It is twenty past twelve, I am sixteen years old. I feel myself drifting slightly; I’m exhausted, my brain is running in circles, my hand is aching now. It’s been a few days since I first injured it and the slight tinge I feel whenever I move my hand. It’s not the sharp stabbing pains, it’s the low grade, dull aching that never really leaves. It’s enough sometimes, the aching, it’s enough to make me not want to hurt.
I worry about how he must have thought of me, indulging in such a dirty habit. I want him to be with me now, I expect he is closer to me than I know. He could be with is friends, with the girls now. Maybe in the gym, the library. I don’t know where he would be to be honest. When I was young I used to write down whenever I saw him, write where he was. I worked out almost a whole timetable. When eventually I managed to complete it I destroyed it. I’d fixed the puzzle. And I decided I didn’t need to know where he was all of the time. I’m sure he’d go on with life in the exact same way whether or not I knew where he was.
A part of me wants to find him. To tell him that he has to talk to me. Tell him it’s his fault I can’t think of anything but him. Tell him that my hand hurts and not have him give me a look that means he has recognised my idiocy. I want him to tell me he’s not going to leave me this time. I want him to tell me that he loves me, that he understands, the he made a mistake. I want him to tell me I’m beautiful. Actually, I don’t care about most of that. I just can’t let him leave me again.
I stand up slowly, my hair falls in front of my eyes. I still feel a little dizzy, I don’t remember the last thing I ate. I hadn’t even realised I’d forgotten about food until this moment. I drag myself toward the door. I can’t even remember where I was going. Suddenly I realise, something is wrong with me. My right hand twitches twice and I feel as if I am about to vomit. I keep calm and leave the common room. I feel as if I’ve taken something, but I haven’t. I swear I haven’t. I can’t remember taking anything. The lights are too bright, I’m trying to walk in a straight line down the corridor, almost walk into a teacher and suddenly I realise I’m sweating. My hand hurts. I feel sick, I’m hot and cold. I can’t look at my hand, I can’t make myself. I think I’m ill. I’m so confused. Sam?
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is seven fifty. I am six years old. It’s the night time of Mummy’s birthday. Something really bad happened today. Daddy ended up shouting at Mummy. She told him she wished she was dead. He told her to shut up. Daddy never says that when I’m anywhere near him, he says it’s like swearing. Mummy did some swearing tonight. It didn’t scare me that they fought, they fight some of the time in the night when they think I’m sleeping, but it does scare me when they fight and Daddy shouts back.
Mummy sometimes tells Daddy that she doesn’t love him, that she wants to die. Daddy normally holds onto her and eventually she’ll stop. Today was different. Mummy isn’t sleeping at home tonight, Grandma came and took her away. Daddy says she’s not going to come home for a bit. He won’t tell me where she’s gone but I know where she’s gone. Daddy tells me everything that he can. That means Mummy is gone forever, Daddy doesn’t know where she is or she’s gone back into the hospital. I think she’s gone back into the hospital because my Mummy came back today. She sounded the same way she used to.
I know that Grandma took her into the hospital because she is better when she comes back but I didn’t want her to go. I know that when she does go home again she won’t be my Mummy anymore. And she’ll be full of pills. I worry some of the time because I think that Mummy is going to die before she gets old. I think she wants to die before she’s old. It doesn’t scare me, I don’t think she’d do it if she had the choice. But I think that sometimes it scares Daddy. I think it scares him in the same way it scares him when I don’t come home from school, or when I have to come home early because I got hurt. I think he’s scared that Mummy is going to die. Even though he can’t make it better. I think that Mummy should be allowed to die because if she wants to go somewhere so badly that she tells Daddy that she doesn’t love him, it must be a pretty nice place to go.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is fifteen minutes past ten. I am ten years old. I just told Sam that I love him. He says that he loves me too. He says that when he grows up he is going to marry him, I asked him how he knows he will still be there when I am a grown up. He says that he just will be there, he says he’ll put a tracker onto the back of my head one day and then he’ll always know where I am so that when I’m older he can just find me. I think he’s been watching James Bond too much, but I don’t tell him this. I think for a bit and then say to him “What happens when I brush my hair? Won’t I knock it off?”
Sam thought about this for a bit, he crinkled up his nose and then smiled. I’ll put it under your skin, they do that in the film my brother was watching last night. I shiver. “That’s just weird. And I’d feel you doing it.” Sam leans forward and kisses me on my forehead. “I promise it will feel like that.” He says. All my brain is saying is ‘Do it again. Do anything that makes me feel like that. Do it again.’
