It is thirty-four minutes past eight. I am nine years old. I have a new bedtime. I have to be in bed in my pyjamas, with my teeth brushed and my hair brushed by half past eight. I am. No one has come in to say goodnight to me yet. I close my eyes really tight and I wonder why all the little things that happen have to happen. I don’t think there can be a God or something because someone who have to have seen it by now. I mean, surely he or she would come out and show themselves? But if there isn’t a person who decides when everything happens then how does it all get done?
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.”
Fantastic updates, still loving the story. Take care xx
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)
It is four forty. I am thirteen years old. I went running today. I didn’t go very far but I really liked it- it makes you feel really free. I feel a little weak now though but that doesn’t really matter. I got done what needed to be done. I am counting each ounce of food which goes into me and calculating exactly how far I run. I love it- there are so many numbers. And these numbers are safe numbers- I know that some of them are supposed to go up and others are supposed to go down. I can achieve so much just by following my numbers. It’s wonderful. It is so liberating to be able to just not think of the consequences, to ignore the doubt in the voices of my parents, to excel beyond any of my peers, I enjoy this. I am living for numbers, the miles, the calories, the pounds oh and for each failure a cut.
I am so much better than I was. I am so superior to my old self. Everything I am doing is just to a new level. Everything has to be perfect or I will pay for it. I am improving. I am improving. And everything will be fine as long as I lose more weight.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is five thirty. I am sixteen years old. I am at home, I am not alone. David asked if he could see me briefly after school; without thinking I suppose I must have blurted out yes. As long as he is gone before my parents get back at 6 then we will be okay. Well I will be okay. He has come over for a specific reason though, a reason which does make conversation a touch more awkward. He wanted to ask about my mental health. I don’t know what he needs to know- we are sitting on the sofa in the main living room. Him at one end, he is touching 3 different pillows. I am at the other end I am touching 2. He has a shirt with 27 stripes of light blue, 29 of white and 28 of black. He blinks approximately 5 times between each inhalation of air. I am trying desperately to make him safe but it is hard. I approximate that he can see 42 cuts on my body, the majority on my arms, but that is if he looks very carefully. I think he must be able to see at least 3. 42 divides by 3, 14. Therefore even though this is a very bad thing it is- safe.
“Jocelyn?” I jerk my head upwards. I was busy beginning to count the tassels on a cushion. I feel the urge to cut myself creep over me. I am useless, worthless, I am counting not listening. I ought to punish myself, he shouldn’t be here. It’s wrong it’s wrong. Despite myself I feel myself breaking and I begin to cry. “Have some CONTROL.” I whisper to myself- loud enough for him to hear. **** now I look mad, and I’m crying. I begin to count furiously. 46 32 72 2 4 624 24 63 695 6463673. Numbers, random numbers. I am safe. I am safe.
“Jocelyn, why do you hurt yourself.” He asks again- blind to my sudden bought of madness. This time I hear him.
“I am a bad person. I deserve it.” I look down at my legs and ignore everything. I can’t bear it. My mind rushes through reasons but then, I find I do not have one he could understand. Because I didn’t see the clock turn from11.59 to 12.00 isn’t logical enough, because I think I might do bad things in the future doesn’t make sense and because I don’t want to hurt is a straight contradiction. So I just look at him and say the only barely logical thing in my head.
“I have no reason to stop, and a lot of reasons to do it.”
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is seventeen minutes past six. I am five years old. Daddy told me why mummy has been crying so much recently. She has been very upset because when I was four she had a baby inside her, but it died before I could meet it. He said that Mummy had tried to grow babies before but that they kept dying. I told Daddy maybe she should stop trying then, seeing as she wasn’t very good at it. Daddy looked very sad so I think I said something wrong. He fluffed up my hair and told me I was a ‘miracle’ I know what they are. It’s when Jesus mended a little boy and made a blind man see. I think he means that I was saved by Jesus.
I wonder if my new brother or sister can be looked after by Jesus too. I hope so, after all Jesus does a lot of nice things and I think Mummy must want another baby after how much she has cried about this last one.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
It is thirteen minutes past ten. I am thirteen years old. I am sitting in the computer suite of my school. I know that I’ve done something really bad this morning but I am ignoring it. My arm is all bandaged up, and a class of year sevens has just come in. I’m prying that none of them will know the significance of a blood soaked bandage. I’m hoping their minds are clean enough to not consider that these injuries are self-inflicted. I’m praying for the strength to stay here, to do the work I need to do and to ignore the nervous glances handed to me by the teacher taking the class. I don’t have a jumper today, and it is really hot so I really don’t want to have to cover myself up right now. I feel so damn uncomfortable though. God, I wish I hadn’t done it.
The bathroom floor, tiles, white. My hand was moving, eyes closed. So tightly closed. Sharpness and nothing, eyes closed, so tightly closed. And repeat the movement, with a little more pressure and pray for the nerve, to press to the bone.
So yes, this morning was not a good one for me.
System A
Sophie Mandi Max Gwen Mercy Erin AVA Tracey Bridget My Isaac
