When I came to the United States at the age of two with my mother following the arrival of Steven and my two older sisters, Jordan and Asia, life changed dramatically. We found ourselves in a strange new land, the language spoken was difficult to learn, and the culture of the people differed greatly from the culture I grew up in the Republic of Madagascar. Fortunately, with the help of some locals who had immigrated to the US from Madagascar we were able to adapt to life in America.
During my years in junior high I was battling depression and suicidal thoughts. Ashamed of myself and fearing the reaction of my family I began withdrawing myself from everyone. Before I knew it, I was purposely isolating myself from everyone that I loved. Things like school, grades, family, and true friends meant absolutely nothing to me. I did as I pleased and refused to let anyone boss me around. Ironically, I left my true friends who I had known since the second grade and made new ones. Although I was greatly accepted by my new friends I felt more alone than ever. Refusing to admit that I was in fact miserable and needed help, I turned to inflicting pain on myself instead. Whenever I’d be alone I’d take a piece of glass or a knife and cut myself. The pain I felt as blood flooded down my arm kept my mind off my misery and for a moment I’d feel as if nothing could tough me. As years when by, I lost a great amount of blood and slimmed down