ΚΙЯSΤЧΛLΙSΘNN‹3

What would I do if I lost my mum? Are you fucking serious? You're ready to hear this? Well.
If I lost my mum, I'd have lost everything that gives me meaning of life. Everything that I'm fighting for, everything that gives me strength to keep on fighting. My mum, she carried me for 9 months, she brought me into this world and she's given me the love and courage I need to fight. She's been two steps behind me, ready to catch me and pick me back up when I fall. She's been there for me when the world walked out, when I've had my heart broken, fuck it, my mum's been there through it all. The pain, the heart breaks, the fall outs with my 'friends.' She was there to watch me struggle, and to help me. When I got into trouble at school, she was there. She watched me work my way through school, the struggles and the breezes. She's my rock. My world. My role model and my inspiration. She's been through so much over the last few months and I wouldn't wish that upon anybody. Not even my worst fucking enemy. You see, this year, my mum was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. The worst form of arthritis you can get. And she won't get better, no matter what medication she gets put on, or what treatment they give her. She won't get better, but she will get worse. But does that stop her? No. My mum, she still cooks every night, she still cleans, she goes to work, she comes home, she makes us fags. She does everything she can. Do you know how much it hurts to hear these exact words come out of your mothers mouth? "When my hands finally go, you might as well shoot me. There'd be no point in me being here if I can't use my hands." Try hearing that while sitting down the hospital with her waiting for them to do more fucking tests. So yea, it's safe to say, if I lost my mum, I'd lose me. But I wouldn't give up. I'd keep on fighting this scary life without her. I'd manage to do it, because she's taught me all the tips and tricks you need. Sure, life's hard, but if my mum can fight, anybody can. I'd keep on living, to do her proud. I'd make sure of that. It kills me to leave my mum for a day. I'm 16, most 16 year olds go out with their friends, go out on the piss and to parties. Not me. It kills me to go to college because I worry like mad. I'll give her a kiss and a cuddle before I go to sleep at night. I'd wake up and make her a cup of coffee and some breakfast before getting myself ready for the day. Before I leave, I'll make sure she's taken her 12-15 tablets. I'd make sure she has a cup of coffee and is warm enough. And then I'd give her another kiss and cuddle before going to college. I'll come home at lunch and check on her. I love my mum with all of my heart. If I lost her, I'd lose me. Keep on fighting mummy, I love you so much<3

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Right, I will not send this around. I will not give him hate. I don't fucking care if he's bisexual. I will not make him kill himself. Do you know why? No? Let me enlighten you.

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1. Dylan Harrison is by far one of the nicest boys I've met on here. He's got a heart of gold and he's genuinely damn amazing.
2. He was raped was he? You know that for a fact do you? And even if he did, it's not like it's his fault, if it is true, he's probably traumatized by it.
3. Bisexual people, are just ordinary people. So what if he likes the same sex as him as well as the opposite? You're probably just jealous because he can get cock and fanny whereas you're unable to get either. Bisexual people are amazing, most of my friends are gay/lesbians/bi and they're fantastic. They're so down to earth and so easy to get along with.
4. I will NOT make him kill himself, and I swear if he does, I will find you, I will kick the shit out of you until you're on deaths door, and I will leave you to suffer. You get me?
5. You're sick in the head, you send peoples links round telling people to make them commit suicide, but you do it on anonymous because you're too pussy to show your name because of the amount of abuse you'd get for it.

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You haven't really accomplished much by doing this, you've only accomplished;
1. Me having a hell of a lot more respect for Dyl as I already had for him.
2. Me realizing that anonymous people 99% of the time are heartless cunts who have nothing better to do with their lives so they have to make others feel like shit.
3. That you my friend, are a twat.
4. That Dylan is PERFECT, which is something you will NEVER be.
5. I've realized #2 even more.

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How about YOU go and die? I hope you get hit by a bus.

