Barriers

Hermione

Hey friend,
You ever felt stranded? Lost within yourself, away from the world? Well that's precisely how I feel. And everyone seems to misunderstand that, they think I'm sick. I've been sent to at least 6 counsellors now, they've all sent me to doctors, who've all sent me to hospitals. They think I'm depressed you see, they think I hate myself, they think I want to die. Not only that, but they think I don't understand what they mean just because I can't hear their voices. But I just simply don't have a way to tell them otherwise, because quite frankly, I don't want to die. In fact, all I've ever wanted is to be happy, and to be normal. So I try to ignore these ridiculous thoughts that try to plant themselves in my brain. The ones that tell me I'm not worth it because I can't even communicate with anyone. The ones that tell me that my future is hopeless and empty. I promise you, I don't need to be saved. I need to be found.

Around 3pm, a piece of paper is slid under my door, with a sticky note attached in Mollie's scrawl, "Read this". The paper was a leaflet, an NHS leaflet. I roll my eyes and take a look at the title, which reads "Teen depression". I sigh to myself and open the drawer under my bed where I reach for a lighter and ignite the bottom corner of the leaflet. As the final ashes fall, I put my hand under my bed yet again and pull out my rucksack, which I consider stuffing with clothes and other essentials except I'm interrupted by a tornado of small child that rushes through my door.

Alfie. The one kid in this place with half a heart and no prejudice for anyone different to him. The slightly sniffly 9 year old comes up and sits beside me on my bed and points to my notepad, which I hand to him without question. Quickly, he scrawls a sentence and shows me, "Are you okay?" I instantly take the nearly full notepad and write back, "Fine thank you, how's life?" Instead of writing back, he merely nods. I put my quivering arms around him. For a second, he forgets I'm oblivious to what he says and mutters something, I'm not sure what, I never asked. Before he leaves, he passes me a bottle of lemonade and a slightly fluffy bacon sandwich from his hoodie pocket, I'm ever so grateful regardless as I hadn't even thought about having the strength to go downstairs to eat.

As he leaves, I continue rapidly stuffing anything I consider important into the rather small bag I had in front of me. Soon 7 jumpers became way too many and I decided to calm down a bit, only packing the essentials. After all, they'd come after me soon enough, wouldn't they? It wouldn't be the first time.

The last thing I grab is my only photo of me and my family, before my life flipped. We all look so happy. So careless. Shame isn't it. Everything in life seems to be temporary, including happiness.