Broken Silence

Ok, so this is something I started writing way back in 2002 when I was about 14. 15 years later I am putting it out there as it is for some feedback so I can improve it to make a book(maybe).

"Although I know he hates me, I feel drawn to him, as if I can't escape his grasp. He hold me back from opportunities, drives me away from my friends and distances my chances of being normal...of being happy."

Now that's not something I though I would ever hear myself say! I had broken my promise to myself and I couldn't believe it. 

She just sat there, looking and listening, jotting down notes. I'd often find myself wondering what she was writing. I studied her carefully; her hair in the same lop-sided pony tail it always was, her piercing blue eyes darting from her pad, up to me and back again. Her face and body lay still, upright, stiff and emotionless...she never showed any emotion. 

Her room was big. A desk lat in the centre, a couch under the window and a few bean bags in the corner. It always felt so empty. Always filled with silence, except the constant tick tick tick of the clock and the occasional comment or probing question from her. 

I hated it there, I hated going there. I never spoke, just watched the clock. During my time in that cold, empty room I must have counted every dirty splodge on the drab polystyrene tiled ceiling. I had been sent there every week for an hour, one whole hour of deafening silence every gad damn week for 13 long months...I had been ordered to by my school owing to some bullshit about not participating in class discussion and not being able to view myself in a positive light. They reckon it would start to hinder my exams and further eduction opportunities. That was just a load of nonsense, the real reason was because I didn't fit in. No-one wanted me around but no-one wanted to tell me I was a freak, and they certainly didn't want to tell me I wouldn't be back! So, here I am, locked up in this s**t hole, day and night!

There are others here, like me, they're all freaks too. Welcome to Greenfield psychiatric unit.

It's a big place with bars on the windows and trees on the lawn outside. There is a small garden and a fishpond... I suppose it's quite a pretty place really but I don't get out there much. 

That was it...I had broken my 13 month long silence. My voice had chanced, it sounded dry and weak. I picked up a glass of water and took a sip. My hands were shaky and clammy. I almost dropped the glass. 

She looked at me, amazement in her eyes. This was the first glimmer of emotion I had seen from her in the whole 13 months I had sat across from her in this god forsaken room. 

"Who is the 'he' you speak of?" She spoke gently, peering at me over the top of her glasses. 

"Just..." I cleared my throat, "He's just..." I couldn't, I didn't know what to say, I felt silly! "It's silly really! He's just some guy at school, some guy I really liked at school." 

I could feel tears pricking at my eyes, everything started to blur, colours smudging together like a watercolour painting that has got too wet. I couldn't speak any more. I just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.

"I think that's enough for today, well done." Her soft voice filled the room releasing me from this nightmare for a moment. I watched her, frozen to my spot, as she got up and walked over to me. She guided me to the door with an outstretched arm "I'll see you next week, you have made excellent progress Nathalia." And with that she turned and walked away, the door closing softly behind her. 

Alone again, I hurried back to my room. I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I got into my room. The panic started to close in on me, I needed to find something sharp...I needed to take this feeling away, I needed to feel human. 

I went around my room, frantically trying to find something to bring me back to reality as another tear rolled down my cheek, clothes and furnishings flying all over the place. Then, crash! A lamp had fallen and smashed on the floor as I pulled at my mattress. Falling to the floor, I scrabbled round, grabbing for a piece of the broken lightbulb. 

I tugged at my sleeve, taking in my scarred arm for just a moment. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as more tears rolled over my face and pulled the glass across my arm. I could feel the warm trickle of blood running down my arm. I opened my eyes to watch the crimson river running down my arm and immediately I felt a weight lift. As relief washed over me, I dried my eyes on my sleeve. I could breathe again, I could feel again. 

I woke up the next morning in a heap on the floor. I lifted my head to look around at the devastation that surrounded me. My room was a mess! I put my hand down to push myself up, but landed in something wet and sticky...blood, it was a puddle of blood on the floor! I looked down at my arm, which was still seeping blood. I ached, I really ached! I tried to get up but I was too weak. I dragged myself up onto the bare bed frame and began to dose off again. 

