Frozen

1.3

I remember when I was little what my mum used to say to me when I took something for granted,

"Just be thankful you're not frozen." That was before she... Well... Never mind. I'd just like her to be here and see me now and to say that's me in the same scornful tone that she used to. If only she knew what she did to me. Then she would be sorry. But that is another tale that I'm not ready to tell. I wish it was easy to share your deepest memories with a complete stranger. Turns out, it really isn't. Being out here on your own makes you think a lot of unwanted thoughts. A lot of those questions contained the words: 'what if?' and 'why me?' but I learned to disregard those thoughts as they only made me spiral into a long winding tunnel of depression. I didn't want to go back there again. It was horrible, really and truly horrible. I guess that's yet another thing I don't feel comfortable sharing either. I've been living like this for about ten years. The only reason I survived this long is because there used to be a little charity set up nearby that would give me hot drinks and a couple of bits of food here and there to keep me going. They went out of business a while back. The only reason I know how many years I've been here is because I count the New Years that go by. I mark each year with a cut on my forearm. After time you would think they would have faded but apparently when you're starving it takes longer to heal and even if they have slightly gone I can still remember each one like it was yesterday. The New Year is the most painful time of year for me. Emotionally that is of course. Every single time I gaze up at the sky and watch the fireworks going off in the distance, (I live- well squat- really close to the big circle thing where it all happens in London) and once they are over I cry for a while and mark my arm. Another year gone equals another year survived.