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is four thirty-two. I am fourteen years old. I’m scared that I’m never going to be okay. It’s been such a long time that I’ve felt like it hurts to breathe. I remember being about eight and thinking the same stuff. Wondering what it would be like to be normal. I want to be better. So I do the only thing I can think of. I start to walk. It doesn’t make much sense. But I do it anyway. I’m scare of what I am about to do, I’m scared to let go of all of this. I don’t know who I am without it. I don’t know what I am if I can’t be self destructive. It’s the only thing I’ve ever felt good at. I am sort of proud of how I can just run a blade down my arm and not feel it, how I know how to throw up in one try and I know how to stop myself from eating. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s bad for me but it’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to do. Just perfectly able to do, without even trying. I keep walking and try to stop thinking.
I go down the street, the main street between school and the hospital. I look completely mental. I look like the sort of person you would want to cross the road to avoid. I try to keep my hands in my pockets, they are shaking like mad. I still can’t believe that I’m doing this, never mind doing it alone. I keep walking, keep ignoring the outside world. My feet are cold. I’ll concentrate on that. I walk oddly, trying to find a way to warm them up and still walk at the same pace. I realise that this isn’t helping with the whole ‘looking entirely mad’ thing that I have going on at the moment. I stop trying to warm up my feet. I’m there.
Pushing open those hospital doors was one of the toughest things I have ever done. Not only were they incredibly heavy but I was pretty tired too. I felt myself try to hide as I walked into the room. I crept over to the desk. The nurse gazed up at me, her harsh brown eyes cut into my skin.
“Can I help you?” She asked, sounding ever so slightly amused. I didn’t smile, I didn’t even try. I just looked at her, feeling weaker still.
“I need to speak with a doctor. I think I am going to kill myself and I need to talk to someone who can help me. I don’t want to die.”
Her face fell, it hit the floor. My tiny frame curled over again and I began to cry, very quietly, very lightly.
She handed me a form. “You need to fill this in. I’ll find someone for you as soon as I can.”
I thanked her, my expression felt almost catatonic. I sat in a large red chair, I noticed fluff was coming out of one of the armrests. I resisted the temptation to pull at it and tried to focus through my tears at the form I had been given. Name, age, medication, GP that sort of thing. I think it’s because I’d never been there before. When it was finished I slid it towards the nurse I had approached.
“You’re brave honey.” She told me, I didn’t nod. I didn’t feel brave. I felt weak.
She gave me the room number and an appointment time. I sat. In the depths of this oversized red chair and I waited. Patiently.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is ten to one. I am sixteen years old. I am the school medical centre. I am apparently very dehydrated. I haven’t exactly drunk much, in fact I’m not sure if I drank anything since before I went to St. Catherine’s to get my hand bandaged and I’ve thrown up since then. I have been told to lie down. To keep drinking small quantities even if it does mean that I end up going to the toilet ever every few minutes afterwards. They asked me if anything had been wrong in my life, I think she must have seen my arm in the past and had, unsurprisingly linked it to the bandage that was now strapped around my fist. I told her that everything was going to be okay, but when she left the room I started to cry. I don’t know how everything has gone so badly in my life so far. I close my eyes tightly, hold the blanket tight in my uninjured arm and I pretend I’m far far away.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is three fourteen. I am six years old. Daddy is coming to pick me up early today. We’re going to go and see Mummy, I was right about her being back in the hospital, she’s back in a hospital but I don’t think it’s the same one. I wonder if she’ll get a room with a window on the door this time or not. I hope she’s allowed one. Daddy told me she is ready to go home when she’s had a room without a window for a bit but I don’t really want Mummy to leave straight away. It’s not nice when she’s away but I don’t think that it’s a bad thing that she’s gone a lot.
I got a new pair of trainers this morning. They are brown and sort of furry. I like them. I’m going to wear them when I go to see Mummy, I hope she notices them.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
I am ten years old. It is night time and my clock with the blue light on it has run out of batteries so I don’t know what the time is. I don’t want to get out of bed, but I want to count something. I roll onto my side and breathe in as hard as I can and I hold the air inside of me. I quickly try to count my ribs before I have to breathe out again. I frown, the number keeps changing. I’m not quick enough to count them all twice before I breathe out. This worries me. I have something I cannot count by myself. I am going to have to ask Daddy how many ribs you are supposed to have tomorrow. I breathe in again, I’m not sure how long I do this for.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
Thank you!
