Tutor time went well…not! Even my tutor was having a go at me. I had tears cascading down my face, not like anyone cared though. Nobody ever cared about me. The only thing people liked about me was the fact they could make fun of me. I was always the victim of their bullying. I got beat every day, but my dad and step mum didn’t care. If my dad wasn’t high all the time and if I actually spoke to my step mum they would probably be worried and do something about this. I hardly ever spoke to my step mum and my dad was constantly high. He was high in the clouds. I don’t know how Sarah –my step mum- could cope with him. I mean he was my dad and I hardly ever spoke to him, but I was still fed up with him. If I could leave the house I would, well I wouldn’t I would stay. If I could help my dad I would.
I didn’t go to my first lesson instead I fled to the girls toilets and hid in there for the whole hour. Nobody would come looking for me, because that would mean they had to waste time on looking for, I little Ashleigh Green. Why would anyone do that for me? Wait…they would do it so they could rip me. They would do it to beat me. They would do it for anything unpleasant. I was the only person they did this to. And I dare say this will happen to me for all my life.
A loud ear bursting ting, ting, ting ran through the school. I wondered what was happening. I heard a lot of panic rising from the classrooms around me. What is going on? I thought to myself. I decided to pick myself up off the floor and go and see what was up. I left the school toilets and followed the mob of students that were leaving the building. When I got out a rather horrible smell hit me. I looked up at the building. The school was on fire. We had to run, to the ‘in case of a fire’ point and that’s when I seen how bad this was. The fire was spreading rapidly; each room it hit would cause all the windows within the room to shatter. Shards of glass were falling everywhere. Luckily we were all safe. I realised that because the school was on fire, we wouldn’t have to come to school. That meant I had to stay at home. I had to spend time with my high father and my step mum. I didn’t want this. I wanted my mum! I wanted to spend time with my mum and let her tell me that everything was going to be perfectly fine. I wanted my dad to come home in his work clothes, and talk to us. I wanted us to all end up in tickle fights and heaps of laughter. I wanted to curl up on the sofa under a blanket and watch a film with my parents. I wanted us to be a happy family.
Mum. I miss you. I wish you were still here with us now. I know you are in heaven and I know you are watching over us. I know you are secretly telling me everything is going to be ok. I know you are being kind and loving. I know you are trying to help dad and I. I just wish you were here with us all now. I wish we could spend at least another day with you. I wish you could help us all, with these problems. I wish you could get dad back to his normal state and not his drugged up state.
Now that I think about it, dad moved on pretty quick and he started drugs not long after mum died. Was that his way of dealing with the pain? Was this actually helping him? How could drugs help anyone? Well, I guess we all grieve in different ways. I mean, I have been scribbling in my notebook, getting all my emotions out in there. I carried it with me everywhere. It had pictures of mum, as well as pictures of us all. It contained all my emotions. If I needed to get something out of my body, I would scribble it in my book. It always helped me. I guess dad just turned to drugs for help. I felt ever so sorry for him. Was this why we didn’t talk much? Because we were both going though a rough time, still dealing with mums death. It wasn’t fair on any of us. I didn’t like not having my mum. It was horrible. Even though I didn’t have friends, I felt jealous when I heard all the other kids talk about how amazing they loved their mums. And then there are some who say they hate their mums, they don’t. Just because they don’t always get what they want doesn’t mean they hate their mums. I don’t have a mum. I have a step mum but I don’t have a real mum. My real mum died, she died in a road incident.
