Let the winged things fly

1.

I just don't know how to start. I'll try to tell you, I will, the whole thing. Like I said, I just don't know how to start.

Let's just begin by pointing out that I would've helped if I could, if I knew about it. I would've.

But I didn't know, so I did nothing. Nothing.

I just carried on, like everything was fine and dandy - which I suppose I thought it was - and while I sat safely in the palace of security that is my unexposed lifestyle, while I sauntered aimlessly around wearing my vest tops and my pale, skinny little arms bare, she cut and cut and bled and bled and wore hoodies just to cover up the evidence of her nightly practices.

It's difficult, you know? Knowing I could've done something, I could've been there, I could've done all the things a best friend is supposed to. And it would've all been different. No more black hole, sucking us into the depths of depression. For any of us.

I know I'm doing it wrong. I know I should be starting at the start and not telling you anything until it happens to build up the suspense and that, my english teacher's taught me all about it, but it's just so freaking hard to contain it, you know? It's like this: I should be a waterfall, dispensing everything in a constant flow, but I'm like a flood, a tsunami if you like, just releasing all there is to be released in one huge eruption.

I like english. My english teacher's alright. He's called Mr Malachi, and he just talks about how he used to be a monk all the time, and we just sit and ask him questions about it to keep him talking, so that we don't have to work. Also, when it happened, he didn't try to sympathise like everyone else, he just said alright and I said yeah and he said good and then he walked away. Yeah, Mr Malachi's pretty OK as a teacher.

I have to go now because I'm really tired and my mum says a good night's sleep'll do the trick, and even though it's obviously just one of those things that adults say, I'm going to try it just incase.

See you later.