I'm totally kidding, here's some love <3 However, if this evil, horrible thing you have inside you takes over and makes you terribly sad, it will feel the wrath of Nic *Flexes muscles*.
I'm gonna tap him like a maple tree. I'm gonna search him for some syrups. I'm gonna be having sex with him.
Now that I was receiving only two hours of education a week (as opposed to that of expelled pupils, who received 6) the days dragged monotonously, broken only by trips to the Borders book shop where I would select a book and while away the hours reading in the café upstairs and the occasional evening with friends. For a while after I left full time state education my friends and I slowly drifted apart, the educational glue weakening, although we did, eventually, revive our relationships, it was a lonely time, confusing on both sides as neither quite knew where we stood in the others’ lives.
With the boredom of the mundane days came another bout of depression, as is want to appear whenever I have little to do and few responsibilities, something I battle with to this day. I would drag myself out of bed only to walk the dog, and even then I couldn’t even muster the energy to change into clothes, so these brief interludes in the outside world usually consisted of pyjamas with a coat thrown carelessly over them, hair untamed and wild, face bare of makeup.
As the depression dragged me deeper and deeper into it’s dark swamp, the negative thoughts that I had battled so hard with took nest once again, whispering snide remarks in my ear whenever I was unoccupied: You are a stupid fat cow…no one likes you…you’d be better off dead…cut yourself, go on, cut yourself, it’s all you’re good for… As a consequence my arms once more became riddled with numerous cuts and bruises. In the fight against self destruction I was once again on the losing side, however this time, the demise was made under the cloak of oppressive depressive silence.
Last edited by Buttons. : 26-06-2011 at 08:16 AM.
'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
My salvation at this point came, oddly, as it did for many young people in my town, in the wake of a great tragedy. 14 years previously the town had been ripped apart in a manner which no one could have predicted. On one lazy Saturday afternoon bombs infused with hate and set alight with anger tore the streets apart, maiming many and stealing two young boys from life and the love of their parents. The aftermath was dreadful for the town as a whole, but devastating and life altering for those parents who had lost their children to the full terrible power of religious and political hatred.
In the face of such devastation and loss many would have turned away from the world and into the cold but comforting arms of bitterness and revenge. But the parents of the boys who were torn from their arms and their hearts did not. They instead connived to build a building which would embody the best enemy of hatred: love, and peace. This building first played host to both the children of the town and to the children of the country from which the bombs had been sent, to link them together, not by tragedy, but by the building of bonds that would stop this ever, ever happening again.
The centre grew to be a staple part of life in my area, becoming a haven for troubled youths and a leading charge towards peace, help and love. Many projects were formulated to help all those in society who needed help, the misguided young, the disabled, those facing language barriers, gays, straights, whites, blacks, all were welcomed with open arms and all felt the warmth of a place built out of the ashes of a tragedy to become a phoenix bearing hope at it’s breast, rising out of the flames, whole and new.
And it was here, as many had before me, that I found my own salvation. Having already worked as a volunteer with the disabled at the centre and having attended a supportive girls group to work through my chronic shyness, I was already aware of the place’s existence, but beyond those two projects had never given it much thought. Then it was brought to mine and my parents attention that those who had little or no schooling for whatever reason were welcomed into the centre when most were in education to give them a place to go and support as they attempted to rebuild their lives.
So one day I piled into the care with my mother and walked tentatively through the clear glass doors into the large airy space. Sitting myself in a chair in the corner I sat stiff and awkward, slightly unsure of myself and how welcome my presence would be in this building, having only ever previously been there for a specific purpose. Shortly after my arrival a staff member walked past, chatting to one or two young people, and, spotting me approached with a wide welcoming smile.
The smile reached her eyes and added a sparkle to them as she struck up a conversation with me. Gradually I warmed to her and my muscles began to un-tense one by one until I felt almost as though I had been sitting here and chatting with her for years. The woman introduced herself as Cat and somehow I found myself explaining about the psychiatric unit, the troubles in school, and my current two hour placement at the pupil referral unit, as well as the problems I was facing with little to distract me from my situation.
