It's incredible writing. You have such an extraordinary gift; not many people can craft something so beautiful and absorbing as this. Take your time, but keep up your talent in some form or another, it truly is fantastic.
Take care,
xxx
There are remarkable things all the time, right in front of us,
but our eyes have like the clouds over the sun
and our lives are paler and poorer if we do not
see them for what they are. If nobody speaks of
remarkable things, how can they be called remarkable?"
Agreed with everyone. Your writing and your personal story is amazing really.
Wake me up before I change again
Remind me the story that I won't get insane
Tell me why it's always the same
Explain me the reason why I'm so much in pain.
The day continued to progress from bad to worse. Achingly long panic attacks hid around every corner, ready to snare me and send me fleeing to the sanctuary of the nurse’s office. Finally the sound of the last bell jarred through the school, a catalyst for the usual end of the day chaos. Teenagers of all ages ran, pushed and shoved their way towards their buses, bikes and cars, heedless of who they bowled over to reach their goal.
I waited patiently with my friends on a nearby road for my mother to materialise, throwing my bag and myself into the car with undisguised relief. As the others chattered about weekend plans and caught up on the day’s gossip I remained silent, slightly apart, bone tired with the effort of maintaining a happy façade for even another few minutes.
Once home I fled to my room and closed the door carefully, pushing hard to seal the room as tightly as possibly. Once this was done I cuddled into a thick crimson cardigan and collapsed on my bed, slid a familiar CD into the player beside me and hit the play button. Eerie mournful notes spilled out, swelling to fill the room, managing to verbalise the ache I felt far more eloquently than I could ever have done.
Still the empathy of emotions wasn’t enough. Dragging myself up right in a familiar motion I slipped my hand into a book, withdrawing a familiar old friend. Pushing up my woollen sleeves I surveyed my arms carefully, clinically. Reaching out I grabbed my usual supplies of arm warmers, bands and bandages to hide the damage done. Now, now I was ready. With hardly a moment of hesitation I slashed down, revelling in the warmth of the blood trickling down my arm. High on pain I slashed down again and again and again until the heat of the blood seemed to encompass my arm. Gradually I slowed my actions until eventually I was satisfied. Returning the blade to the paper back I haphazardly bandaged my arm with hands sticky with blood.
Once the crimson had stopped seeping disease like through the material I stood, shook down my sleeve and hurried into the bathroom, slamming the door shut quickly behind me. Carefully I began to wash away the stains on my hands and face, scrubbing at the skin until it was raw. Reaching for a towel I straightened up, gazing into the pale face reflected in the mirror as I dried my hands. I smiled at my reflection for the first time in weeks. Finally, finally I was at least halfway to happy.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
