Copyright Noelle

I don’t know what to say. I wish you could all be happy. Sometimes I have beautiful thoughts. I always feel alone. Here’s a random account, I guess it’s a two-dimensional story, if I can touch just one person, it’s enough. It’s crazy the little things in life you stumble across that make you realise something, or feel something, or love something. Remember, everyone copes with things in different ways, you are amazing and unique and beautiful, all of you. Don’t let others bring you down, no one is better than you, or prettier, or more clever — you are all different and totally unbelievably amazing in your own way. I know I’m a hypocrite, I’m saying this all when I don’t even believe in myself, I don’t believe in anything much. I just wish I did. Right now, my wish is to reach out to just one person. Anyway, sorry, here’s a bit about my experiences.

When I was twelve my parents decided to separate, my dad had been having an affair for nearly two years. My family had always been so close, I was the youngest of four, my eldest brother and sister away at university, and two years older than me brother living with me, mum and dad. I loved my family so much, especially Christmas, gathering round joking and sharing memories together. Dad leaving didn’t change this as much as I thought, in a way I was lucky to still be able to see him at the weekends. But I hated seeing him and his new girlfriend, they’d kiss when they thought I wasn’t looking. Little things about my dad’s behaviour upset me. I knew I was acting hostile and ‘moody’ but I couldn’t help feeling sad and alone. He’d offer me food and I’d say I wasn’t hungry, she’d cook me something anyway, usually meat even though I explained I was vegetarian — the whole time I was at my dad’s I’d go on the internet and talk to my friends on MSN, I left my plate on the desk and my dad would say how much effort she’d put in, the least I could do was help, I began to believe how horrible I was being to her, I did get to know her but still I dislike her, I felt her difficult to communicate with, she never apologised, or showed any signs of guilt, even when I accidentally found the document saying they were getting married, and took up the courage to ask her myself before having to tell my brother, she didn’t apologise or offer me comfort. I felt so patronised by my dad and her, they’d make jokes about me being on MSN all the time. Silly I know, but they made me feel so small, plus I’d be so moody to them, and just get shouted at. I hated going there, and felt so alone. Mum herself had so much to deal with, and I couldn’t talk to my other brother and sister, they were far away and didn’t understand, my other brother had lots of friends to talk to, and always had an excuse for not having to spend time at dad’s, I knew he wasn’t exactly happy, but I was so jealous of him — he was so talented and clever… But when he came to dad’s with me it was so much better, he made it OK — most of the time. But he too would say I was so moody, then when mum came to pick us up she’d get in on it too. I always felt so ganged up against, if I fought with mum she’d ring dad, she always took his side. I don’t know when exactly I first cut. But I told quite a lot of friends, which I’m so embarrassed for. I think I was just craving attention, but that’s always overlooked as such a horrible thing, now looking back — though I’m embarrassed, I just wanted someone to care about me. Someone to talk to. once I told my mum, when I was still twelve, she actually laughed — my cuts were more just scratches, I’d barely break skin. I love my mum, she is great, but this is just something I guess she doesn’t understand. But she did make me feel so sad, once she said, jokingly, ‘if you want I’ll do it for you properly’. Another time she said something like ‘you can’t just go to the bathroom and cut yourself every time you feel sad’. I don’t know if this makes sense to anyone, but I was so different then. I mean me, my mind and my thoughts — I was actually a different person, I saw things differently, I’m embarrassed for things I did, I was loud and hyper at school, probably quite attention seeking. I cried a lot, and cut sometimes, but at the same time I enjoyed life, I had very up/down emotions.

In honesty, I don’t know what changed at the ages of thirteen or fourteen. I think I become more like the real me. I think about things too much, I worry. I get anxious, I didn’t have anyone I could talk to or feel like I could fit in, I started taking overdoses of Paracetamol often, and skipping lots of school. I’d ‘miss’ school buses in the morning, and get a later one in to miss a few lessons, or sometimes the whole day. Of course, my mum just got angry, and teachers too — I wasn’t concentrating in lessons either, everyone seems to just think this means you’re rebellious. I don’t think so. All I can say is I was sad. I’ve never really seen a psychologist or doctor, but I was definitely depressed. I’m not sure about Paracetamol, maybe I was hoping I’d die, pain free — I didn’t really know, sometimes I didn’t take enough to have effect, but a few times I threw up, this made faking ill easier, so I got off school sometimes. I never told anyone about that, or my cuts — plus I was so embarrassed by my scars — all on my hips and thighs so people couldn’t see. So I was more alone than ever, the stuff I worried about was average, my divorced parents, friends at school, crap relationships, then it all changed again.

Last May, aged fourteen, I took another overdose, stupidly, and I don’t know why, but on my way to work. I started throwing up so they let me go to get a bus, thinking back I feel so stupid, but I felt sicker then ever and knew I’d make a scene on the bus, so I made someone call an ambulance for me. Both my mum and dad came to see me, all I really said was sorry, I felt so stupid. My elder brother and sister rang and I said ‘thank you for not asking why I did it’. My other brother (aged seventeen at the time) and his girlfriend came to see me too, I was finally able to see they did love me, it’s just nobody knew. I had to see a psychologist, but after two sessions I convinced her it was a fluke and that I’m fine. I didn’t tell anyone I’d OD’d a lot so my family presumed it was a stupid teenage one-off. I told my best friend, but again — we didn’t talk it out, just ignored it and talked about happy things, another ‘friend’ somehow found out and said I was just trying to get attention. So, things didn’t get better, and I felt so embarrassed. The one good memory I have from this time was a song my seventeen year old brother wrote for me. It is the most beautiful thing, I won’t type it here now because I’m too sad but the chorus says ‘I’ll be your special someone’ he said he put someone because he didn’t mean as a brother, or a friend… just… someone, who I could talk to. But I never did I always just lived in silence. I was always embarrassed around him and all his cool friends, I felt like the annoying little sister all the time.

I still never talk to professionals…oOr anyone really, so I’ve had to ‘diagnose’ myself on the internet. I think I get anxiety panic attacks, I get so nervous in everyday life, I just… hate myself. I can’t communicate who I am, everything I say comes out wrong. Everyone thinks I’m fine, especially my mum who thinks that I am only depressed when it suits me. Sorry everyone. I’m just so lonely.

Anyway, yeah that July my brother died in a car crash.

No words could come after that, sorry. I’m crying so much. It’s almost a year now, and I just can’t explain. I stopped cutting myself when he died for quite a while, nothing was enough I just…

Sorry, I can’t actually finish this. I know I’m so stupid, I’m sorry. But it helped a lot being able to finally say things from when my parents first split.

I’m sorry this is meant to be helpful and I’ve ended up just complaining, and trying to explain and not making any sense and I’m sorry. I just wish that there was something I could do. I can’t talk to psychologists or people. And when I try to write down how I feel it all comes out wrong. And I thought this would make things better I felt I was helping and I was so sure writing it down would make me feel better, but I’m more lost and confused then ever. And I have to hand in work I haven’t done tomorrow, so I can get decent GCSEs. And I won’t do my best, and I’ll get shouted at, and everyone will think I’m so happy, and I’m not. I’m not. And I’m so sorry I know you’re not going to put this up it’s horrible but just sending it might make me not so alone. Even though I’ll wake up in the morning feeling so embarrassed again. And I’ll feel OK again for a little while.

Sorry, I can’t stop now even though it’s all coming out wrong.


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