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I've grown up in a town where there's always somebody there to put me down. I've never known what it's like to be liked, or popular. I've been constantly bullied, day in and day out, continuously. But I've always been told never to stoop to other peoples levels. To rise above it and be the bigger person. That didn't get me anywhere, other than being called a pussy for not fighting back or something like that. I've been jumped, beat up in the middle of the school field with hundreds of people standing there laughing at me for not fighting back. I've never felt so alone until that day. Then when I was 9, I lost my best friend due to him getting hit by a car. I can remember this day as if it were yesterday. We were out playing in the back alley, it was about 2pm, there was a road so we were being careful. I'd accidentally chucked the ball onto the other side of the road, I went to get it but he pulled me back and went himself. As he was crossing over to the same side as me, he made sure he looked both ways, but he didn't see the car speeding round the corner. It hit him, with a massive impact he fell straight to the floor, the car carried on driving as if nothing happened. The tires crushed his ribs. I screamed, so loud that his mum heard me from his dining room and came flying through the back gate. I sat there, holding him, screaming and crying. Shaking. His mum phoned the ambulance and they came almost instantly. But it was too late. He'd stopped breathing, his pulse stopped beating. His last words, with the very little strength he had left in him were 'i love you kirdy.' I kissed his head and he went to sleep, for good. That caused me to suffer with severe depression and anxiety. It haunts me to this very day. I started smoking months after that. Thinking it'd help. It felt like it did at the time. October 2007, we found out my uncle had bowel cancer. This also ripped me to shreds because he was my best friend as well as my uncle. He used to be a soldier and would always tell me stories, each one of them beginning with 'when I was in the army..' and we'd always laugh about it all. I was his Kirsty Custard Boots (different story, feel free to ask) and I always will be. We sadly lost him on 28th July 2008. 2nd February 2011, I lost my other best friend. He got into a car that was stolen, he didn't know that though. They were speeding away from the police and crashed into a wall after the driver lost control of the car. Although he had his seat belt on, he didn't make it. I'm 16 years old now. And I've grown up with people walking in and out of my life. Friends slowly leaving me, still getting bullied day in day out. But that's my life. As much as I can write anyway. R.i.P Jayden 'JayJay' Stephens, Ryan Youngman & Frank Barber, i love you always. I'll make you proud one day. I promise. <3

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I'm 16 years old. When I was 4, I started first school. There was one girl, I can't think of her name, but she never liked me. She'd push me, she'd pull my hair and she'd try to turn my friends against me. Through first school, I was alone. I was the girl that soon went from having a fair few friends, to having nobody. 4 years pass, and I start middle school. I met some new people, I made new friends, but that girl from first school was there. She soon turned everybody against me, again. It wasn't just pushing and shoving through the hall ways anymore. It got to stealing my things, calling me names, getting my 'friends' to call me names. Again, I was alone. I couldn't tell the teachers, they wouldn't do anything. Again, 4 years pass. I enter high school, thinking that now we're in high school, things would change. I thought I'd get on with everyone, there were so many new people from all different schools. I was wrong. It wasn't the girl from first school and middle school making people dislike me. It was my 'friends.' I was young, I was scared. But, I kept on fighting, keeping myself to myself. Yea, I made some new friends who stuck by me, who didn't go by what others had told them. But it didn't stop the constant bullying. Pushes and shoves turned into punching and kicking. Stealing simple things like rubbers and sharpeners turned to stealing my PE kit and my pencil case. The name calling, the roumers, the way people looked at me, it all carried on. Why? I don't know. But what I do know, is it's changed me. I've gone from being a confident girl, to hating every little thing about me, physically not being able to speak to new people. It scares me. Few years of high school pass, and I'm in year 10. The amount of times I'd got beaten up, having people want to actually kill me.. It's scary. Year 11, nothing had changed. Still had the name calling, still got the shit kicked out of me, still got called every name under the sun, still had roumers going around about me, and I still couldn't trust anyone, or talk to anybody. I'm now at college, and you'd think that being in college, with a whole new group of people, that things would stop, right? Wrong. It's still carrying on, by people I've never seen in my life. I can't work in a group, I can't talk to new people, I'm socially unstable, I'm still getting called fat by people I've never met. And to come on here and have it all as well doesn't help, but I'm not going to give in, I'll keep on fighting. So that, is why I put myself down so much. 12/13 years of constant bullying, day in, day fucking out does that to a girl.

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It's such a silly story, and I'll probably get abused to fuck about it. But..

