After about 2months I decided to start telling my mum about what had been happening and how I felt. And now im glad I did cause about 3weeks later we had moved house and school. It was my one and only chance for a new start, a change. I had made loads of new friends, only a few people hated me, but I didnt care. I was just happy that I actually had friends, and a family that actually care'd about me, And nothin' && nobody could change that.
It was the life I had always dream'd of having, everything was perfect and just how I wanted it. Even though it was pretty weird, and abit scary to begin with, I soon got used to it all. But everytime somebody saw my arms, legs or any part of my body thay would always ask the same questions, which were- 'Who did this to you?', 'How did they get like that?', 'What did you do to deserve this?', 'When did this happen?' and 'Why are they like that?'- But most times I would answer with the same things. I would either say -'Its a long story', 'You dont need to know', 'Its just something thats nothing to worry about', 'Somebody who you dont know' , 'Id rather not tell you' Orr 'I dont wana tell anyone, it brings back too many bad memorys'- And they wouldnt ask about it again.
Sometimes i did miss all the quietness, when nobody talked to me. Even though it was good to have people and friends to talk too. It felt like there was a part of me missing, a part that i needed. Sometimes that thought would just dissapear, but most times it would stay in my head like it was stuck.. It was just there, every day, every night. There was never one moment when that thought wasnt in my head.
