A/N This is my story, events taken place in this story Is from two stories for my classes. One was my story of coming out and that was for creative writing the other is my story of struggle and how someone can come over that. The idea of stitching them together was from a close friend who lives far away, so read, rate, review, I want to here what you have to say, Enjoy and thank you!

"This is not what it is only baby scars, I need your love like a boy needs his mothers side." Second and Sebring (Of Mice and Men)

As long as I can remember I was always normal. I was born into a normal sized family, with one brother and one sister, I had a mother and a father. We lived in Northern Wisconsin and everything was Hon-key Dory.
After I was born my parents decided to make another addition into the family, my (By one year) younger sister. The house we lived in when I was younger felt like a mansion. It had 3 big rooms, my parents room, my sister's and my room, and my lonely brothers room. Him being the only boy in my family, my mom got him a puppy, only to find out the puppy was a girl to.
Her name was Daisy. She was a good dog, she loved us kids.

That big old house was in the country. It had a big corn field in the front, a small vegetable garden for my mom, behind it was a large tree field in the middle of the tree field was a fire place us kids would play out their all day, getting scabs and bruises, getting grass stains on our cloths, every tattered shoe we got lost in the mud. The only time that we didn't want to get dirty was picture day. Except for me, I hated dresses (To this day I still do.) My sisters would get dolled up for it, wearing cute dresses, one that were trimmed in lace to match their hair was done and my older sister would get to put on makeup. (I kinda thought she looked like a clown)
On those days I would end up wearing jeans and a old shirt. I didn't care, my mom on the other hand hated it, but she got over it.
You see, "Normal" girls liked getting dressed up, and during play time the girls would play house. They would be the moms or the sisters and little me, I would want to be the brother or the father, and I didn't mind that, because deep down inside, that's what I wanted to be, a little boy.

That thought was the beginning of my ever changing life.

About the age of seven my sister and her friend she had over were talking about boy's and I decided to listen in. My sister was talking about this boy she liked (to this day I can't remember his name.) She mentioned that this boy she liked acted different from every other boy in her grade. Her friend said the words that really changed my life.

"Hes gay."

I didn't know what that meant, but deep inside I knew thats what I was. It was this sixth sense kind of thing.
I know, I know, How can a seven year old know shes gay?! I just kinda did.

Elementary school was hard for me, kids started what we called "Playground love."
Little boys would fall in love with the little girls, and little girls would fall in love with the little boys.
Except for me, I happened to fall in love with one of the most popular girl in the class. I wanted to tell her how I felt, but I was afraid. Afraid she would tell me I was gross, or hurt me.

Sometimes I think maybe I should have told her, I wonder what she would say, but deep in my brain, It was telling me I was stupid for thinking that.

After elementary school was middle school, and being slightly over weight and socially awkward I was already being made fun of. I had managed to come out to some of my older friends, one of them being overly christian, she didn't like that very much. Actually she hated it.
She told me to keep it a secret forever. She told me that I was going to be hurt if I told anyone, she wouldn't tell me what people would do to me because she said I would probably pee myself from the details.
And I believed her, terrified I believed her.
In middle school I met some more friends, we where called the island of misfit toys because no-one really liked us. I thought that because we were all freaks that I could tell them my secret. I told them thinking that they were still going to love me even thou I was gay.

I. Was. Wrong.

Only one of those friends stayed with me. She was the most perfect person I could ever have. She was my super hero, she didn't have powers, nor did she wear a cape. She just was my super hero.
She made me look at myself and feel like the thing looking back wasn't gross or disgusting. She made me feel like a real person again.

I was starting to think that nothing bad was ever going to happen to me again.
But, It's human nature to get attached to someone who you spend so much time to, and I have to admit, I fell in love with her. Everything about her was magical. Her hair, her lips, her eyes, EVERYTHING!
To a point it was killing me to hide it from her. So I braved up and told her. But, She didn't see me the same way.

But I loved her. She wasn't mean about not liking me back, she was sweet about it, but I felt all that hate and pain come back and chizzle it's way into my healing heart. It ripped the stitching that was my best friend.

I got mad, and I left her, my rage was consuming me again, almost killing my sweet innocence that my friend helped me create.
After being somewhat rejected.

After some time, I got better, I tried to rekindle my friendship. It worked, to a point.
We talked again and it didn't hurt as much to see her smile with another person.
But deep inside I was dying inside. She will never know how bad it hurts to see her and think about the pain that she unintentionally caused me. Even thou I'm dating someone other than her, I still needed her.
Its childish to ask for that I know, but, I just need it.

The neediness stuck with me for a long time now. I needed to be with someone, I wanted to be with her, forever and ever.
And that tore my hero away. It made her leave me when I felt like everything was going to crap.
I felt so low and disgusted of myself that I did something I tried to promise myself that I would ever do to myself.
I started to abuse myself, mentally and physically, I would tell myself that no one could ever love me, I told myself that I was gross and I shouldn't be breathing. I told myself that everything that went wrong in my life I deserved.
I started to stab my self in the shoulders and after they would scab up I would pull the scab off creating a bigger gash, I had to tell my parents that those were from acne.
I started to carve into my thys harsh names.
At some point I remember looking into a school mirror and breaking it because I thought the person looking back at me was disgusting and needed to be taken away. People made me hate my own reflection.
It didn't help that the kids at school added on to my torment. Calling me fat, ugly, bitch, told me that my hair was so greasy that they could cook french fries with it.
Only if they knew. Only if they knew that inside I was killing myself. That I hurt myself, that I would cry myself to sleep almost every night, But they didn't. And that made me want to Die.

At some point in my state of pain and confusion, I thought I couldn't be saved again.
Until I found music, I mean I loved it before and I knew it was their, but everything was different, The lyrics spoke to me more. And at some point the music became my friend, it told me that it would miss me if I had left, It told me that I was strong, and I listened.
I stopped cutting. I stopped abusing myself.

Ill let you know, Im getting alot better, I am living happyily and going on stong.