I'm Molly. I'm seventeen years old and orginally from Edinburgh, Scotland. I used to lead a pretty normal lifestyle. I was the pretty girl at school, with the long brown hair and the blue eyes that could cause a guy to become speechless in minutes, and had plently of friends that kissed the ground that I walked on. I had the hot boyfriend, who was also the sweetest guy you could ever meet - a package both hard and rare to find. My life wasn't hard, I wasn't rich, but I wasn't poor either. I led a life that most girls would dream to live, up until last year.
Last Feburary my life changed for what, at the time, seemed the better. However, in the long run, it damaged me mentally and physically. I was hurt, and because of that I isolated myself from the world causing myself, and everyone that cared about me, a lot of pain and grief. Despite the consequences of my actions, I continued to build walls around myself as a way of making sure that I couldn't become even more damaged and hurt than I already was. I had difficulty trusting anyone after all the recent events, and it had all become too much for me.
People talked. They said that I'd gone crazy. That I didn't belong in this world if I was going to take my life forganted. I guess news travels fast around school, and then people will tell their parents whom will tell everyone else. It's just a never ending circle, there was no way of escaping the constant insults and abuse thrown my way. This hurt more, I had no support system - no one to talk to. People said that I should be locked away, and that's exactly what happened. After months of trying to control myself, not letting anyone in, blocking out the world and making myself hurt - I finally broke down.
They took me away, told me I was a threat to myself and others around me. I wasn't aware that I was causing any harm, it was all oblivious to me. Now, I realise what I'd done but they say it's better that I stay here, in this place. I have no one anymore, I pushed them all away. The only person I can talk to is the nurse that tends to my ward and my therapist. I now recieve therapy 4 times a week, and I'm on so many drugs that I can't name them all. Apparently it's helping me, but I think they're just trying to stop me from kicking off.
I wasn't always like this.
It was their fault.
It was his fault, even.
