I Was A Fool To Believe...
...that everything was going to be okay.
It all seemed to be going so well, but in the space of like, a week, I don't feel like I can do this anymore. I don't even know why I'm here.
I went to my Gran's yesterday, where I sat in the front room shaking and almost hyperventilating because my Grandad's corpse was in an open coffin next door. My family didn't understand why I didn't want to go in and see him, and my Mum moaned at me for being moody all day. Am I supposed to be joyous about the fact that my Grandad is dead and his body is lying a few metres away from me? Should I be enjoying the smell of lilies and embalming fluid that's ungulfing the house?
My uncle took all the kids out to the park when the priest came over. I don't like the heat, so I stayed at my Gran's. Big mistake. He talked for an hour about the funeral and I got roped into reading a prayer on Friday. Is it wrong of me to not want to sing the hymns and say the prayers at the funeral? It's against my beliefs. It's like I'm talking to someone I don't believe in, nor want to believe in.
Worst part of his visit was when my Gran asked him to say a prayer for him. Everyone went with him, and my Mum dragged me along too, despite the fact that as soon as I stood up to walk to the next room I burst into tears and started shaking again. You could barely hear the priest over my sobbing. Seeing my dead Grandad lying in a coffin was probably the scariest and most upsetting thing I've ever seen in my life. It was horrible. And I can't get the image out of my head.
The only thing that got me through the day was Alex's promise that he'd phone me. But he didn't. I just needed to hear his voice, and hear him say that he loved me and everything was going to be okay. I was all alone, and just needed someone to be there for me. And the person I needed the most wasn't. And that hurt. A lot.
When I got home, I went on MSN to talk to Charlotte and try to make myself feel better about the whole day. My Mum asked me to make the sofa bed in the playroom for my uncle to sleep in that night, so I started it while still talking to Charlotte. She came downstairs, saw that I hadn't finished it and was talking on MSN, and pulled the plug out on me. She then continued to yell at me and tell me that I was a selfish bitch, I only think about myself, I'm moody and she's sick of me being in her face. That broke me. I thought that at a time like this, I could rely on my family to keep me together. But even that was too much to ask.
I felt so alone. The people that I needed the most had turnt away, and I felt like shit.
I cut again last night, for the first time in like, 3 months. Not bad or anything, because I couldn't get the blade of my sharpener out without leaving my room to find a screwdriver. So it was back to the trusty compass. It's always been there for me. I felt like it was my only friend. And when I was smelling my nail varnish remover (it smells so good) I had a brain wave and poured it on my cuts. It hurt so much. And felt so much better. I was up pretty much all night - I couldn't get to sleep. I found a packet of antibiotics that the doctor gave me a few weeks ago that I didn't take, and contemplated taking them so I could just get some sleep. For however long. But I didn't.
So now I'm sitting in Wallington Library wondering what the fuck I'm going to do with myself.
I'm confused.
And scared.
And I just need someone to be here for me.
Anyone.
xxx
It all seemed to be going so well, but in the space of like, a week, I don't feel like I can do this anymore. I don't even know why I'm here.
I went to my Gran's yesterday, where I sat in the front room shaking and almost hyperventilating because my Grandad's corpse was in an open coffin next door. My family didn't understand why I didn't want to go in and see him, and my Mum moaned at me for being moody all day. Am I supposed to be joyous about the fact that my Grandad is dead and his body is lying a few metres away from me? Should I be enjoying the smell of lilies and embalming fluid that's ungulfing the house?
My uncle took all the kids out to the park when the priest came over. I don't like the heat, so I stayed at my Gran's. Big mistake. He talked for an hour about the funeral and I got roped into reading a prayer on Friday. Is it wrong of me to not want to sing the hymns and say the prayers at the funeral? It's against my beliefs. It's like I'm talking to someone I don't believe in, nor want to believe in.
Worst part of his visit was when my Gran asked him to say a prayer for him. Everyone went with him, and my Mum dragged me along too, despite the fact that as soon as I stood up to walk to the next room I burst into tears and started shaking again. You could barely hear the priest over my sobbing. Seeing my dead Grandad lying in a coffin was probably the scariest and most upsetting thing I've ever seen in my life. It was horrible. And I can't get the image out of my head.
The only thing that got me through the day was Alex's promise that he'd phone me. But he didn't. I just needed to hear his voice, and hear him say that he loved me and everything was going to be okay. I was all alone, and just needed someone to be there for me. And the person I needed the most wasn't. And that hurt. A lot.
When I got home, I went on MSN to talk to Charlotte and try to make myself feel better about the whole day. My Mum asked me to make the sofa bed in the playroom for my uncle to sleep in that night, so I started it while still talking to Charlotte. She came downstairs, saw that I hadn't finished it and was talking on MSN, and pulled the plug out on me. She then continued to yell at me and tell me that I was a selfish bitch, I only think about myself, I'm moody and she's sick of me being in her face. That broke me. I thought that at a time like this, I could rely on my family to keep me together. But even that was too much to ask.
I felt so alone. The people that I needed the most had turnt away, and I felt like shit.
I cut again last night, for the first time in like, 3 months. Not bad or anything, because I couldn't get the blade of my sharpener out without leaving my room to find a screwdriver. So it was back to the trusty compass. It's always been there for me. I felt like it was my only friend. And when I was smelling my nail varnish remover (it smells so good) I had a brain wave and poured it on my cuts. It hurt so much. And felt so much better. I was up pretty much all night - I couldn't get to sleep. I found a packet of antibiotics that the doctor gave me a few weeks ago that I didn't take, and contemplated taking them so I could just get some sleep. For however long. But I didn't.
So now I'm sitting in Wallington Library wondering what the fuck I'm going to do with myself.
I'm confused.
And scared.
And I just need someone to be here for me.
Anyone.
xxx