Depresion

A Story by rachylou

About a girl who had lost her family and has never been the same since.

As I look back on my life I am full of regret. What I should Have done what I shouldn’t have done. I guess you just have to let it go and move on with your life. Except I cant, too much has happened. I look at my clock, 2am. I groan, I have had trouble sleeping since the accident and the sleep I do get is disturbed by a reoccurring nightmare. I have bags under my eyes and I am white as a sheet, I don’t eat and I don’t talk to anyone except for the necessary.

A few years ago the fire that took my mum’s and my little sister’s, who was only two, life happened. It was a normal night and I and my sister were in bed. My mum was making a meal for her and my dad because he was coming back from a business trip that day. She sat down waiting for the chicken to cook and she fell asleep. The fire first caught the curtains then set the whole room on fire slowly spreading through the house trapping my mum in the kitchen. I heard the fire roaring and woke up I ran out of the house without a thought to any of my family. When I got outside I realised that they were still inside but the fire had blocked both the exits. I stood there helpless and listened to their screams. I may not have been able to save my mother but I could have saved my sister, every day this thought haunts me.

I lie in bed going over and over this in my head for hours, until my dad comes to wake me up.
He knocks on the door”Hannah, are you awake?” in response I grumble “Its time for breakfast”
I say one word “coming” I go into the bathroom and splash water on my face. I see my reflection in the mirror and with that I see the one thing still remaining that proves there was a fire, a burn mark on my forehead. It is only small but that is all it takes to send me into a pit of despair. I sit down on the floor unable to stand with the pain in my chest. Silent tears escape my eyes and I curl up in a ball and rock back and forth to calm myself. It takes 20 minutes to get myself back into a calm state, I walk out of the bathroom avoiding the mirror and go down stairs. My family are waiting for me as usual, we have a routine everyday; I lie awake for hours, my dad comes to get me up, I catch sight of my scar and cry for 20 minutes and my parents wait for me to come to breakfast. This morning routine repeats again and again. At breakfast my parents look at me sorrowfully, I hate it when they do that, I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. I pick at my breakfast eating nothing as usual get up and get ready for school. At school I sit on my own as usual, eat lunch on my own as usual and hide behind a wall and cry as usual. This is the sad routine of my life.

After school I go to see my psychiatrist (this is a new idea my dad though up to try and stop me from being so miserable), she questions me and I reply with one word answers. My dad has had to scrape the 100 pounds a month it costs and it is a waste, I have been going for 3 months now and I have shown no sign of improvement at all. Afterwards my dad picks me up.
“How was it Hannah?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say my dad sighs. He asks this every time expecting me to be magically cured and want to talk for hours with him. He can’t accept that it will never happen. At dinner I know something’s wrong because whilst I pick at my food my dad and step mum exchange looks.
“Hannah…” My step mum starts.
“Hannah we think living in the same city of where the accident happened has been too much for you, too many things set you off crying.” My dad says.
“Your farther and I have bought a house in Stockport and we plan to move there At the end of the week…”
I cut my step mum off “NO!” I stand up and my chair falls down behind me. I run up to my room and lock the door, like I do when I’m upset. I won’t move this is the only place I can feel close to the rest of my family. Their graves are here and I won’t leave them. I will never move. NEVER!