I awoke to the sound of the door creaking open, bringing me to my senses. I looked up, greeted by the sight of my best friend. He just stood there, staring at the crimson pool on the floor. Our eyes met across the room, he had a tear in his deep brown eyes. I could feel his sorrow and felt is ashamed I had caused that sadness in his eyes. I pulled my sleeve down quickly over the gash in my arm as he walked over to me. He smiled softly, as he plumed me to my feet. He wrapped his arms around me, filling me with a sense of warmth and safety. His big bear hugs had always been such a comfort to me. 

He sighed, as he pulled away from me. I could see him glancing at the stain on the floor and my heart started to race, tears burning behind my eyes once again. He turned back to me, taking my arm in his hand. I tried to pull it away but I wasn't strong enough. He pulled back my now blood stained sleeve, and I watched as he studied my arm. His dark, velvety eyes were so full of sorrow. I closed my eyes to hold back the tears, dropping my head in shame. He put his arm back around me, brushing my hair from my face with his hand. I opened my eyes to look at him, and he hugged me tight. We didn't say a word, we didn't need to. We understood each other perfectly... "our secret" he said eventually, with a twinkle in his eye as he lifted his finger to his lips.

I wanted to tell him I was sorry, let him know that I didn't mean to drag him into my mess but I couldn't find the words. I may have broken my silence to her, but I wasn't ready to talk to anyone else, not yet...not like this. 

The week seemed to fly by. It felt no more than a day or two had passed before I found myself back in her office. It seemed different this time. Warmer, brighter, more inviting. Perhaps it was because I had opened up, or maybe it was because I had cut? I didn't know why it felt different but something had changed. 

I sat on the couch, alone in the room. She was often late, but that had never bothered me. 5 minutes later she came stumbling in apologetically. I waited for her to speak, but she didn't say a word. 

I hesitated, before opening my mouth to speak. 

"It's my fault" I whispered. 

"What is your fault?" she enquired softly, edging closer on her chair. She leaned in to me to listen for reply. I didn't know if I should answer her or not so we sat in since for a minute. 

"The guy! The one that hates me."

My answer was brief, yet she wrote for what felt like ages. 

My heart started to race and the room started to spin. I couldn't catch my breath. The next thing I remember is the clock sticking 12. She was now sat on the couch next to me with her hand on my shoulder. I must have had a panic attack. I sat up tall, rolling my shoulders back and taking a deep breath, then I stood up and walked out of her room. My session was over. I walked out into the cold, clinic hall. Ben was there. He had been waiting for me outside her room. 

The corridors of Greenfield reminded me of a hospital. From the dirty cream lino flooring and white walls, to the smell of bleach. But then, I suppose it is a hospital really...I had never thought of it as one, more of a prison. 

Ben walked me back to my room. He came into the room with me and sat down next to me on the bed. For the first time in years I felt truly safe. I warmth came over me, like a fluttering in my heart and butterflies in my stomach. I had no idea what this feeling was, but I knew it could only be good. I smiled to myself as I took a deep breath in and rested my head on his shoulder. I felt safe but I knew the feeling wouldn't last. I never felt safe for long. 

That night, after Ben had left, I just lay there. I couldn't sleep, my mind was racing, flicking back to the past. I could hear his voice echo in my head. "You fat, ugly b***h, you don't deserve to be loved."

The words played over and over. I couldn't make it stop. FAT, UGLY, UNLOVEABLE, B***H! No matter what I do or where I go, I would never forget those words, they were burnt into me so deeply, they would follow me forever. These are the words that had been uttered to me by the one person I had every loved, how could I forget them? 

The words went round and round in my head. In the silence of my room, the sound of them was deafening. I couldn't deal with it. My heart was racing again, my breathing was getting faster and shallower. I needed it to stop... I wanted to scream to drown it out. I put my hands to my ears and tears streamed over my face but it didn't stop. 

I tugged at my sleeve, knowing the secrets it hid. I looked down at my arm and heard him again; "Look at what you've done to yourself, you stupid, attention seeking b***h. You're a FREAK! An ugly little freak that no-one will ever love."

