Chapter
1
When did this all start? Well, how
far back do you want to go? Weeks? Months? Even years? It’s hard to say when
exactly I hit depression. It’s kind of like being on a rollercoaster. You keep
building up to it and then suddenly when you least expect it you drop. And it’s
hard to know when you’ll reach the bottom.
All you can do is hope it’s a soft landing.
My childhood was pretty normal, all
things considered. I wasn’t abused by my parents, or bullied at school. I was
never the top of my class, or even remotely close to it. I got standard B’s and
A’s and a couple of C’s. I never really had any friends, but not because I was
hated by my classmates. They just didn’t pay any attention to me. They all
thought I was weird. And so I was cast out and made a stranger. I knew nothing
of friendship or relationships. Well, maybe except for one exception. Way back
in middle school, I did have one friend.
We were very similar, that being we both enjoyed reading, writing and
music. We never spoke much. We hadn’t
even engaged in one single, full conversation, which looking back now, I really
regret. I met her on the first day of middle school. We both wore the same
skirt and both were carrying a stupid brown satchel bag. I had always hated my
bag, which my mother had bought for me one day at a garage sale. Of course I
had despised it the minute I laid eyes on it. It wasn’t even a nice shade of
brown, it was a colour that was neither a dark brown nor a dark green, it was
somewhere in the middle and reminded me of bogeys. I had tried my hardest to
steer my mother away from the bag but she somehow came across it and decided it
would be perfect as a middle school bag. There was no point in getting dad to
try and make her change her mind because he just agreed with whatever she said
anyway. So, as not to disappoint my mother I pretended I loved the bag, it was
always useless to argue with my mother, she was too stubborn to argue with and
she always won the argument in the end, so it was just easier to agree with things
she said. As from that moment I was stuck with the bogey brown satchel.
And I guess it was the fact we both
were carrying the same bag that caught her eye too. She had dark brown hair, in
tight plaits on each side of her head. Her mother was not with her but a man
was standing next to her, his hand on her shoulder. I guessed he was her
father. They were both smiling, but I could see, even from the other side of
the room, that his hand was squeezing her shoulder so tightly, her smile was no
more than a grimace.
Our eyes met across the room and I
chewed my bottom lip. Her eyes were red and puffy. It was obvious this girl had
been crying recently. I wanted to run over to this girl, rip her from the man’s
strong grip and hold her tightly, never letting her go. Keeping her safe. I’d
wipe her tears away and tell her it’s okay. Then I’d have a friend and so would
she. But something told me that whatever was upsetting this girl, a hug was not
going to make it better.
Looking back at this situation, I
realise I have never really felt that kind of sadness since. Not a
‘feeling-sorry for myself’ kind of sadness, but a sadness where you really
honestly wish that someone is okay. The sort of sadness where you know someone
is hurting badly inside, and nothing you say or do can help them.
That very same day we were placed
in the same class together, and I learnt that her name was Marie. It was a strange and rather old fashioned name
I had thought. But then, who was I to judge when my own name was Autumn.
Getting to know my classmates for
the first time was one of the worst experiences I can remember. I had no desire
to mix with other children my own age. The truth was, even at the age of 9 I
didn’t get on with kids the same age as me. They annoyed me. They always acted
as if everything should be their way, as if they were always right. But most of
all, they pretended that everything was always perfect. Nothing ever went
wrong. The worst that could happen is they fall and need a bandage. But I knew
differently. I don’t know how I knew, but I just knew that people could hurt on
the inside, not just the outside. I knew that the world really wasn’t that nice
a place and rarely was anything perfect. I saw the world how it really was.
Most kids would love to think so grown up. They would love the fact that they
could think like adults. But for me, this was taking away my childhood. Robbing
me of my young innocence. Stealing something that could never be replaced. And
I have never recovered from it since.
But I had promised myself I would
make an effort this time. Anyway, maybe I would find someone who thought the
same way I did. I highly doubted this, but then who was I to predict what could
happen. As it happened, most of the kids were as normal as I had guessed. There
were the girls who wore pink braids in their hair and had the pretty blue
summer dress uniform on. The ones whose parents bought them anything they asked
for. I despised children like this. Spoilt, rude and hard work. All in all,
just unpleasant to have to be around. Then there were the clever teacher’s
pets. Their uniforms are immaculate and
they had everything you could possibly need for a school day in their
bags. There was always one bully, who
would graffiti on the furniture and stick gum under the tables. They’d steal
other children’s belongings and take their food. They thought of no-one but
themselves and I thought this was downright selfish.
But I was never bullied. I never
had my lunch stolen or my pens taken. I never got gum put in my hair or been a
victim of fruit bombs, which would involve having mouldy fruit thrown at you
whilst you were in the toilet cubicles. Not pleasant. I’ve never come back from
lunch break to find my books thrown across the playground or had my work sabotaged. No, when it came to being bullied I was
lucky. But in my whole 4 years of being at that school I don’t believe I had
uttered a single word to anyone other than the teachers and no-one had ever
spoken to me either. It never mattered which table I would sit at in class, everyone
else would avoid it. During lunch I would sit in a secluded tree in the corner
of the playground and watch the other kids play without a care in the world.
