At the worst possible time I entered into my first real relationship, my best friend for the past 6 months it seemed had fallen for me and I for her. However two mentally unstable people don't make for the best relationship. The honeymoon period didn't last long and soon our illnesses were bringing us both down, rather than support each other, the pain of seeing the other person so sad just added to the burden.
The good times were perfect, but the bad times were appalling. From happiness and romance to arguments and jealousy. Ah yes, jealousy, having never been in an adult relationship before my insecurities soon got the better of me, As I could not see anything loveable within myself I was convinced no one else could see anything either, my paranoia grew and different scenarios formed in my mind, who was she with, was she cheating on me? Being 14 and to all intents and purposes in love, I could not understand why I shouldn't spend every waking hour with her. But she was patient, and in time my insecurities faded, and I trusted her. In this love I found a new entrance into my writing, an eloquent and descriptive way of writing, Love poetry. In these new poems I allowed myself to enjoy what I was writing, to savour the words and use them to actually be how I felt. I remember the feeling of a warm body in my arms, the touch of lips upon my and the sexual tension that grew between us. Lust grew inside both of us and for months we could barely satisfy it, for moving too quickly was dangerous and sometimes the comfort came from just lying with each other. A teenage love, bordering on obsessive love, but love all the same. However, I was learning that love did not conquer all and while it sweetened days and gave me an escape. I had to go back to my mind and my feelings eventually. This hurt, more than I can describe.
As Year 10 fast approached and talk of GCSE's changed to coursework, I slipped further into myself and became more preoccupied with my feelings, I had become narcissistic and obsessive, snappy and depressed. The pressure was on my family and my friends and looking back, I was a nightmare to live with. My outbursts and mood swings were taking a toll on my family, though from my point of view, what was their problem? They weren't the ones in therapy. I was as my father put it "A black cloud over the house" and though I ranted and raved and cried at those words, I believe I saw the truth in them, but seeing the truth makes everyone more angry, it hurts when something horrible about you has truth in it, so we defend ourselves, as I defended myself, convincing myself that my dad was in the wrong, and not me. It was always easier to blame everyone else, because after all, I was ill.
Nobody stood in my way when I wanted something, I would do anything I could to get it, I did care that I was hurting people, I felt immense guilt, but I was blinded by greed and to me, other people's feelings didn't matter enough, never enough to make me stop. I was never satisfied with the attention I received, I always wanted more. But what I did to get it, the people I hurt to feed my gluttony, I cannot escape them now, and I could not then. So I covered it, with hurt and anger, I smothered it with cutting and drinking, liquor quelled my wretched feelings and soothed the voices that haunted me.
But where do you run when the person you are trying to escape from is yourself? Suicide offered itself up on a plate throughout my secondary school years, though death frightened me, living seemed to terrify me also. Though many of my actions were wrong, Believe me I did try, I tried to open up to a teacher I trusted, but I should have realised, It is not fair to tell a teacher when you are feeling so strange, and though the teacher comforted me and was kind to me, deep inside, I knew she could not truly save me. But for what she did, she was a godsend, she was perfect to me, and her words and stories, her laughter and letters helped me, they kept me as close to the track as I could be, they brought me a lifeline, which I clung onto through the darkest times. I can never truly express the gratitude I had and still have to this woman, though I have tried many times there are no words, so I honour her, in my writing and in trying my hardest, for it is all I can do. Maybe one day, I shall be able to pay her back for the kindness she showed me, I hope so.
