Jinxxy
February 25th, 2013, 02:38 PM
This is basically a book about my life from the age of 12 to now, aged 17.
I always kept diaries from that age and it's a good thing I did because otherwise this novel wouldn't be possible...
I don't spare the details, so this is definitely a Self-Harming trigger and may trigger other things as well, so please read at your own risk.
Thank you!
4 Years Undiagnosed.
Repeatedly stabbing the Hang Up button on my mobile, the shrill sound of my estranged mother’s voice cut off and I felt so frustrated I could have literally punch my partner in the face for something that was nowhere near his fault.
I stormed downstairs and headed for my in-law’s coffee table holding my fag roller, papers, tips and ‘baccy.
Sat downstairs, Tracy, my lovely mother-in-law-to-be reminded me, as I took another toke on my roll-up, not to give my mother ammunition to hold against me, such as having to sometimes take authorised absences from attending college to look after my disabled fiancé, Ryan, as his legal carer.
“Remember what I told you earlier this afternoon, you don’t nobody nothing you don’t want them to know,” she advised “because it’s none of their business and next time she asks why you didn’t talk to her at work, you just say “well, you said you didn’t want me to talk to you”. Just ignore her, next time.”
Since moving in with Ryan, I’d had quite a few days off college for many reasons – Ryan’s seizures made it painful to walk, so I had to help him get around the house, dress him and help his mother out, I was having blood tests for Anaemia, I had doctor appointments for my Depression and later, for Bi-polar Disorder and because there were, simply, days I felt so physically drained and tired, I couldn’t keep my eyes open for more than 5 minutes.
All of which medical conditions my mother clearly didn’t acknowledge when I was living with her.
Especially my 4 year undiagnosed battle with Depression since the age of 12, a horrible story I will shed light upon, later on in this book.
This book is basically about my struggle with Depression, bullying (from both classmates and my mother), my issue with drugs and how I managed to cross from a life of drugs, sex and rock n’ roll to a reasonably stable lifestyle.
I would like to warn readers, that this book isn’t for the faint-hearted and younger readers should be sure that they are responsible enough to take almost NOTHING I say in this book as advice or something to experience (especially when it comes to the drugs).
I was 12.
I was sat, cross-legged in my brother’s room, PS2 controller in hand. I even remember the game I was playing – Rollercoaster Tycoon 2.
And the clothes I was wearing – black hoody, zipped up and black skinny jeans that were so tight, I could barely cross my legs, but somehow I always managed it.
My brother and his friends burst into the room and hung about for a bit, we had a laugh and were enjoying ourselves, but as quickly as they arrived, so did Tony, the husband of one of my mother’s friends. Tony, his wife, Karen, his daughter, Danielle and her girlfriend, Leanne, were visiting (like they did a lot back then).
Tony cracked the door open and I remember looking up, seeing his grey head poking round the door.
I don’t remember what he said, but I do remember him leaving, the door shifting back into its frame as suspiciously as it had opened.
My brother’s rabble of friends left as quickly as they arrived soon after Tony departed and I resumed my entire concentration to my out-dated game.
The door cracked open again and the same grey-blue, piercing eyes, wrinkled face and grey hair crept around the gap in the door.
My entire world stopped. I could literally feel the tension weighing me down on the bed.
He came in and sat next to me on the floor, next to the bed, which was a futon, so we were easily the same height sat down.
“What game are you playing?” He asked, each word felt like a needle stabbing into my left ear, the side he was sat on.
“Oh, only Rollercoaster Tycoon. It’s a good game…” I could barely reply. The tension in the room was crushing my chest.
Suddenly, a hand started stroking down the folds in my zipped up hoody. I didn’t flinch, I daren’t move, daren’t even breathe. Just stared at the wrinkled hand stroking my stomach.
Then grasping, squeezing my left, barely developed breast.
I remember making an excuse that I need a chair from downstairs because the bed was too far down to see the screen (on a chest of drawers) properly. I paused the game and left, shaking like a leaf.
I found my mum, Karen, Danielle and Leanne sitting at the dinner table. The dining chairs were solid oak with a wicker seat, so despite its normal, expected weight, the chair I chose next to my unsuspecting mother, the chair with its back against the wall, felt like solid stone in my hands.
I just stared into nothingness as he stood at the French door, smoking cigarette. And he looked at me.
And he smiled.
When Tony and his family left, I went into my room (where my brother had just finished watching a movie), and all I remember was barely murmuring the words “Simon, Tony touched me…” before bursting into floods of tears and collapsing into his arms…
I then went downstairs and told mum and sat on the stairs until my step-dad, Carl, came home from work. All I did was stare at the floor below.
Carl walked through the front door and the first thing he said to me was “God, what’s your problem?”, at which point I burst into uncontrollable tears once more and ran upstairs into my room.
