Me (ON HOLD)

Panic

I couldn't breathe, my legs were shaking and my stomach was turning, I kept scratching my hands, scratching and scratching until they went red and dots of blood started to appear. I stared intently into the mirror and at my face, my ugly, useless, pointless face. It was the night before the start - the new start, in a new town, new county where everything was different, mum kept saying "events won't repeat themselves, love, I promise." but how could she be sure? She insisted that I wasn't fat, but that my body could use work, she'd tell me I'm good looking but coming from a mum that meant nothing - mums were there to make you feel better about yourself, she didn't, but she tried. Trying wasn't good enough though. Nothing was. All I could do was panic, panic and bring myself into a state like this. A state where I couldn't think straight and horrible thoughts came in and out of my head, like a curse that couldn't be lifted no matter how hard I tried. I was plagued. I was plagued. I was plagued. I was plagued. Plagued with being that one weird kid in reception, eventhough I had grown up and grown out of that werid kid stage people remembered - even more than I did. Plagued because I didn't start puberty as soon as all the other boys my age. Plagued because I was caught making myself sick in my old schools toilet. Plagued with the fact that I had panic attacks regularly which resulted in either me breaking down crying in the middle of a classroon or running out of it - crying nevertheless. Plagued because - just because I was an easy target, a target for the constant hate and abuse that everyone threw at me every second of every day of every week of every month of every year. Plagued because I'm me.

        The tears rolled down my face for atleast half an hour, my breaths were quick, short and hard to get out and my hands were red raw from the constant scratching. I heard the front door open but I was so overcome by worry that I didn't bother moving, or clearing up the bloodstains from the floor, or hiding my bloodied hands. I just sat there slumped against the wall that was still just a stranger to me. My bedroom door open and my mum walked in with a carrier bag mid sentence.

         "Right, so, I went to the homeware store and found this nice - OH MY GOD JASON!" She dropped the bag containing a wall clock among other items, I heard the glass smash as it hit the ground and I felt my mothers hand on mine as she fell to the floor infront of me

        "What have you done?! What have you done, Jason?!" She retrieved a tissue from her pocket and began to dab away at the blood. I said nothing to her, even when her eyes met mine and I saw the sad, horrible, cluelessness in her eyes. "You have to tell me or I can't help, Jason.". 

        "I scratched them." I said, my voice was cold and lifeless, so cold that I felt my tongue freeze as the words barelly escaped my mouth.

        "But why, Jason, why?" She looked at me expectantly, hurt in her eyes, but why?! I couldn''t understand I was on the verge of self destruction and she was the one hurt, the one who seemed sad about it. "Please."

         "I can't go mum, I can't start a new school, I can't meet new people and I can't make friends." I tried to say, my voice was still the same - cold and lifeless. She pulled me into a hug and simply whispered in my ear "I know."

        She stood up and held out her hand for me to take, she knew I was a wreck, she knew two weeks ago when I broke down and she knew even more now. My mum wasn't the best, she was hopeless, clumsy and just clueless but she was all I had and I loved her. She didn't understand why I felt so bad, she knew people weren't nice to me, but she never knew the full extent but in that one moment - the moment with her hand reacheing out to me- I could see what she was thinking, she was tinking that although she wasn't the best at the parenting thing, she knew one thing, I needed her help and until her dying breath that's all she would give, whatever the hardship was we were in it together. I accepted her hand and weakly, but surely, stood up and helped her clear up the fragments of glass which now covered my bedroom floor.