No-one noticed me there. If I were to walk into the toilets during a game of
fruit bombs I could clear the bathroom instantly. They’d give the ‘Let’s get
the hell out of here’ nod before abandoning their fruit and leaving the
bathroom without even a glance at me. I’d check my reflection in the mirror and
fix my long, black hair while the person inside the cubicle tried to decide
whether it was safe to come outside or not. Usually, just as I am clipping my
fringe back the person would emerge, rather warily, look around and would allow
a ripple of relief to wash through them, wash their hands and dry them before
either nodding or smiling at me briefly before escaping the bathroom. They’d
always look grateful at the fact I had just stopped them being knocked out by
fruit, but there was still the element of caution whenever they acknowledged
me. This one time a young girl had quietly said thank you, before running out
of the bathroom. This left me feeling quite content for the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, the next day I came in to find someone had overheard the small
girl speak to me and from then on she was ridiculed for this until the day she
left for high school. It saddened me that someone could be punished, simply for
trying to be nice. It just proved to me even more what a nasty world we live
in.
But overtime Marie and I started to
sit with each other and rely more on each other in school. We never spoke, but
we both seemed to just know what the other was thinking. Nobody ever laughed at
Marie for mixing with me because she was just as cast out as I was, but for
different reasons. I was pushed away because I was just strange in a stubborn,
weird kind of way. But Marie was pushed away because she was strange in a sad
kind of way.
Marie very rarely smiled. Her head
always hung and never looked up when from the floor. Unlike me she would talk
to people, but only if they began the conversation. Her eyes were always sore looking, as if
she’d been crying for hours on end, and she would sometimes come into school
with bruises up her legs. Sometimes, on the occasions where the bruises are
noticeable she is taken outside by a teacher and I’d never saw her again until
last lesson. I always suspected something was wrong. I had always known that
something was going on with Marie, but I knew it was far too big for a child
like me to be getting involved in. I wanted to make her feel better, but I
didn’t know how to. So I became her friend and promised myself I would help her
to feel happy and safe with me in school.
Of course, the other children suspected nothing. They were too caught up
in their own perfect little childish worlds where nothing can go wrong. I had
always thought that they were all very naïve to be honest.
But one day, everything changed. It
was a Monday, 3 months into our third year at middle school. It started off as
a normal school day. Everyone was complaining about the weekend going so fast,
but of course I knew it didn’t go fast. We all just feel like it goes fast.
It’s really just common sense to know the weekend doesn’t go any quicker than
any other day of the week. So it wasn’t even lunchtime and I was already
annoyed with my classmates.
I remember sitting at my usual
table and suddenly realising Marie was not there. This was incredibly strange,
the whole time I had known Marie she had never taken a day off school. So her
not being here stuck me as very odd. I found it extremely difficult to
concentrate during lesson after that sudden realisation. I spent the whole of
first break worrying silently to myself and then suddenly during lesson two
Marie burst into the classroom. I let out a breath as I felt my body relax as
the worry left me. But as sniggers and laughs began to start up around the room
I noticed a large bruise above Marie’s eye socket. She slowly made her way over
to the table I sat at as every eye in the classroom followed her. She was
limping slightly and I noticed she was cradling her left hand gingerly and as
she got closer I could see fresh bruises on her skin. I smiled at her as she sat down. This must be
so hard for her. I could only imagine the pain she must be in and then having
to face going to school. Her face looked a whole lot worse up close. She had a
cut lip, which was swelling up as I looked at it and her right cheek had a
small cut upon it. Her hair was not in the usual tight plaits, but hung limply
around her pale face. Her eyes were as
usual red and puffy, but today there was pain in them. Not just from the
physical pain but also from the mental pain I knew was possible to feel. No-one
was laughing now. The room was deadly silent.
Marie was not in the lesson for
long. Twenty minutes after she’d sat down our headmistress entered and called her
out. Marie looked at me before she had left. She just stopped at the door and
looked back. Everyone was watching her silently but she didn’t care. Her face
was unemotional and if she was scared or upset she certainly didn’t show it.
Nobody said a word as we stared at her, my heart pumping fast as I willed her
to stay strong and get through whatever it was that was hurting her so
much. Marie looked straight at me and
into my eyes, my breathing caught in my throat as she smiled a small smile.
‘Thank you.’ She whispered, still
looking at me. I knew her words were meant for no one else but me. I smiled gently
back at her, a single tear rolled down my cheek. Then she turned and followed
the headmistress out the door.
‘Goodbye’ I thought to myself, as I
watched her walk away and out of my life.
That was the last time I ever saw
Marie. Now I know she had a lot of trouble at home and soon after that last
incident at school she was taken away from her home and put into care.
Sometimes I wonder where Marie is now
and how she is. Is she happier now? It makes me feel quite selfish, because if
anyone has the right to have depression it’s her. Not me. There are people out
there in this world who have worse problems then I’ll ever have, and I know
this and it plagues me every day.
