So before I start telling you about my life in the present I should probably tell you about my past. I'll start with my age. I'm 16 years old. I was born on the 8th August 2000 in a local hospital in the early hours of the morning.
My two older sisters and older brother were waiting eagerly with my granddad to meet their new baby sister. I was an ugly baby. Seriously. If I can find a picture I'll post it below.
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My sisters names are Elizabeth and Sarah-Jayne. My brother is called Christopher. He's the eldest, Sarah-Jayne is the second eldest, and Elizabeth is the youngest of my siblings, but she's still older than me.
I don't live with my mum anymore. When I was two years old my great aunt and her partner got legal guardianship over me and my siblings. I've lived with them since.
I got the highest grades in my year for SATs in Primary School, but when I got to high school things changed. My brother moved away, my sisters went to college and I was alone in that school. I didn't mind it, but there was no one there for me to rely on.
I never had a dad. Even when I lived with my mum. My sisters and brother had a different dad to me. They knew their dad, he used to take them swimming and everything. But he's fucked off since then. Left them to fend for themselves. My dad pretty much fucked off right after I was born. The only thing I know about him is his first name. Shazad.
Not having a dad fucked me up big time. Everyone else would talk about how's their dads were the best thing that ever happened to them and I'd be sitting there wondering what having a perfect family felt like. My mother was unfit to take care of children, my great aunt never even wanted children and her partner sure as hell didn't want us. (Side note on her partner: I call him my uncle when he's not related to me. It's just easier that way.)
So like I said, I didn't have a dad. And that was hard on me. I went looking for a father in the worst way possible. I latched onto male teachers. At first, it was just the one. Let's call him Mr X to keep things simple. Mr X was my History teacher in year nine. He was my favourite teacher. I trusted him, felt like I could tell him anything. I felt like he understood me.
Mr X left abruptly halfway through the school year. When we asked other teachers about it, they told us he was ill. Near the end of year nine, we were all told that Mr X had a terminal illness and that he wouldn't be returning to our school. I literally cried for days. I thought that this man, who was kind of like a father figure for me, was going to die and that I'd never see him again.
Fast-forward to year ten. A new teacher; Mr Y. Mr Y was my form tutor and French teacher in year nine, but having latched onto Mr X I never really noticed that he was there for me. I started to trust him, and eventually told him a huge secret about myself; I was a self-harmer. Obviously he did the responsible thing and told my parents. I hated him for it, but I realize now it was for my own safety. Of course, my aunt was furious with me. She thought I was attention-seeking.
