BPOV
My depression started when I was twelve when my parents split up and I really had a hard time accepting that. Eventually, I started cutting myself because the physical pain was so much better than the pain I felt inside. Self harming was my escape. My dad was the one who left us so I had to live with my mom who didn't care about me and who blames me for being the reason my dad left. I could not bare it so I ran away with a backpack full of clothes and things I needed most.
I was only fifteen and I knew it was stupid of me but staying with her would only lead to killing myself. I didn't know where to go and I couldn't go to my friends house because they wouldn't understand so I slept on the streets instead. I was running out of money and I didn't eat for weeks. My mom didn't even try finding me. I wanted to die but I knew it wasn't the best decision at the moment so I tried finding a job. I just needed a place to rest. I worked as a waitress in a diner and I slept in one of the waitress's apartment. Rosalie's twenty-three and she's really nice. Things were sort of okay but the sad thing is I really had no one and that made my depression worst day by day.
I hated my life. I hated it with a burning passion. Going back to my hometown was not an option. My only choice was to stay here or kill myself. I guess a part of me already died, the happy eleven year old girl who smiled every day. She's gone. I was now the new Bella who had no life. I'm not happy. I don't think I'll ever be happy again.
