I think life is a test. You're put on Earth as an experiment; people love you, people hate you. You do the right thing; you make mistakes. People judge each other too much, they point out your weaknesses instead of your strengths, and they point out your flaws rather than your beauty. They're insecure, and acting cruel, making other people feel worse than they do about themselves, makes them feel powerful. Gives them a new type of confidence. People make things harder, and they push you to your limits; they're selfish, and they have to make sure that #1 is taken care of before anyone else. Your job is to pass the test, to get through what life throws at you and come out the other side. Not to let it get you down. At least, that's what I tell myself.

I rolled over in my huge iron bed, pulling the covers up over my head and snuggling down into a little ball. My eyes were sore and puffy from crying, my frame thin and weak. I was falling apart, and I couldn't care less. I heard the stuttering of an engine on the street, and even that scared me. Just an everyday sound, but I almost jumped out of my skin. Quickly, I rolled down the duvet and checked the time on my Betty Boop alarm clock. 5:58Am. I realised swiftly that it was probably just Charlie, the police officer across the road, going to work for his early morning shift, but I felt unsettled and scared. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my iPod from my dresser, and hopped back under the covers. I fumbled around until my eyes adjusted to the dark, then clicked the on button and played the first song. It was 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' by Joy Division.

Great, I thought, a song about killing yourself. Feeling sick, upset and hurt, I sang along to the lyrics of Ian Curtis' suicide note, thinking of how his wife and family must have felt when they heard he was dead. I felt for him more though. How depressed he must have been to do that to himself, to his loved ones. He must have thought that there was no other escape. It was only that thought, of my parents, my family, that stopped me doing exactly the same thing.

You see, a while ago now, I had faith. I had a good life, with good people who I trusted and loved. And it all came crashing down on me. I wasn't good enough for those people, for that life, and it had all collapsed around me. Now here I was, curled up in bed at 6am on a Monday, listening to depressing songs on my beloved iPod and crying about suicide. It was getting worse every day. I had nothing left to live for.

After another ten minutes of listening to my saddest songs, (yes, I had a playlist of songs for when I felt really down) I decided it was time to get a shower. I gathered up my things and fled through to the bathroom, making sure not to be seen by any of the family. When I was safely inside and locked in, I peered into the large wall mirror above the sink. I had to look away because my reflection had been so disturbing.

My eyes were huge and swollen, dark bags filling my face under the red swelling. My face was ghostly pale and gaunt, the skin stretching so tightly across that I could see the exact shape of my cheekbones underneath. I had blemishes covering my deathly white skin; big, pink blotches scattered disgustingly. My hair fell lank and lifeless past my shoulders, frizzing and curling from being put in a bobble for days on end. I looked down right awful. Gathering all my strength, I stepped out of my joggers-and-old-hoody pyjamas ensemble and stepped out shyly in front of the full length mirror. I gasped. If I had thought that my face was a mess, it was nothing compared to the state of my body.
My skin was even paler, and the blotches were brighter and larger. I was so thin that my rib and hip bones stuck out unmistakably, making me look frail enough to break any second. The discolorations covering me looked sick, and I couldn't look any more. It was making me feel physically ill. I figured that not eating or sleeping for weeks on end is maybe not the best thing for good health. Wanting to wash away the memories of what I had seen in the mirror, I stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water. I stood there, letting it pour over me, feeling refreshed. After 15 minutes or so, I knew I had to get out and get ready. I grabbed a fluffy white towel and wrapped it around me, then without another backwards glance I stalked into the hall and dashed into my room. Drying myself quickly, I flicked through the few clothes I had left in my wardrobe. Jeans. Skirts. Dresses. T-shirts. I decided to make an impact today for school. I knew what people had being saying about me for weeks now, since I had been going to school with my unwashed hair tied up messily and in the same old joggers for days. No make-up, spending my breaktimes hauled over a toilet being sick or just simply hiding away, crying in the cubicle. I was a mess. I knew today was my time to change. To mask. To make an identity I could hide behind. I picked out one of my coolest dresses, a present from my ex best friend Scarlet, the fashion queen of Madswonth. It was so significant, since it was from one of the people I hated most in the world, and given to me on my 16th birthday, the day she had ruined my life. It was bright red, the colour of pure blood, scoop necked, and tight fitting, resting just above my knee. It was simple, yet elegant; the only detail a few fancy black buttons and a thick waist belt. Basically, it was perfect for showing her how I was over what she had done. How someone, even if that someone was me, could be better than Queen 'Bee'. I dug out my best pair of earrings and my most hated, yet nicest, necklace, (a green apple, Scarlet has a red one) and found my much neglected make-up bag. I pulled out whatever products I could, applying them liberally to my ugly face. Then, I blow-dried my hair as straight as it would go, and put in a thick red headband.
See, Scarlet? You just met your match, I thought as I headed out of the door.