I always kept diaries from that age and it's a good thing I did because otherwise this novel wouldn't be possible...
I don't spare the details, so this is definitely a Self-Harming trigger and may trigger other things as well, so please read at your own risk.
Thank you!
4 Years Undiagnosed.
Repeatedly stabbing the Hang Up button on my mobile, the shrill sound of my estranged mother’s voice cut off and I felt so frustrated I could have literally punch my partner in the face for something that was nowhere near his fault.
I stormed downstairs and headed for my in-law’s coffee table holding my fag roller, papers, tips and ‘baccy.
Sat downstairs, Tracy, my lovely mother-in-law-to-be reminded me, as I took another toke on my roll-up, not to give my mother ammunition to hold against me, such as having to sometimes take authorised absences from attending college to look after my disabled fiancé, Ryan, as his legal carer.
“Remember what I told you earlier this afternoon, you don’t nobody nothing you don’t want them to know,” she advised “because it’s none of their business and next time she asks why you didn’t talk to her at work, you just say “well, you said you didn’t want me to talk to you”. Just ignore her, next time.”
Since moving in with Ryan, I’d had quite a few days off college for many reasons – Ryan’s seizures made it painful to walk, so I had to help him get around the house, dress him and help his mother out, I was having blood tests for Anaemia, I had doctor appointments for my Depression and later, for Bi-polar Disorder and because there were, simply, days I felt so physically drained and tired, I couldn’t keep my eyes open for more than 5 minutes.
All of which medical conditions my mother clearly didn’t acknowledge when I was living with her.
Especially my 4 year undiagnosed battle with Depression since the age of 12, a horrible story I will shed light upon, later on in this book.
This book is basically about my struggle with Depression, bullying (from both classmates and my mother), my issue with drugs and how I managed to cross from a life of drugs, sex and rock n’ roll to a reasonably stable lifestyle.
I would like to warn readers, that this book isn’t for the faint-hearted and younger readers should be sure that they are responsible enough to take almost NOTHING I say in this book as advice or something to experience (especially when it comes to the drugs).
I was 12.
I was sat, cross-legged in my brother’s room, PS2 controller in hand. I even remember the game I was playing – Rollercoaster Tycoon 2.
And the clothes I was wearing – black hoody, zipped up and black skinny jeans that were so tight, I could barely cross my legs, but somehow I always managed it.
My brother and his friends burst into the room and hung about for a bit, we had a laugh and were enjoying ourselves, but as quickly as they arrived, so did Tony, the husband of one of my mother’s friends. Tony, his wife, Karen, his daughter, Danielle and her girlfriend, Leanne, were visiting (like they did a lot back then).
Tony cracked the door open and I remember looking up, seeing his grey head poking round the door.
I don’t remember what he said, but I do remember him leaving, the door shifting back into its frame as suspiciously as it had opened.
My brother’s rabble of friends left as quickly as they arrived soon after Tony departed and I resumed my entire concentration to my out-dated game.
The door cracked open again and the same grey-blue, piercing eyes, wrinkled face and grey hair crept around the gap in the door.
My entire world stopped. I could literally feel the tension weighing me down on the bed.
He came in and sat next to me on the floor, next to the bed, which was a futon, so we were easily the same height sat down.
“What game are you playing?” He asked, each word felt like a needle stabbing into my left ear, the side he was sat on.
“Oh, only Rollercoaster Tycoon. It’s a good game…” I could barely reply. The tension in the room was crushing my chest.
Suddenly, a hand started stroking down the folds in my zipped up hoody. I didn’t flinch, I daren’t move, daren’t even breathe. Just stared at the wrinkled hand stroking my stomach.
Then grasping, squeezing my left, barely developed breast.
I remember making an excuse that I need a chair from downstairs because the bed was too far down to see the screen (on a chest of drawers) properly. I paused the game and left, shaking like a leaf.
I found my mum, Karen, Danielle and Leanne sitting at the dinner table. The dining chairs were solid oak with a wicker seat, so despite its normal, expected weight, the chair I chose next to my unsuspecting mother, the chair with its back against the wall, felt like solid stone in my hands.
I just stared into nothingness as he stood at the French door, smoking cigarette. And he looked at me.
And he smiled.
When Tony and his family left, I went into my room (where my brother had just finished watching a movie), and all I remember was barely murmuring the words “Simon, Tony touched me…” before bursting into floods of tears and collapsing into his arms…
I then went downstairs and told mum and sat on the stairs until my step-dad, Carl, came home from work. All I did was stare at the floor below.
Carl walked through the front door and the first thing he said to me was “God, what’s your problem?”, at which point I burst into uncontrollable tears once more and ran upstairs into my room.