I sobbed into my duvet, clutching it as tightly as I could. I didn't want to do it again, I really didn't but I could see any way out of this. I was alone, locked away from the world and no-one did love me. I could see that he had been right all along. How could I have been so stupid to even dare to imagine that he might have been wrong? I pressed my duvet into my face to soak up the tears as I scrambled around looking for the one thing that could free me from this feeling. I grabbed my diary and pulled out the broken glass I hidden between the pages. I sat for a moment just staring at it, trying so hard not to use it but I could not escape his words. I was desperate and alone.I had no-one to turn to and no-where to go. I looked down at my arm to see the crimson river of relief flowing again. It ran down my arm and over the palm of my hand. Dripping through my fingers into the duvet like warm rain on a summers day. My head felt clear and I could breathe again. I felt better now...refreshed. I was back in control.

This was the only thing I could control and my way of expressing my feelings. It was the only time I felt alive and human. I was the same as everyone else, with blood flowing through my veins, I had feelings and the same emotions as they did and I had the same need to be loved. 

I laughed to myself as I thought... the same need to be loved! More like the same right to be loved. That moment of clarity was short lived. I soon came crashing back down to earth with the realisation that I didn't have the right to be loved. What was I thinking? Just look at what I had done to myself! I had abused my body, my mind and my dignity. Who was I kidding? I didn't deserve to be loved. I was filth. I had fallen into a big black hole all those years ago and I was still falling, ever deeper into the darkness. Even my parents had given up on me.

They shoved me in this s**t hole, out of sight, out of mind. No need to think about me now, no need to worry... I was their past! They had 2 daughters, now they have 1. They had me and now I am gone. 

CHAPTER 2

Memories are all we have of the past. 

Events been and gone, words said and forgotten.

But what is the past if we don't have memories? 

A blank page? A mass of nothing? A dark hole, an empty space?

The past is the past, there is nothing we do about that. Whats done is done, and we can't change it. 

But if the past is gone, if the memories aren't there, what do we have? 

When bad things happen we cloud them over, creating a mist to mask the things we don't want to remember. Protecting ourselves from the memories they hold. 

I remember nothing of the first time I cut. Well, thats a lie...I remember the sadness, the pain and then the relief. After that, there is fear. Fear and and a black hole. I want to remember desperately...I need to remember. Without the memory, my past is incomplete, I am incomplete. 

I will find my past, on my own, in my own time... when I am ready.

11 months ago I spoke for the first time in 13 months but I hadn't said much and the wounds speaking had opened up were just too painful. I clammed up again and went back to my silent bubble, but now, 2 years after first coming here I had opened up to her. It was the most I had said in 2 years and there was no going back now. I had let her in and opened myself up to hurt and pain. I couldn't push her back out now... I had let her in too far. I couldn't close myself off again after this. 

I closed my eyes, wondering what I had done. In that moment I was alone again, falling through the darkness, deeper and deeper into loneliness. 

What was my destiny'? Is this what I was destined to be? I had been so lonely, so afraid of what might happen I had lost sight of what could happen. 

That night I sat in my window all night. I just sat there, watching the stars. They're so beautiful. A tiny piece of nature, uniquely crafted, a small piece of perfection. I envy them. They are just out there, for all to see. A freedom I long for but fear I will never see.

Author's Note

I wrote this when I was very young, just 14 so it is very raw. I am aware it needs a lot of work and so I am really excited to open it up to you guys for some help to point me in the right direction. I haven't looked at the piece of writing in over 10 years and haven't worked on it for 17 years but as I want to write a book based around the subject of self harm and domestic violence and the link between the two, taking my influence from my own life. This piece is VERY loosely based on my life (the sentiment and feeling behind it, not so much the physical setting) and is the start of my journey through life and domestic violence.
Any constructive comments welcome. Please bear in mind that this was written by a 14 year old me and remains untouched in its present form so ignore grammatical errors etc as I will be working on it extensively. Thank you :)

Reviews

[aj milton]

Personally I wouldn't revise or edit this - at least hardly at all beyond a bit of formatting.

To do so would take away the raw spirit that created it. It sort of feels right.

Clearly painful but if you changed it - that's like altering a memory.

[Behind blue eyes]

thank you for taking the time to read it and for you comments, really appreciate it! xx