wow! i just read it all its brillient i was gutted to see i was at the end thoe cant wait for more its amazing if this was out to buy i would be fist in line!!!
today give a stranger one of your smiles. it might be the only sunshine they see all day
if only his mind where as easy to fix as his body. we are all born MAD some remain so
wow just wow!!! read the whole thing from start to finish and its just brilliant i like you writing style and you are a very talented person!! and i would love to see this being published!!!
These recent updates have been so good... so emotional. Well done! :)
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell. I know, right now you can't tell. But stay a while and maybe then you'll see A different side of me Unwell - Matchbox 20
"Why inflict pain on oneself, when so many others are ready to save us the trouble?"
George Pacaud (1879 - 1937)
Just read this all, it is amazing...really well written and interesting...I like the style of writing and think its amazing how you can chop and change between ages! Its fab!!! xx
It is twenty past one. I am sixteen years old. I am at home. Sam knows the reason for each of my bandages. He’s content with that. Emotions as explanations. I tell him my fist was anger, fear and confusion. I tell him my arm was desperation. He doesn’t look sad or freaked out or any of the emotions I expected him to show me. He shows me almost nothing, which is somehow colder that pain. I don’t know why I want him to care for me but I do. I want him to be hurt by the fact I am hurting. He never hurts.
We are kneeling on the floor next to my washing machine. Trying to work out which setting is most appropriate for bloodstained bedroom linen. My room looks a lot less like a battlefield that it did this morning. Sam and I, well Sam really, stripped my bed and then I tidied stuff. He put a new duvet cover on the bed. I straightened my light. He carefully folded over the blanket. I hid my razors. He opened my curtains. I examined the dent in my wall. He picked up my hoodie from the floor, hung it gently on the bed post. I cried a little.
H, we decided. H is what we need. I hear Sam say if the stains don’t come out he’ll chuck it into one of the big bins on the corner for me. I smile weakly back at him.
It’s two fourteen. I am sixteen years old. Sam is kissing me.
It’s three fifty. I am sixteen years old. I am crying. I ****ed up today. I ****ed up and he’s back being nice to me. How do I deserve this?
It’s five minutes past four. I am sixteen years old. I never asked him if he loves me.
It’s four minutes past seven. I look at my arm, I look at my knuckles. I think of my mother. I think of Sam. I think of David. I think of blades. I see horrible images rushing into my head. I think of how mucked up I am already and I tell them to go away. I don’t know why, maybe the powers that be think I’ve taken enough recently, but the images stopped. I closed my eyes and silently thanked my brain for giving me the first break in years.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
Oh wow this is amazing,
the cuteness of the parts when you were younger
and the emotions of the older parts together just make it fantastic!
My eyes have welled up quite a few times! x
It's taken me a while to get through this but I've loved every second of it. It's a truly wonderful way of sharing your story. I can really feel the pain of it all and see that little grow throughout each chapter. And for what it's worth, I adore the use of numbers I hope you're well and I hope to read more of this soon.
It is twelve forty-one. I am six years old. Mummy and Daddy are talking to each other a lot more now. Mummy isn’t really talking to me as much as she used to but still, if her and Daddy are talking then it’s only a matter of time before she remembers me. They asked me if I liked David. I said I didn’t talk to him much and I told them that remembered that I am not supposed to talk to people I don’t already know. Daddy laughed, Mummy didn’t.
I shouldn’t really be thinking about Mummy and Daddy now; I should be listening to my teacher who is reading a book about Wombles. I don’t think there is much of a point in Wombles. I don’t want to listen to her really. I start to count things, take some thing from other things. All the chair legs in the room take away everything that is green. 24. All of the things in this room are not as nice as the things in my old classroom, and there are less interesting things to count.
But yeah, Mummy and Daddy are talking again. I’m not really talking to anyone still. But that’s okay. I don’t really like to talk anyway.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is three fifteen. I am ten years old. It’s almost time for Sam to leave me again. I feel odd letting him go, I know that I’m going to see him again tomorrow but still. I miss him over the evening. He really talks to me, the odd silences at my house when Mum and Daddy say something I know I shouldn’t have really heard. The ways I am not really trusted to not make a mess at home. I like being at school when all I have to do to make people happy is what I am told. I like the way I talk about whatever I want to talk about. Sam lets me do that.
I don’t think that Mum is ill anymore, though she still talks to doctors from time to time. It sucks when she feels bad. She’s not the same person, it scares me because I’m never sure how long it will be until she’s back. I wish I could go to secondary school already, I think I’d feel more normal there.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
I hope you're well and I hope to read more of this soon.
