Silence Is The Biggest Plea

Chapter Two

The afternoons after the appointment are always the most draining for me.

I always would find myself being bombarded with questions by my single mother. "How did it go?" "Did she say you were making an improvement?" And "are you ok?" were always the most common ones. I would always answer with "fine, no and yes".

I feel quite fortunate that my mother is the way she is, she gets it.

When I was five years old my father committed suicide. He had had severe depression from an early age in his life and his family members said he was lucky to live to twenty seven.

After that my mother became an alcoholic and was sent to rehab. I lived with my grandmother for a short time before my mother recovered and together we started a new life in Colorado.

When I was diagnosed with having a mild depression when I was fourteen, my mother had already lived through it with my dad so she understood. She doesn't try to examine me bit by bit, if she knows I don't want to talk, she doesn't make me.

Besides Saturday, the weekend in general for me is depressing.

While everyone is out at parties getting drunk and having sex, I'm at home.

I've never had a best friend or a boyfriend, I've never been kissed by a guy out of my family.

My mother is the closest thing I have to a friend. Maybe I'm vain but I wouldn't particularly say I'm ugly. When I think of ugly I think of something like a monster with three ears, thousands of eyes and maybe covered in cold sores. Not me who has straight medium length blonde hair, brown eyes and is rather slim. The only bad thing about me is the scars I have on my body and my somewhat crooked teeth. Besides that - I think I look decent. I don't think my looks are the reason I don't have friends. It is more that I seem to anger people with my presence as I am a "attention seeker and a freak".

Don't get me wrong, I'd tried to make friends in the past, I didn't just chose to be an outcast but when I did make friends, I usually ended up having an outburst and my "friends" would end up agreeing with the gossip monsters that I'm "doing it all for attention".

I've had options in the past to be homeschooled but too be quite honest; I like school. If it wasn't for the bitchy and rude girls that went there, it would be my favourite place on earth. I enjoy learning and I sometimes find: I'm actually happy. Well, as happy as someone like me could be I guess.

As I laid on my bed, thinking, I remembered the book. I grabbed it off the bedside table where i had chucked it as soon as I had gotten home and examined it. Their was no doubts about it: it was ancient, it didn't even have an authors name on it. I really didn't know what Dr Johnson's plan was. If years of counselling hadn't helped me what made her think this ancient old book would help? I examined it a while longer before opening it at page one and started to read.

*

Saturday and Sunday flew past and before I knew it, it was Monday. Despite my reservations of silent screaming I actually enjoyed it and spent Saturday reading one chapter and Sunday reading three whole chapters which was a miracle for me since I was a slow reader. The book was about a fifth-teen year old girl named Sarah who was born a mute meaning she could not speak. Sarah lived with an abusive mother who was barbarically cruel to her. On the other hand Sarah's father was a loving man. However, he was always working too get the family out the debt that they were in and was totally oblivious too the abuse his daughter was receiving. Sarah grew up terrified of her mother thus making her grow up very isolated from everyone due to her mothers wrath. Although she had had many ideas to contact someone in a plea for help she always feared her mother would find out. Too deal with the heartache she felt she would cut her wrists one, because it was a release to the pain she was feeling and two, she always hoped that someone would see the cuts which would lead to them discovering why exactly she did it.