I can’t believe it’s happened again, I’m back to square one. I promised myself I would do this, and yet here I am, my arm is covered in blood. I don’t feel any pain just a sigh of relief as if all my stress has flown out of me.

I’ve just come back from my end of year prom, I hate that word ‘prom’, it means socialising, telling people how you are and asking them. Believe me I didn’t want to go but my Mum forced me, she said “It would be nice to get and see your friends.” Friends? What friends? I don’t have friends. Unless friends mean people who throw stones or wet toilet paper at you, pull your hair or call you names then I’ve got loads!

Yeah I know what your thinking, “she’s 16! She should be able to stick up for herself!” But it’s hard you know, anyway I’ve found a better way of dealing with it, I have to hide any marks though, that’s hard too. Normally I just wear long sleeved jackets or jumpers, in fact I live in them. But for the prom I had to wear a short sleeved dress, I spent most of the night with my hands behind my back. I’m still in my dress now, but it’s not white anymore, it’s a dirty reddy colour. No not off the blood, but off the cranberry juice they spilt all over me. I made sure I was careful with the blood or my Mum would notice it.

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She probably has an idea anyway, but I don’t care. She wouldn’t understand, no-one would. I hardly speak to my Dad, all he does is sit in that chair and listens, not saying a word.

I’ve cleaned myself up now and gave my prom dress to my Mum. She cried when she saw it, I wanted to cry back but I shrugged my shoulders as if I didn’t care. But I do care, I have feelings you know, I’m no different to anyone else. “Why do you let them do this to you? Why won’t you let me help?” There the two questions she always asks, and there the two questions I can’t answer.

School was terrible. I didn’t do any work. Well, there was ink on my paper just because my pen had leaked everywhere. The whole class laughed when I told Mrs. Westside and asked if I could go and clean myself up. I felt myself going a bright shade of red. All she said was “You’ll just have to deal with it, without leaving the classroom, Nicola.” I’m sure it was Jenny who did something she’s always got it in for me.

When I got home I ran in my room, slammed the door and cried. I know it was just a stupid pen leaking but its adding up to everything else that happens to me. Worst things have happened, they stole my locket, when I was doing P.E. It had a picture that meant something to me, more than anything. I was so angry that day, I threw all my cds across the room, but that wasn’t enough I was still fuming! So I turned the TV on, and began scratching an itch on my arm, I started digging my nails in really deep, so deep it stared to bleed. That was the start of my obsession. It made me feel better, and as I cleaned my cut it felt good, almost like it was soothing me.

At first I just used my nails, to make myself bleed, but I decided it wasn’t enough, I needed deeper cuts to let out my stress. So when my parents where in the lining room I went downstairs and stole a knife, a knife that was sharp enough to heal my depression. But it didn’t heal it, it just got worse.

Now its just a normal routine. Whenever something bad happens, I run in my bedroom, grab my knife that is hidden in the box under my bed, role up my sleeve, cut my arm, and then just sit and watch it bleed. The cutting is my best friend, but my worst enemy at the same time.

My Mum took me to my Uncle Robot’s today, he breeds border terrier dogs. I used to always go and play with the puppies, but my Mum began to notice that I was becoming attached to them. So every time I wanted her to take me she would just make up some lame excuse that we didn’t have enough petrol in the car or my Uncle was ill. I gave up in the end. I’m too old to play with puppies now, if anyone found out at school it would be a nightmare, It would be alright if ‘Jenny’ did. But if I played with puppies, it would suddenly be out of fashion a bad trend.

When I got to my Uncle Robot’s I just pretended I wasn’t interested in the puppies, obviously I wanted to pick one up, but I resisted instead. I put my hands behind my back and started picking at my cut. My Mum picked one up, it was lying down by itself away from all the other dogs. I had dark black velvet ears and big brown eyes. We found out it needed a lot of looking after because it was the runt of the group. I know I shouldn’t of, but guess what, we took her home. I was happy until I got home.

When I opened the front door and ran up into my room, with my new friend in my arm, I realised that I was leaving footprints, not mud or anything normal like that but ink, yes ink. It was them, they had out open ink cartridges threw my letter box. I put down my puppy, and just left her on the landing. Ran into my bedroom, slammed the door, opened the box from under my bed, you can guess what I did next, you know the normal routine.

I felt relieved, so relieved that I forgot about my puppy. I was shocked to see that she was still there where I left her, those big brown eyes just looked at me. For some reason I felt guilty. I picked her up and went downstairs, instead of blaming myself I blamed my mother, she was trying to scrub the ink stains off the carpet. She told me that I needed to go out and buy all the things I needed for my puppy. I was angry, that’s not my job! She said that she was my responsibility and under not circumstances must I abandon her. I screamed back and told her I had enough to think about, never mind a stupid dog! And for the third time today I ran upstairs in my room, but this time I didn’t reach for the box under my bed, I just sat and thought.

Maybe it was my fault, she is my dog, my responsibility. My Mum was harsh on me thought, how does she expect me to train this puppy, I have got school aswell.


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