Catching Chase (ON PAUSE)

The comprehension of trust

Dear Child,

Welcome to our society.

During your time here under the influence of those who despise you, you will be judged on what you wear, your taste in music, your apperance and how you behave. Many other things that you never thought they would find out will also be exposed. Secrets and rumors simultaneously will begin to slip away through the lips of gossiping liars and cheats. Of course, by the end of your stay here you won’t even recognize the person whom you were before you entered this place. Your identity; as one may call it.

However, try to enjoy your stay, and aim to not loose your grip on reality, because things can get pretty messed up, child.  

Well, in my world they did. 

Trust is a word, which I found extremely hard to comprehend or hand over into the life of another. Even trusting my own instincts when I knew that someone was being misleading was hard to call. Trusting myself to make the decision from the beginning would have saved me so much heartbreak and anxiety to crave a change in him, also. But he was just like the rest of them too. My name is Ebony Jones and I have made many stupid choices in my short 16 years of existence.

When I was a child my parents always told me that it was the stupid people who made bad choices. And I guess that was just a thing that I had adapted and learnt to grow up with. Along with many other rules and 'wisdom' they continued to drown me everyday. My family wasn’t normal. We didn’t function like a normal family should. Every night we wouldn’t have our individual place settings at  the table for us to eat and talk over a delicious home cooked meal. We never had structure or rountine and unlike most kids, I wished we did. Our dinner meals were mainly always take away from McDonalds, left overs of that half eaten sandwich from school lunch, or when we were lucky, the odd home cooked meal here and there from my mother. Things never seemed right at all. Not just because dinner conversations were scarcely avoided, but the conversations that girls needed the most for comfort when growing up were never spoken to me from that one I yearned attention and love from- My Mother.  

That is why in 2010 I made the decision to move away to boarding school. My family thought it was there idea, but that's not true. I wanted to go so badly the brochures would randomly appear at mum's work and on the kitchen bench- can't say I had no imput into the decision ;)

So they sent me.

I was fourteen, six hours away from home and to tell you the truth, scared shitless. I tried to weigh the situations pros and cons up evenly. I figured that it was more exciting to have endless 'girlie' sleepovers then it was to be midst a family who showed no form of appreciation and love towards me.Me, myself and I agreed that it would benefit all of us to have me gone.

I was a shy girl and things were not easy from the start to the end of that one school year of attending- SMOR, short for Saint Mary's Of Rosary. As I waldled my way anxiously through the jail-like corridors  of the boarding house I began to panic about the life I had chosen for myself. It finally hit me that I was indefinitely alone. My spirits weren’t even lifted when I was introduced to the other boarding mistresses and to my small room with two beds, a cupboard and study desk. All of it did not look anything like the pictures in the orientation booklet that I had so eagerly bounced around the house with. 

And that was my first disappointment of that year. 

My roommates name was Emma Wellford, a friendly girl who also didn’t like the entrapment of boarding school life. She explained her intense theory of the many times she had schemed to get expelled from school in the hopes of never having to return to the 'hell-hole' as she referred to life as a boarding student. She was rather interesting. I thought I would have to make a claim about her theories after the first day was over. Mum also told me to give everything a go, no matter what your mind or heart is saying.

That piece of advice was rubbish. 

I set up my calendar, with a sharpie next to it to remind myself to cross off each day as a countdown towards the end of the term. I used blu-tack to stick photos of my best friends back home, on the brick walls though they kept falling down. So I relocate to puncturing holes at the top of each photo to attach a pin on the small corkboard below my calendar. That completely ruined the perfect photos but I would need those photos there for support until I saw those girls again in 9 weeks. 9 weeks felt like it would take forever.

And it did. 

Love Ebony May xoxo