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When I was about 4/5 years of age, I had this pair of 'The Tweenies' wellie boots. They were my favouritest wellies in the world. I'd wear them even if it was only spitting with rain. I practically lived in those wellies. One day, my Mum came and picked me up from school and we went round to my Uncle Franks house, which at the time was a hotel that him and my Auntie owned. It'd been raining quite a lot all day, so I stayed in the garden and was playing in the puddles. It started to really rain hard, so I went inside. I'd wipe my feet so that I didn't leave muddy, wet footprints everywhere and I went and sat and watched the telly. This one particular day, my Uncle Frank came over to me and asked me to take my wellies off. I refused. I threw a proper paddy fit to the point that I was going purple in the face. Yes, Ok, I was a brat when I was a child!
Anyway.. He then laughed and went back to his seat, when I'd calmed down, he called me over to him. My Mum was sat on the chair opposite his. I looked at her and gave her the cheekiest smile in the world and then looked back at my Uncle Frank. He whispered in my ear, the words that terrified me. "If you don't take those wellie boots off now, and if you have them on the next time you come round, I'll fill them up with custard." Well, that was it. I ran off screaming, I was petrified. The one thing I never expected to be of my Uncle Frank was scared to death, but I was. I wouldn't go near him, I wouldn't look at him. I was crying, I was so scared. I mean, these were my favourite wellies, although they were getting a bit too small! Anyway, me and my Mum went home, I went to bed after calming down and then we went back round there the next day. It'd been raining, so of course, I had my wellies on my feet. I went to the kitchen for a drink, to find my Uncle Frank sat on a chair next to the fridge. I asked him if he could get me some milk out of the fridge. But no, he decides to pull out a big jug of custard. Well, I screamed and ran through to my Mum, who picked me up and carried me back through to the kitchen. But would she let me escape this evil man who was going to pour cold custard into my favourite wellies? No. She held me very still, and he poured the custard into my wellies, while my feet were still in them. And to this very day, I have never forgiven my Uncle Frank, or my Mum for that matter. Uncle Danky (Uncle Frank) I know you won't read this, but I still hate you for that. Sleep tight soldier, Kirsty Custard Boots loves you millions! <3

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People who self harm are the strongest people. They may not think they are, but they really are. People who have never self harmed or known someone who does it don't know how hard it is. I'm speaking both on behalf of self harmers, and on behalf of people who know self harmers. It's honestly the scariest thing possible. Let's start with this. Your best friend comes to you, she needs your help. She tells you that she self harms and shows you the cuts. Your heart drops into your stomach and for the rest of your life you worry about her. There's nothing you can do. 'Stop cutting' 'Why do you cut?' These statements, questions, facts.. They won't help. If anything they'll just make it worse. All you can do is support them, don't pressurize them into telling you the details, just reassure them, let them know you're there as and when they need you and leave it at that. Now, you're a self harmer. Nobody understands how you feel. What goes through your mind every day. You sit there, on your bed. Looking at the shiny piece of metal while rubbing your wrists. You finally get that ounce of courage to pick the blade up. You close your eyes, you take the blade and you slice it across your skin. Once. Twice. Three times. 'One more cut, nobody will care' Thoughts like that go through your mind all the time. You're self conscious. 'Why are you wearing long sleeves in the summer?' You can't explain the real reason so you have to lie to some of your best friends, family. You find no worth in your life, you soon start contemplating suicide, just giving up completely. Now, read this story wrote by @AskHarry3.
http://ask.fm/AskHarry3/answer/34244957737

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That's low mate. Yes, he probably should have, if you lot had your say you'd probably let him beat me until I was on deaths fucking door. Do you even know me? Do you know how hard it was to get out of that 'relationship' with him because I was scared he'd fucking kill me or something? I actually turned to his friends about it, because I got on well with them and could trust them about it. But they didn't believe me because he made out that 'he was only playing' .. even though he'd leave me with bruises the size of my fists. I was scared to say no to him, I was scared to disagree, and after I stopped seeing him, I panicked every time I turned a street corner, or every time I walked past an alley way. Do you know why? Because he told me I'd better watch my fucking back. He told me that he was watching me, and he would get me.

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