Love or hate?

Maybe its time to ask?

Teenage years are horrible.

It's all about relationships. 'you NEED a boyfriend'

Why?
Why do i NEED one?

'omg you should totally just get with this person'

why?
How do i know i can trust them?
I don't know them well enough.

This lasts forever in my friend group. They're obsessed. Boys.Boys.Boys.

What about yourself? How can you last in a relationship when you can barely last on your own?

When so much is happening to yourself, they expect you to hide it so you can get a boy.

I get it. It's a popularity note.

Everyone asks me if i'm okay when i don't laugh at a joke that isn't funny. They expect me to be myself, when they don't know me.

'we tell each-other everything in this group haha'
You might. I don't. Because I don't like you.

'always tell us when somethings wrong.'

No.

Because I don't trust you.

Theres only a few people who know alot about me. No-one knows everything.

My friends don't know family stuff.

My family don't know friend stuff.

It's how it works.

But someone who knows everything that's happened is me.

When my parents would argue and I couldn't sleep. I would wrap myself up in my grandads coffee brown blanket and sit at the top of the stairs.

The blanket is one of the only things I have to remember him by. Except for some photos. They don't have the same effect.

The smell of him has long faded since then. It smells of floral washing pods.

Not the safety, not the protection and not the memories.

However, when i would sit on the 13th step, wrapped in his presence. Suddenly the arguing would be muffled out, the tears would go and the memories of him would come back.

The way he would take me to the park after school, his homemade chips, us dancing to purple and gold by wild swans. An Irish rebel football song. Or maybe it was rugby?

My heart stops when i hear it playing, remembering i'll never get to dance with him.

When my dad came home at 4am waking me up, i would go and get a small urn i kept and the top of my wardrobe. It had my nana's ashes in it. A small picture of her holding me as a baby protecting them. The small black steif teddy bear she gave me. I would hug that bear tightly, it gathering my tears. Clinging to the urn for dear life as i stared at the photo.

I miss her.

Her and her black cat henry. He was a moody little old man. We always said he had the spirit of an old man in him.

He hated being held, yet he would come sit on my lap anytime i went over. He was a good cat.

When i woke up in the morning and my dad was passed out on the settee, bottles of beer surrounding him.

I would run upstairs and pull out the photo albums of my grandads. Frank and Taylor. Trying desperately to think of happy memories. But all I could see was my dad.

What would happen if they never left? If they were still with us. Maybe my dad would be happy. Maybe I would.

4 deaths in 4 years. It's alot for a little girl to take in. I never asked for help, i got put in therapy. But I never let my emotions get the better of me.

A chorus of  'i'm fine' playing in my head. Seeing which one sounded more realistic.

They eventually let me stop going after a year.

And maybe it helped a little bit.

Then my dad started acting up, drugs and alcohol never being a good combination. He never hurt me physically, never moved a hair out of place.

I know he never wanted to hurt me, he was doing this so he didn't have to express emotions.

That's when i started drinking, pouring myself a coke, adding a smidge of vodka.

Then a bit more, then only enough coke to cover the vodka.

That's when i started smoking.
a little bit when i was staying at my grandmas, when she was asleep.
Then half of one, then i couldn't go 3 days without one.

I've stopped that now. Mainly.

I have a drink with my family on a Saturday night, a bit more at a party.

I've stopped smoking, going onto vapes, which taste a hell of alot better.

The other day I got a message, my grandma asking to call her.

Of course i did, i called her in the maths corridor toilets. She was crying. She was being tested for cancer.

My heart dropped, my mouth went dry and i couldn't breath. Panic attack.

I sat on the floor of that stall for about 10 minutes, until i realised i had to get back to maths. As I walked in my mascara was gone and my lashes no longer lifted.

Multiple people asked if i was okay, I said yes. I wasn't, but they didn't need to know that.

The next morning I woke up with a hangover. I locked myself in the bathroom and pulled out a cig, I lit it. I took it back and breathed it out.

Only half of one though, I didn't have the full one.

I can feel it calling my name though, hidden in a jewellery box in the corner of my underwear draw.

Maybe it's time I finally ask for help. But what would people say?