When I was twelve, I sat next to a boy in French who nicknamed me “chub chub” and used to poke fun at my appearance.
When I was fourteen, a girl I knew told me to get bulimia and to die throwing up. She told me I was ugly every day for months and months and months. She told me to “go home” because I wasn’t fully English and that I didn’t belong there. She was right.
When I was seventeen my uncle and cousin both died, and my dad was admitted to hospital for just over a year in Sweden. My mother left my brother and I to take care of him.
This is the same year my school put me in for counselling, which I hated.
When I was eighteen I met you.
Now I’m nineteen and nothing has ever hurt me more than the absence of your words.
So just because you went to school with me, please don’t assume that I was fine the entire time just because I chose not to tell you I wasn’t. Thanks.
Everything is wrong. I’ve made all the wrong decisions for all the wrong reasons.
I’m utterly alone because I let it all go for one person who no longer loves or wants me.
I’m paying for a degree I don’t want with money I don’t have.
I’ve let myself down and he’s let me down and everything just feels shit. :(
Very seriously considering dropping out of Uni. There is no life for me in England.
Usually the sun makes me smile more than on days when the clouds leak.
But today I can’t find the energy to smile,
Or so much as think about it.