At fifteen, she was admitted to a mental home. The burning in her legs was a reminder of her failure both as a daughter and a friend but mostly the failure of her ability to effectively end it all. The volume of the voices in her head overpowered the words of her mother talking about anything and everything, her chatty best friend who knew nothing of her issues, and then her therapist she was required to see twice a week.
At sixteen, she was discharged back into the land of the sane (or, rather, the closeted crazies) but everything was different. Her mum was happy and dating a man; the two of them living their own crazy-free life save for the hiding in car boots and away from Immigration. Her best friend she hadn't spoken to in months on account of the no-money-to-even-think-of-phone-privileges situation found new friends, better friends. She went down in ranking to acquaintance but added four of her own. She learned to ride a scooter, had her first experience with drugs, and even played one of said acquaintance's beards for a couple weeks.
At seventeen, she became a big sister and a daughter to someone with whom she did not share blood. He was a nice man, he wasn't mean. But he didn't know what he'd gotten into; he met her mother when she was locked away in a facility. It wasn't only young children who real replaced at the addition of a new sibling. Surprisingly it didn't overpower the thankfulness that there was someone else of their own for them to take care of and source happiness from.
At eighteen, she was sought after by a guy for the first time. A fit guy even. Oh, he was fit alright... She was caught up in the moment of being wanted for the first time even for her mental state and her size. She let it consume her – hell, she let him consume her. Months of talking, music, and affection did nothing but temporarily fill a hole inside of her. Ahem. She feared hurting him and dragging him down with her to the point of wrecking their relationship. Insecurity is a bitch – but so was his ex, so that evened it out, right? Then she left for university with her formerly-known-as-best-friend best friend to start fresh. No one knew she was the girl who told her mother's wedding party she wasn't right in the head.
At nineteen, she was tired of missteps and step-backs. Of walking on eggshells around people who had the ability to give her the fragility of one. But not anymore. There would be no more trying to explain what was going on in her head. No more 'talking about it'. They didn't understand. No one ever does. They would always tell her 'cheer up' and that 'she's not the only one' but instead of feeling better she felt ashamed, like she had no right to be what she couldn't even stop. The hurt of someone saying you aren't allowed to feel the way your head is making you is insurmountable. That was when she learned you don't tell people anything. To keep everything to yourself and make yourself as small as possible – which was very difficult for someone of her size. She hated university and was prone to skiving classes during particularly dark point in time. Unfortunately, that was too often for the university officials who were ready to expel her.
At twenty, she was convinced she wasn't good enough to have a family of her own – convinced she wasn't good enough to be a part of the one she was borne into – convinced she wasn't good enough to be loved by anyone, so she retreated back into herself. Not that she even believe this 'love' bullshit was real. She experienced a relationship and she ruined it. She had a family and alienated herself. People like her weren't meant to love or be loved. She didn't even dream of passing on anything of herself for another generation let alone that she would ever be in a state to raise a child. She was fine with being alone – it just didn't stop the loneliness she found necessary to endure to help everyone else. Her friends that once were, were no longer. Things were easier when she wasn't hurting anyone else in the process, when her ability to act like things were okay and she was happy became nonexistent from it draining all of her energy, she removed herself from her group of friends and took to staying in the dormitory.
At twenty-one, she'd lost hope in anything and everything. She felt no joy; even music wasn't able to put a smile on her face. The world was gray instead of the vibrant colors she could recall from her childhood. Constant threats from her mother about putting her back in a mental home were enough to cut off all contact between herself and a family that was better off without her. They had a new daughter who was normal, who wasn't messed up like she was and had the opportunity to grow up without the memories of an unstable sister she wouldn't remember anyway. University morphed into just something to do as an excuse for staying away from home and avoiding telephone calls; only doing enough to not be warned of expulsion again.
At twenty-two, she lay back upon her bed, her body resting contently atop the thick floral duvet of her dormitory. The needle of the record player ran along the groove as the vinyl spun round and round, Joy Division drowning the melody of the birds chirping outside. The spring warmth warmed her room and a cool breeze gently caused the thin drapes to sway as the sunlight shone brightly through the window, refracting the light so a rainbow appeared on the wall from the empty orange bottle sat upon the bedside table. For the first time ever her head was at peace.