat.
At this year, I had reached the suicide attempt count of 10 attempts, but also 10 failures.
But at least I was an honors student, in honors society and had a GPA of 4.0 for eighth grade and most of freshman year.
That stopped after my grandmum passed away on January 21st, 2012.
I started not doing school work, not focusing in class, always either drawing or picking at my skin. I was talking back to my mum, teachers, and well... everyone.
Even the bullies got a little shit-talk out of me, but it only made matters worse for me. I was now getting beaten up four days out of the five that I was there.
I would skip classes and lunch period to smoke a cigarette, I would sneak my mums beer at night and after school, and even smoke marijuana when I had the chance. I would steal my mums cigarettes to smoke and money to buy pot with.
I was that kid, the one that every parent would hate.
The Day.
In my sophomore year, I was at that point in puberty where I questioned my sexuality. First I thought I was a lesbian, then possibly asexual, then there was the point in my life where everything turned to a bigger piece of shit than usual.
I came to the conclusion that I am in fact, bisexual. That is true to this day. But back then I also thought that I wanted to be a boy.
I was more interested in gay porn, than lesbian or straight porn. I felt as if I was meant to be a guy. Sometimes I still do.
I cut all my hair off into a mo-hawk, dyed it lavender, and dressed like a boy. My first day of showing up to school like that was the last day of sophomore year. I wore a rainbow plaid shirt, my barely-anything-there breasts bounded, boys boxers over my own panties, and saggy black skinny jeans. No one recognized me.
Even though no one knew who I was or why I was in their classes, sitting in the seat Molly normally sat in, or anything, they knew immediately that I was "gay." So they beat the bloody shit out of me.
That day, was the biggest and sharpest turning point of my entire life.
As soon as I got home from school that day, I went to the medicine cabinet. I swallowed every single pain pill there was, and sat down under the dining table to avoid anyone seeing me.
Maddie was in middle school then, so her school ended a bit later than mine. But when she came home and saw me on the floor, barely conscious, she called my mum immediately. Mum called 911, where an ambulance took me to the hospital. I don't remember much, but I know that they almost admitted me into the psych ward, thank god my mum said no.
I could have died that day, but Maddie saved my life. Since then, she's been my best friend.
Suicide attempt count: 12 Attempts failed: 12?
Everything Changed.
My junior year, I switched to online schooling. Since I was on the computer everyday, I was constantly checking Twitter and Facebook. I saw everything that people were posting about me.
"Is she really dead?"
"Haha, Molly killed herself."
"I hope she actually died."
"Did she slit her wrists or hang herself again?"
They were deleted a day after they were posted.
Online was terrible so I went back to my original school.
They all thought I was dead.
My hair was blonde now. I had/have the "Miley Cryus" hair.
I made new friends in some classes, but people called me Molly Cyrus. It wasn't a bad thing, I love her, but I was also made fun of for it.
I also got into mt first relationship that summer with a girl in California named Malaya. She stopped talking to me for months, then one day sent me a letter in the mail. She told me all about how she threw herself down the stairs, got a concussion, moved to Arizona, and became a slut.
I sent her one back. I was done.
But then I met Jackie. We became very close friends. Even when I switched schools again, we still hung out almost every day. We dated for a while, but she picked too many fights with Maddie. We were just friends, but they she made me keep this huge secret that would fuck up her new relationship with Chris. Eventually he found out, she blamed Maddie and I and then bullied us hardcore and said that we were incest lesbian lovers. We were hurt, disgusted, and pissed off. Why? Because as a child, my mum was raped by her own brother for eight years, and Jackie knew that. She's sick minded. And even though she never apologized, I forgave her. We'll probably never be good friends again, and even if she does apologize, I'm not going to put myself through the same situation over and over again.
New School
I switched schools again to a school that was less crowded and where there was less people that I knew would hurt me.
The school is stupid. There were six flights of stairs to get onto campus, no school buses, and the teachers gave you packets to work on instead of actually teaching you. The packets were bullshit too. It was based off of things I had learned in the fifth grade.
There I actually came in contact with old friends like my Freedom, Noel, Mitch, and Aurora.
Aurora.
One night, Maddie and I went to sleep over at her apartment. At nearly midnight, she took us out to a parking lot where her friends were waiting in a van. That van had the back completely gutted and it smelled like piss. Maddie and I expected that we would stay in the parking lot, but they drove. We were fucking scared. When Aurora handed the dudes in the front some money, they handed her something back. She bought heroin and was smoking it right in fucking front of us. She was 14 years old. We wanted out. We wen't back to her place where Maddie texted my mum to make up an excuse so we could leave, and when our mum came, she told Aurora's mum what had happened.
The next day we got notifications on Facebook. She had posted about us saying she was going to jump us, rob us, and I don't know maybe even kill us.
We went to the police and didn't go to school for a week. They said there wasn't enough evidence and it was too vague to make an arrest, though the police man was friends with the security guard at that school so he got her expelled so we could continue going.
Our first day back at that school, we were almost there when we saw her right behind us; we ran into the nearest store and called the cops. They picked us up and drove us to the school where our mum picked us up and took us home.
Later in the semester, I had gotten into two accidents, where I wasn't physically capable to walk up those stairs, so I din't go to school for the last three months of it.
Later I found out that I was Becca billed, and was forced to go to court and say I would go, otherwise be put into juvenile detention.
The Present Day
Today, it is September 23rd, 2014.
I'm back in online school. I was back at my original school at the beginning of the year. For a day.
A fucking day.
I was kicked out on the first day, second period, because I was being bullied.
I was the one being bullied, and they kicked me out.
Not just me though, also Maddie.
I have absolutely no friends, no social life, I barely leave my house, my mum is gone all day, everyday, I got beat up last Friday because I wouldn't let the dude rape me, and I really hate life right now.
I haven't tried to kill myself in three months, I haven't self-harmed at all in six months, but I continue to starve myself.
Bullshit right? Don't call bullshit on me, because that is exactly what happened.
Now I'm back in piece of shit online school and it's confusing, and boring, and I may or may not have been slacking off.
I'm 3 days behind and I could get it all done if I could afford a printer.
But...
A New Beginning
I want to start over.
Restart.
Game over, new player, new game.
I want to start a YouTube channel. Become famous. Share my feelings and story with the world. Make connections, friends, and a new life.
I want to actually have money for once. I want to feel confident for once; maybe then I'll start eating again. I want to feel like I mean something to someone.
And I'm going to make it happen for myself. I'm tired of relying on other people to take care of me, and do things for me.
It's my time. Stop aside, and let me take you on a roller coaster ride, because this shit is about to get crazy.