Sitting on my bed, I stare out the
window. My legs are pulled up into my chest and tears roll down my cheeks. This
was a normal occurrence. It was often that I would suddenly burst into tears
without even knowing why. This unnerved me, because I was pretty sure normal
people weren’t meant to do that. It made me feel different. It made me feel
isolated and very alone. I was nearing the end of high school and I could feel
myself slipping away. I wasn’t always like this, you see. I was told that in
nursery I was a happy soul. I was always smiling. And believe it or not, I got
on pretty well with the other children. The problem was, I can’t remember any
of this. The first thing I can remember as a child was despising other children
for reasons I didn’t even understand. That was how I was, and I was okay with
being different, but as time went on I got tired of being different. By the
time I reached High school I was wishing for life to be different. But nothing
changed. Nothing ever changes. On the
first day of High school I was cast out, as usual. But then, I think I was too
scared to change who I was anyway. So I went through High school alone as well.
As I grew older my parents came to
realise just how good I was at school. In my eyes I was completely normal when
it came to school grades. I never got an A* in any subject. But my parents
seemed to think I was a genius, even with my standard A and B grades. As soon
as they realised this they were pushing me harder than ever, until soon I
didn’t even want these grades anymore. Everything I did was just a show. A
stupid show, put on to keep my parents happy. I think they were secretly happy
I didn’t have any friends to go out and socialise with, because it gave me more
time to focus on my school grades. Gave me more time to improve and I think
they care more about it then I did. I reached the point where I couldn’t care
less what I did now. I just couldn’t see the point of life anymore.
Now coming to the end of Year 11,
I’m readying myself for college. I’m taking all three sciences and Psychology
and of course maths. I have no idea why I chose these subjects. I know I used
to enjoy science but I guess somewhere along the line my love for it just
faded. Psychology, because I’m drawn to
anything to do with the mind. Maybe it’s because mine is so broken. And maths,
well, because my parents said I should take it.
I don’t even know what I want to do when I leave school. Maybe I’ll just
go live in a bin.
Now don’t get me wrong, I have
ambition. I probably still have that ambition locked inside me somewhere, it’s
just buried down inside me, locked underneath all the negative emotions and
harm I have caused myself over the years.
When I was younger I wanted to be a
doctor. Well, if we’re going back to what I first wanted to be I guess that’d
be a vet. But every little girl wants to be a vet. Most change their mind at
some point, and I was no exception there. When I reached the age of 12 I had
wanted to be a doctor. Just because I came across cold-hearted didn’t mean I
was. I was actually a kind person and there was nothing I wanted to do more
than help people. I had carried that dream with me up to the end of year 9. It
was a mistake to tell my parents, because they were constantly pushing me,
reminding me of my ambition. As if I could forget. That dream was the only
reason I made it through to Year 9. But by then I had lost myself and I got
bored of being stressed by my parents going on about exams, grades and that I
wasn’t working hard enough. So I gave up. But who knows, maybe I will become a
doctor one day. I guess I’ll have to help myself first, which I have no
intention of doing any time soon.
It’s not that I like being the way
I am, I hate it. How could anyone like it? It’s just that I don’t have the
strength to help myself. I constantly feel drained and lonely, and this was a
normal thing for me. I was used to feeling like this. Of course, I knew it
wasn’t normal for other people. When other people hurt themselves, they bandage
it up and carry on with their lives. But if I injure myself I don’t bandage it.
I leave it and so it grows and a small problem slowly grows into a huge
problem, one that I can’t fix on my own. So I have learnt to live with my
problems. I don’t enjoy living with them, I just don’t have any choice anymore.
In exasperation I wiped my eyes dry
roughly and held my head back and let out a long sigh. The sunlight poured into my room, through my
open window and a cool breeze blew softly against my cheeks. As I leaned my
face against the window glass I could feel the right side of my face going numb
from the cold, but honestly I didn’t care. It was early in the morning, and I
was sitting silently watching the sunrise. I loved these sorts of things, they
were beautiful. They reminded me that things in the world could still be wonderful,
even if the people in it were not. Beside me, my pet hamster awoke and was
climbing up the side of the cage.
Personally, I thought hamsters were great company, and in fact my hamster has grown to be my best friend. They are always there when you need to talk, always make you feel better, they’re always cheerful and they never upset you. Plus, they are cute and cuddly and fluffy! What is there not to love? She froze and stared at me from the corner of her cage, her small, black eyes locked on mine. I think she understands me, she knows when I am not quite feeling my best. I let out a long sigh as I shook my head. How pathetic am I, to have a hamster as a best friend. I am nothing more than a pathetic child. Weak, stupid and alone.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Personally, I thought hamsters were great company, and in fact my hamster has grown to be my best friend. They are always there when you need to talk, always make you feel better, they’re always cheerful and they never upset you. Plus, they are cute and cuddly and fluffy! What is there not to love? She froze and stared at me from the corner of her cage, her small, black eyes locked on mine. I think she understands me, she knows when I am not quite feeling my best. I let out a long sigh as I shook my head. How pathetic am I, to have a hamster as a best friend. I am nothing more than a pathetic child. Weak, stupid and alone.
Only added to it a little bit tonight, but enjoy what I did add :)