Finally when I stopped for breath, she studied me carefully and said ‘Well you can keep dropping in here of course, everyone is welcome here. We need some murals painting, there’s pool to be played and the more the merrier! And if you’re feeling down just have a poke around and find me or some of the other staff and ask for a chat, we’re all here to support you. Plus I have a feeling we’d be lucky to have you.’ She smiled as I blushed at that, then rising said, in her frank Scouse tones, ‘So, a cup of tea then?’
Last edited by Buttons. : 29-06-2011 at 11:00 AM.
'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
“Never lose faith in yourself,
and never lose hope;
remember, even when this world throws its worst and then turns its back,
there is still always hope.”
“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.”
Beautiful. Beautiful you..maybe me. I feel your pain and embrace my own..making me cry sometimes at night...I have many thoughts that linger and sometimes torment me when I should be resting.
So I 'wake' in the morning with the same memories that I left at daybreak.
Coffee wakes my mind for the powers that demand.
I play the game and do it well....keeping my pain where it can sleep when I cannot.
I am a living lie.
Working, loving, creating...but denying what lies underneath.
Until.
Until it resurfaces. There it is. It cannot be ignored or supressed ~ ir demands attention so it can groan and cry and grip your soul like it has wanted all along.
There it is.
I find music to dampen the sounds, or I succumb to it and bleed.
Music brings no shame ~ and it plays on and on without judging.
As time went on I haunted the centre more and more frequently, drawing comfort from the casual care they provided. Another girl about my age also attended due to similar issues and together we worked tirelessly on a mural of our own making, an under water scene filled with mermen and maids with a variety of exotic sea creatures surrounding them. Indulging in art made my heart soar, although as always I was incredibly self critical. It was all I could do at points not to destroy the piece, as I had much of my earlier work.
I also began, day by day, hour by hour, to place my trust more and more often in Cat. I learned to talk, to really talk. If I felt down, or depressed, I would tell her and with gentle pressing elaborate on the reason for my distress, be it my family, the abuse or just plain depression. She became my rock, and even when I wasn’t present in the centre I knew with a solid faith that if I picked up the phone she would be there.
I learnt to hold my own among some of the more raucous youngsters, a skill it took me many years to acquire. When I learnt I was not in fact vulnerable to attack, that even in the face of adversity from the others I could hold my own and protect myself, my confidence soared.
The biggest test of this however, came a month or so into my induction into the centre family. One afternoon, having eaten quickly in the canteen and proceeding to the pool tables to meet the challenges of various others, I heard two rather raucous teenage boys entering the room. I looked up, and felt my heart begin to beat a frantic, panicked tattoo against my ribcage, almost as though it were a wild bird caged and frantic to escape.
The taller of the boys glanced in our direction, and his smile became a predatory leer as he considered me. Memories flashed before my eyes, heavy feet pounding against my spine as I lay helpless, just willing the pain to stop. Taunts and teasing, words carefully selected to carry maximum pain and exact painful humiliation. The twisted pleasure on his face as I was wheeled from our previous school in a wheelchair, oxygen mask on my face, blanket on my lap, lips an ominous faded blue as my airways closed under asthmatic pressure.
I put my hand to my head, seeming to consider my next shot, but in reality trying desperately to cage the intense fear rippling through me. I looked up again, meeting his cold, cruel eyes. His look was hungry, but he did not approach, just hovered, leering, a lazy animalistic grin on his face. At that moment I realised. He couldn’t touch me. I was protected by the building, by those around me and, most importantly…myself. I took a deep steadying breath, then another, and another. Once I had regained my composure I leaned down with pretended carelessness. I potted the ball and teased my opponent jovially. My former tormenter moved on. He didn’t have the power anymore. I did.
'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
