I am alone again tonight. The house feels cold, grey, vacant. My own steps singing over floorboards with a strangled tone. Towards the kitchen, the cupboard, the fridge, sticky finger marks left on the cooker and work surfaces. All to be wiped away before anyone returns.

This is becoming the usual. Mum is always with the boyfriend, if not just out with him, they are also working together. She's helping him out with his decorating business to earn some extra money. Otherwise he is here. Downstairs sitting at our table, watching the tv. I stay upstairs. I am in the way, they don't want me around.

She hears me crying and she calls me pathetic, a baby.

She guesses i've been purging and always says a sarcastic 'thankyou'. As if i did it to spite her, to hurt her, to worry her. It has nothing to do with me, has it?

My glasses are speckled with tears at this very moment.

I have been out, three times in the past week. It has been okay. I survived, i made it through. It was hard, i was very nervous and either looking down or checking around me. I have to admit it is always such a relief to get away. Retreat back to my haven, take off my bracelets and earrings, pull my limp hair into a messy bun or ponytail, wipe off the makeup, change back into comfortable clothes.

Underneath those artificial layers you'll find a distant girl, white face, glazed eyes, no false smiles or rings of laughter. Just a quiet breeze through the air, as her silent screams skim past.