"All we are is the trauma we endure"

Hi, my name is self-harm. I'm 13 years old but I was born in the age of juice cartons and lollipops, playing hopscotch in the road by my childhood door.
My existence is consistent with inconsistencies of presentation.
Lingering in the wrists that twist with stripes that sting and strands of hair that lay lifeless on the pavement floor.
I show myself through the absence of company, thriving while surrounded by unwanted loneliness.
Hey, my name is hypersexuality. I'm ageless and exists in both the mind of innocent eyes of childhood and the risk of jail bate. My existence has taught me to be used and abused for the satisfaction of men.
Hidden in the back seat of the family car with unwanted hands slyly sliding down my thigh and up the creases on my dress. 
Inhaled through intoxication in what I thought to be my friends' bedroom but what turned out to be strapped in with belt buckles and bandages, coming from behind without warning.
In replacement of books and knowledge in my high school bathroom by my best friend who refused to listen to my words of non-consent that were lost in the fragility of my pride, comfort and safety, who yet finds themselves in the body of my dm's 6 years later asking to see mine - of flesh and bone it's not me he wants but my thighs that shake, my boobs my cake.
That curves with profound attractiveness claimed by every guy who's done the same as these boys have-
Hello! My name is hypersexuality! And the fact that I have to say my first fucking rapist and not my only is pretty fucked up!
Hello! My name is fucking hypersexuality! And my first fucking rapist is trying to be friends with benefits with me!
Let me repeat!
My first fucking rapist is trying to be friends with benefits with me!
After fiddling with both my genitalia and my feelings for years without my fucking consent.
Being the one to call me beautiful, in replacement of my now ex just to then abandon me out of the fucking blue!
I must've taken his breath away so badly that he couldn't oxygenate his mind so, he had to think with what's inside his pants!
Hello, and on top of all this, the school didn't take action because it could have "serious consequences" for *you*.
Hello! my name is Grammar School.
A wannabe private school with a budget worse than most state schools and students who get punished for not being able to afford black socks over white.
A place that "didn't tolerate bullying" unless you weren't a part of the cis, heteronormative agenda.
Me being a queer, unidentified student fighting the rough ends of living on a food bank of course they turned a blind eye and ear but rather part took along in the gossip with the students against me...
I was ridiculed for my uniform and for the boys I liked. Chastised for questioning my identity, especially, when it came to me liking a bit more than just guys.
I was cheered and applauded for my winnings in the sports field but abandoned on the floor at break. with books and notes scattered and faced bruised with verbalities, I was fighting battles of a losing war with nothing but someone who didn't want to fight for me.
Myself.
Hi... My name is emotional unavailability.
I exist only in the presence of my father who would only acknowledge my existence to remind me that I'm the reason everything is ruined and wrong.
Unlike my mother, who's always right.
For her to apologise to me that would be a crime because I am the only one who can do wrong in this trio.
Even from a young age of mud pies and bedtimes, I was reminded that I'm the reason my mum is suicidal and that her death would be on my innocent hands.
Innocence...
What does it mean to be innocent anymore?
For I have been on the receiving end of punishments for my existence from the moment my eyes opened.
Failed by the people and systems who were supposed to protect me.
Little did I realise they'd turn me into the abuser of their stories to cover up the abuse they gave to me.
Hand wrapped with a bow just as a reminder that I should be grateful for all of this...
Hello. My existence is defined by the actions of others.