Dear diary,

Now, I've never done this before, but we'll try this. And honestly, I have never even tried to keep a diary or a recollection of my thoughts or feelings.

And now for the 'fake' introduction- or who I'd like to be called. My name is Carina Elena Samson. I have long, thick dark brown and blonde hair and these some sort of shade of blue, green, and gray eyes all mixed together. I wear a thin pair of black-framed glasses. Unfortunately, my teeth do not yet bear braces. Oh, yeah, and I'm fifteen years old.

Why I'm even starting this in the first place is becauseā€¦ I don't really know. Could be that I want to vent more than I'm able to in real life and want people to have the chance to read it or because I'm sick of life.

I said somewhere else, in another story or to someone before, that I lived a pretty decent life when I was born with my mom who I thought loved me (probably did at the time), a dad who could care less, a sister who hated the fact that I was born, and a grandma that I saw every single day who love me very much. Over the next five years, I continued to feel that way about my mom and dad, but I continued to see my grandma and my sister and I got very close. Then my grandma died when I was five. Then my sister when I was ten. Then my parents decided to get a divorce while I was in fifth grade- then they got the divorce at the beginning of sixth.

I lived with my mom for about a day and then my soon to be step-dad moved cross-county to live with us. And then, the next court day, which was my birthday I might add, I lived with my mom at the beginning of the day and my dad at the end. That was way too much on an eleven-year-old right there. I grew very sad and eventually fell into depression, became suicidal and started self-mutilation.

I continued with the self-mutilation about until the middle of seventh grade. Then I stopped, and my friends thought I stopped being depressed and suicidal, but I didn't. Maybe once or twice between the middle of seventh grade and the beginning of ninth did I ever cut again. But then I think it started with me just feeling too much pressure from my mom, dad, step dad and my dads' girlfriend and her family. For some ironic reason, I cut the day after my birthday. Two days after that, on the bus to get the glasses that I have now, I got harassed on the bus. And was so freaked out by that.

I think I ended up telling three people. I don't know about one of them, but I think two of them were really worried about me. That day I got harassed was a Tuesday and I had marching band state on Saturday. 'Mark' ended up giving me too many hugs to count in-between those few days. And it helped a whole lot. 'Leslie' was the other one worried about me.

Oui, Mark is a guy. But he's not my boyfriend. Yeah, we went out in seventh grade, but I'm not going to go into that right now. He's like a brother to me and, I guess as he said, I'm like a sister to him. Same with Leslie, event though we haven't verbally communicated it.

Enough of this for now, I have to shower and then go to bed. I hate me life.