It is eleven sixteen. I am ten years old. Sam never had the flu. He’s gone. One, two, three, four, five, six. One, two, three, four, five, six. One, two, three, four, five, six.
How long am I going to do this for. Eleven sixteen. Eleven sixteen. One, two, three, four, five, six.
He told his mother. He told her and now he’s gone. He’s not allowed to. He’s not allowed. I am bad. I am wrong.
One, two, three, four, five, six. I am bad. I am bad. I am bad. I am bad.
Sam. 3. Sam. 3. Sam. 3
It’s killing me. It’s killing me.
I love you Sam. I love you.
Why did you tell her.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
Why couldn’t you have stayed?
Is she going to let you come back in September? Will she let you go to school with me?
She says it’s a break from me.
One, two…. I can’t. I can’t count. It hurts.
Sam? I did this. I did this.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is five fifteen. I am fourteen years old. When I’d started, it was easy to continue. I told him first about the weight, how those numbers had crept over me, found their way into my head daily and nightly. I told him how I’d eat and eat and eat until I felt so full I thought I might die, then I’d throw up in the aftermath, thinking only. ‘This is easy.’ I told him about the time I didn’t eat for three days straight, how my hands had been shaking, my legs could barely hold me as I tracked my way around the school field, breath coming in short, sharp puffs. I told him about the laxatives, how they gripped me low in the in stomach, how the pain moved down until it was all I had. I told him how I’d beg it to be over, to get that stuff out of me and just sleep for an hour or so. I told him about Ed and I, I told him about how Ed had touched me, how it didn’t feel like my body. I told him about the cutting, how everything that went wrong would have to fixed with a cut. I told him about Sam. I told him about the nightmares. When I stopped, when the pain ran dry he asked me two things.
“Jocelyn. I need to ask you something. Why do you think you do this?”
I glanced up at him, the man who held all of my secrets, “I do it because it’s the only thing that works. It’s the only thing that stops me feeling so empty.”
He jotted something down quickly and looked back at me, “Jocelyn, do you think you’d be able to tell me why this is your mother’s fault?”
I looked up at him and curled deeper into the ball I had put myself in, “She hates me.” I whispered, “I was never ever enough. I was never enough to keep her here.”
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is seven fifteen. I am sixteen years old. “Jocelyn.” My mother snaps, voice harpy sharp. “There’s a boy here to see you.” I stiffen. Sam or David? Sam or David? Levering myself carefully off my bed I listen intently, it would be enough just to hear a snippet of a voice, to prepare me for the face at my door. My mother brushes past me, her loose clothes whip my leg and she smiles sweetly. “Under no circumstances is he to go into your room.” I nod and half run down the stairs. David stands in my hallway, his expression is one of urgency.
I slow, to a walk for the last step. He takes one step forward and buries himself into my neck. I stand bolt upright, not prepared for this moment.
“Jocelyn.” He says into my skin. “You need to run.”
I step back, forcefully removing his hands from the body. “What is going on?” I ask, eyes darting all over his body. Searching for some clue, some reason to believe what he is saying to me.
“They called me up. The doctor from St Catherine’s called me. You ran away from a hospital Jocelyn. Why the hell did you even…” he stopped mid sentence and adjusted his volume. “you did something really stupid. You started running and now they are going to find you. I told them who you were when I took you in.”
I didn’t feel angry with him. I was just surprised that I counted as an emergency.
“The crisis team are going to come here Jocelyn. They are going to want you to talk with them. They are going to ask you why you ran away. Apparently your self harm is really getting bad. I heard about your fist and from what I can see now, that’s true. You fainted at school.”
I closed my eyes for a second. It wasn’t happening to me. “David.” I said, through my closed eyes. “I need you to leave. I’m going to be okay.” I opened my eyes, gestured towards the door and half pushed him, unwillingly, out of my house. I walked upstairs, past my parents door and into my room. I sat in the centre of my bed and began to wait. I could have cut, I could have thrown up for the last time in a while but I didn’t. I retained my dignity. I was, above all else, controlled.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
“The good things don’t always soften the bad, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”
“Nobody important? Blimey, that’s amazing. Do you know, in nine hundred years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.”
“If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”
It is ten thirty three. I am six years old. Today the lady wants me to draw her a picture. I want to ask her why she can’t find one I drew at school and then I could go back to school, start to learn new stuff again. I don’t ask. I am good. I am normal. If I am normal then they will let me go home. I draw a picture for her. It’s not the sort of picture I would normally draw but I don’t think she wants to see a picture with numbers of it. I draw a tree. Instead of numbers I make sure one side balances the other. I make sure that without roots it could stand up straight. I finish it and she peers over it. I worry she doesn’t like it and I feel like I’m going to cry. All I want to do is prove I’m normal. She puts a large hand on my shoulder and asks me if I’m okay. I nod, because I know drawing a picture doesn’t make most people cry. She scrawls down a note in her ugly notepad and I play, very quietly until the hour is up and I am allowed to go back home.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is eleven sixteen. I am ten years old. I am not going to school. Mum shouts at me this morning but I don’t care. She can shout at me if she wants to, I just can’t go. Sam is gone. It’s over. I refuse to go back to how I was. I can’t do it. It’s a Friday anyway and I think Daddy thinks that me staying at Grandma’s for a day is punishment enough for not going to school. Grandma squints down at me, she looks like a crow leaning forward precariously on a telephone wire. She interrupts her awkward silence with a question about the only thing we have in common.
“So, how’s your mother these days?”
I tell her carefully that she seems better than she has been, that she is sleeping and eating meals and not being aggressive. My Grandmother tells me that ‘I’d better have my head screwed on more tightly’ and then goes into a monologue about how much better my father has been as a parent than my mother. I lean against the carefully placed cushion, listening to her complaints, and I wonder if she remembers the fact that her daughter turned out as she was because of the way she was brought up.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
