Pale faced, white concealed with dabs of make-up and a little pretence. Hair arranged to cover the patches, as strands fall away with each grip or band pulled from a ponytail. Words that are spoken so silently, steps that shouldn't make a sound. Eyes that wonder around empty spaces, searching for an exit.

& i don't have a clue what i am doing, how i'm supposed to help myself or get out of this mess.

Standing alone, ready to hear the bricks cave in around me, and tumble to the floor with great waves of dust. Leaving me on my knees, proving those who doubted me that they are right.
Everyday, every morning, every minute, second, moment, all a struggle in itself; to keep going, keep breathing, continue with a low patter across the pavement.

Saturday. I was in the bath, after another family argument, in tears. Choking on self hatred, a surge of electricity that i needed to burn out, i wanted to be clean, inside and out, to soak the bath water red. My razor, calling me from the sidelines, so tempting, so easy, i shakily picked it up, and then dropped it amongt the water. Only to fish it back out again and stare transfixed, eyes upon the shining blade.

I scored through the flesh, like polostyrene, pain irelivant, because i am nothing. Nothing good, nothing worthy or important. Cut, cut cut, down my arm and wrist. Then, dripping wet and spilling blood, i sat on the lino floor, half shocked and half relieved. Letting the pain cascade through my body, dabbing wounds with a cloth.

I keep having to remember to pull my sleeves down, so not to expose the end peaks of suicidal valley, scarlet slits through purple veins. I like that nobody knows, what i am hiding, beneath the jumpers and the facade. They cannot tell of the stream of insults that pulse through my head, that my heart beats so fast when i have to talk, that i just want to get out, get away. When shyness is more than just that, clinging to my body and pulling me back to the sidelines, where i belong.

I need to believe, i see that, to stride out and try to block the negatives out. This is supposed to be one of the highlights of my life, college, moving on, gaining years and experience. And yet, instead of new ideas i am filled with worries of food, of insulin, of my own reflection. Scared of giving myself too much. I just can't get away.

I'm never going to get away.