It is seven twenty-four. I am sixteen years old. I have just finished eating dinner with my family. I’m a little worried today. My cuts weren’t too bad- I was very controlled but I don’t know if the bandages were showing or something because my mum was looking at me very oddly. She kept glancing towards my wrists and back to my meal. I can’t be bothered with this today- it’s really not the right day to do this. I know that she doesn’t know about any of this and that is she did she’d probably just try to help, well perhaps help is the wrong word but she would definitely help me to cover it up from the world. She seems to enjoy having the control to make me do whatever she tells me to, she doesn’t know I often have full control of myself. That no matter what she says or does I am still the directing force in my own life.
She doesn’t know that I cried myself to sleep for approximately 8 years of my life- not that I do that anymore. I can’t really cry anymore, sometimes I wonder if I’ve used up my tears for this life already.
She doesn’t know that I have complete control over what I eat- that I have lost enough weight to lose my period- she wouldn’t even notice. She doesn’t really care what I look like and she doesn’t know what size I am. She just gives me £70 every four months and tells me that I should ‘try to look nice.’ When I do try I am asked if there is a boy involved- which I always fervently deny. The ones there have been don’t matter to me now.
She doesn’t know that when I feel bad I know I have one good, steady coping strategy. And she doesn’t know that this strategy is slowly taking further away from people.
In fact no one seems to have noticed that I’m slipping from this world, I’m becoming nearer to the other world made for me, the world I see in my dreams. No one has noticed that I have a panic attack on the bus almost every time I travel. No one notices me counting under my breath, over and over. No one has noticed that I cry in lessons. No one ever notices when I’m in lessons, or when I decide I don’t want to go. No one seems to see me, I mean if they do then they are just careless- the amount of people who will walk into me, laugh and splutter a weak apology. I think I’m the only one who knows how alone I have made myself. Someone, please have some mercy. Please just take the time to see me and to see that I’m not coping.
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