It is ten thirty one. I am four years old. It is morning break time and it’s not raining so we are outside. I didn’t have to run away from the boys today, one of them is trying to make a girl like him. It’s not going to work. I watch as the older girls plait each others hair and they smile. I try to smile like they smile, with their eyes all wrinkled up but I can’t quite do it. It’s difficult. I stop trying to smile and look at my shoes. One lace has come undone but I don’t know how to do them up. I lean over and tuck it into the side of my shoe. When I stand up again the sun fights past a cloud, it casts my shadow onto the ground. The basketball hoops shadow towers further than mine but I move and laugh when I notice I can make my shadow seem to be standing on top of the net. I turn and twist in the sunlight, my friend dances on the ground. She twists the same way I do and she walks the same way.
I don’t care she’s just me, I don’t care that our friendship only exists in my head. Daddy was right, eventually I found someone who can just about bear me. Even if no one else will have me at least I have myself. As long as I like myself I’ll be okay.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is quarter to eight. I am eight years old. I am afraid. Mummy and Daddy have left me to go out and eat; I think they forgot about me. I’m alone, it’s dark and I can’t reach the phone to talk to them. I’ll just wait.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is midnight, exactly midnight. I am twelve years old. I feel odd, I hate this feeling. I don’t know why I get it so often. My body seems to want to be hurting. I don’t like doing it though, I’ve only ever done it four times but I never want to stop. I love losing myself. I feel sick, suicidal. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to do this again.
Find me in this darkness. Hold me.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is eight thirty. I am sixteen years old. I walk into my English class five minutes early, my teacher, Mr Thomson has beckoned me in. I take a seat from the front row sixth to the left, slide it back a little and slip in. I try to look impartial to his gaze. He seems sad today.
“Do you know why I asked to talk to you this morning?” he asks, the sad look remains on his face.
I give him a wonderfully wide false smile and answer “No sir.”
He sighs and drums his fingers along his desk, a piece of paper slides.
“Is it my grades?” I ask innocently, I think to myself ‘Are my A* not good enough anymore? Or am I being accused of cheating.’
“No. I’m sorry. This is about your self injury.”
This brings me to my feet. “I have no idea what you are accusing me of. It’s a dirty habit, one I would never indulge in.”
“Calm down, I self injured when I was your age, it is a terrible but…”
I cut across him; I hold my arms tight to my sides and the wounds sting. A reminder of my lies.
“I do not self harm.” I say, keeping my voice level and calm, “I am a normal and healthy teenager.”
“Then show me your arms.” He comprises. The panic rises in me, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how well hidden my scars are today, I wasn’t happy with the makeup, but if I don’t show him he’ll know I am self harming but if I show him and he sees then he has proof. I almost bolt. I hold down my arms to my side tightly.
“Show me yours.” I retaliate. He pulls back his sleeves slowly and I look away, in disgust. He is agreeing to show scars, that is inexcusable sin.
“So what would you do if I showed you mine?” I ask still incredibly interested in the floor pattern.
“I would try to help you.” He says softly.
“I don’t want help.” I say my voice rises slightly, “I am fine. I don’t need your pity. I like being me. I do well being me. Look at my grades, my running times.”
“Stop living by grades!” He half shouts back at me, “They are not your life they are little letters and numbers. Numbers, they mean nothing.”
This is too much for me to cope with, “You think you can make it all better for me.” There is venom in my mouth, flowing off my tongue, dripping to the floor, coating me and blackening me. “You are just as ****ed up as I am. You still want to cut everyday. You are jealous of me, me and my scars. And my numbers mean EVERYTHNG. You have no idea.” I scream the last word.
I leave, I don’t look at him, I walk to the library and study in silence for the rest of the period and drag myself to Economics. I still think of his words ‘living by grades’ I laugh out loud. **** him, **** this. I don’t live by grades, I hardly live at all. If I lived for anything I live for my cuts. I don’t need help. A tiny voice in my brain speaks it fights against me, it cries in the night and tried to stop me from hurting myself. It tells me I have to stop before this kills me. Right now this voice is whispering. “I do need help.” I squash the voice. Help is the wrong idea- I cannot get strong by letting someone talk to me and making me stop. I will gain strength through survival. I know how to survive.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
My God.
This is the most beautiful, awful thing i have read. (please don't take that the wrong way)
You have an amazing talent...
I can't think of the right thing to say, its just such incredible writing
love
xx
My God.
This is the most beautiful, awful thing i have read. (please don't take that the wrong way)
You have an amazing talent...
I can't think of the right thing to say, its just such incredible writing
love
xx
Thank you so much everyone. I never thought anyone would actually like this. I've never thought I was even very good. You all inspire me to keep writing. Oh and twolittleducks, I won't take it the wrong way, I understand.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
Thanks everyone- I have exams for a month from this morning now so don't be surprised/upset if I write less. I promise I can make up for it at some point!
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
