When I was a little girl, I had only one true friend, and then, when I was nine years old, she moved away. After that, I hoped so much to have another true friend. I wanted one so badly that my awareness of how to tell a good friend from a bad one was off. I didn’t really care who my friends were; I just wanted someone to talk to me.

At age 13, I started hanging out with a bad group of boys. I was one of four girls that hung out with a group of seven 14- to 15-year-old boys who were associated with a gang. The boys would mistreat and violate us. They abused me physically and emotionally. Just remembering it hurts.

Drawing by Kristen Smith

But at the time, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I hated them, but “loved” them. I saw them as true friends, and thought they’d always be there for me. But they’d call me names, jump on me, and tell me they were going to rape me. They’d chase me around the hills and tell me they were going to kill me if I screamed when they caught me.

These so-called “friends” used to threaten me and the other girls with physical violence to make us do stuff. They hit me a couple of times. They used to force their way into my house and force me and the other girls to kiss them and let them touch us and kiss us in certain places.

One of them, Marcus*, I even thought I loved. He’d use the fact that I thought I loved him to make me do sexual things with him. And once, he and his friends helped this guy, who was six years older than me, kiss me. I felt sickened; I felt like nasty trash. I felt used.

The boys threatened and scared us with knives and guns, since they were so heavily involved with gangs. They’d have us so sacred that the next day, after everything happened, we’d pretend it never did. All this drove me to the point of depression. 

Getting Deeper

I remember trying everything to stop all the pain. I went to parties and did everything and anything to get it all out of my mind. But there was only one real thing that helped me out, and that was cutting. I “loved” the feeling I got when I hurt myself. It was amazing to feel all the pain, cut myself, and then have it all go away for that one remarkable second.

It was amazing, but deadly. I didn’t know it then, but the pain I felt from cutting was nothing to the pain I felt emotionally. It hurt me to know that I wasn’t the only one being abused by the boys. I knew it was happening to my friends, too, and it wasn’t going to stop. So, I kept cutting myself. I had scars all over my body. I don’t remember how I could’ve hidden all this from my mom and sister, but I did, and my deep depression continued.

Depression is a long, hard road of darkness. It destroys all your hope and your sense of well being. It takes control of your life and steals you away from a normal state of mind. The pain rips from you and has no sense of stopping. 

I was depressed, but I didn’t want people to know, so I acted happy all the time. I kept all the pain inside and kept cutting, letting the pain decay my body.

I remember when my teacher noticed I had scraped “Marcus” on my arm with a pencil. She set up a meeting with my mom and a school counselor. But I had nothing to say to them. They asked me questions, but I just sat there, shrugging my shoulders. I said I didn’t know why I did it.

But inside, I knew. I was living in such an unhealthy environment that I felt like I was going insane.  

Final Break

It took “the Halloween incident” to set me on a course of recovery. One Halloween, five of the boys broke into my house at 11 p.m., when my mom was away, but I was home. They took a bunch of stuff, like CD’s, and stood there, tormenting me. They went around and broke stuff, locked me in a room, turned the lights out, and chased me around the room—touching me and yelling obscene things at me until 5 a.m. the next morning.

After they left, I called one of the girl’s houses and asked for help. They called my mom. She took me home to clean up, but I refused to go in and sat out in the car. Then we left for our cousin’s house and there, in the bathroom, I broke down and told my mom how depressed I felt, and I told her about my problem with cutting.

My mom decided that in order for me to get better, we had to move away from that unhealthy environment—away from the boys and the gangs. One month later, we started looking for places to move. A little bit after, we found a place and settled in. We never pressed charges against the boys. My mom wanted to, but I told her not to. I was too scared that they would do something to me. 

Healing and Changing

In our new community, I started building up the self-esteem and courage to go to high school. I didn’t want to go, but I had to. I had to build up from where I left off. But that pain—even though it was in the past—still lived deep down inside of me. Just a hint of air reminded me of all those horrific scenes. So, I started talking with a counselor at my new high school.

But I really learned to stop cutting the hard way, when one of the girls I was friends with tried to kill herself. That friend meant a lot to me, but I couldn’t do anything to help her. So, I decided to stop cutting myself instead. I decided then and there that I needed to recover from my depression. And I realized that cutting is not a way out of sadness.

If you’re depressed or being abused physically or emotionally, you have to let someone who cares for you know what’s happening. If you can’t find someone, then you need to call a hotline and find someone who will help you. ’Cause if you don’t, you’ll live with all the guilt, pain, and injustice in you—and that’s just unhealthy.  

So, if you’re suffering, please reach out. It will help you find the path out of these life-or-death situations.

* Name has been changed

Yesenia lives in Los Angeles.

Editors’ Note: If you’re depressed and need help, talk with a family member or another trusted adult. Or contact the National Mental Health Association at 1-800-969-NMHA (6642) or click here.

If you self-injure, by cutting or another form of bodily harm, tell a trusted adult and seek professional help. For more information, call S.A.F.E. Alternatives at 1-800-DON’T CUT (366-8288) or click here.

If you’ve been raped or sexually abused, you can get help. Call the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-HOPE (4673). The hotline is confidential and open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. For more info, click here.