Razor

[PART ONE]; Blood.

The year was 2013, I was a child in primary school at a fairly reputable and famous private school. It was- for the most part, a fantastic place to learn. The playgrounds were fantastic and the teachers were often very kind and caring people. But, of course with my luck I unfortunately got one of the very few who didn't fall under this category. 

Her name was, Mrs. S. You could tell that she wasn't exactly a fan of teaching children just by looking at her. She had a face as though she'd just bitten into a lemon and a demeanor to match. At the time, I had been struggling with a form of anxiety called "separation anxiety" for almost my whole life and something about my condition just never seemed to click with her... I have bitter memories of crying in the corner of the classroom as Mrs. S would shout at me and threaten to call the office to come and collect me. At the time, I was terrified of authority.

My mother, would always try to book appointments to see the schools principal to try to get me moved out of her class and into a better and more suited environment yet her pleas almost always fell upon deaf ears.

"You just spoil your daughter!" 

"Just tell her to grow up!"  

"Punish her for behaving this way!"  Where things my mother would hear constantly.

She was never the best mother in the world, but I am forever grateful she had similar experiences as a child and knew exactly what to do that would help me. At the time, she was working full time doing night shifts and was heavily pregnant but always made time for me when it came to my anxiety. Taking days off work to drive me into the city to talk to a psychologist that she could barely afford, but I knew she did it all because she loved me.

Despite this, my father wasn't always the same. He struggled to stay sober. Both him and my mother struggled with anxiety however he was never the type of person to stay on his medication to keep him stable. He was somewhat of a wreck, both physically and mentally. He was a washed up old rockstar who'd lost his courier as a musician because of the birth of my half-brother twenty years earlier and was never the same. Drowning his sorrows in a six pack of beer every night only to fall asleep on the couch. Being so anxious, I would cry into the early hours of the morning and beg to sleep next to him. He never understood, he was far to fucked up to get it. He'd push me and shove me and call me some of the most horrible thing's I'd ever heard and all I wanted was to call my mother, but he knew he'd fucked up and would protect the phone like it was a deadly weapon.

I guess over time, the things going on at home took a toll on me- I remember the day it happened like it was yesterday. I guess it being such a significant thing in my life it was hard for me to forget... I was out on the playground, with my friends Paige and Chloe. At the back of our playground there was a massive tree which the older kids and teachers called the "smokers tree." Generally, the area around the tree was so empty as it was at least a five minute walk away from the actual playgrounds and tennis courts so nobody usually bothered to go out there apart from the girls who'd gallop around and roleplay as horses in the grade above us. On this specific day, around the tree lay a broken glass bottle. Shards of the glass scattered around the tree as though someone had been smashing the bottles like a fucking pinata. I glared down at the glass, I was shaking with anxiety and when my friends weren't looking- I did the only thing that felt right. I took the glass and slowly slid it across my wrist, making a deep and bloody incision, I knew it was wrong and I knew it wasn't normal but it helped me somehow?