Please be brutally honest and tell me wether you like it and if you think i should carry on. I am just 12. It is based around depression. Thank you guys!
22nd April, 2016
There is a quote. A beautiful quote, with so much hidden meaning and so much innocent darkness. A quote by the Joker, the master of horror himself. It reads, ‘ We stopped looking for monsters under our beds when we realised they were in our minds’. Tragic, really. And even though the man who delivers this line so very well is nothing but fiction, the truth remains. And the scary part is the demons in our heads, sucking away at our souls... Well, they never lose.
It’s the middle of the night when I first wake up, not a hint of dawn peeping through the windows. Pitch black. Everywhere. The only source of light is a handheld torch, which I grab with my cold clammy hands and flick on, stumbling to the bathroom. It happened again. My nightmare. My thoughts which I try to push to the very back of my mind, only to have them bubble back up to the surface when I sleep. They haunt my dreams, my lovley, lonely, peaceful dreams. Pictures of sadness, depression and self harm invade my head when I’m at my weakest, and there is nothing I can do about it except wake up and tell myself I’m strong. Strong. So damn strong.
Quickly, quietly, I run my hands under the dribble of cold, pure water running from the tap, cup them together and splash it over my face, sending a sense of calm through me. Slowly, I look up and dare a glance in the mirror, before turning my face away. Black, black hair hangs like curtains, too dark and wild for my liking. Green eyes, sad and dull, peek out from behind them. My skin is pale – too pale. My jaw’s a little square, my nose too long, my lips cracked and dry. Put the whole look together and what do you get? A mess. My dad always calls me his princess, his golden girl. If only I had the guts to slap on a smile and believe him.
I crawl back under my duvet, and before I switch off my torch I shine it at the clock, the one thing in my bedroom I would never trade for something more valuable. It’s nothing special; I don’t see why I’m so attached to it. But over the years, I have grown accustomed to it, relied on it, told It all my secrets and all my dreams. The reason for this is the beautifully painted angle, frozen inside the clock, a smile permanently resting on her peaceful face. Chips of paint flake to the bottom. It is an old clock, weary and broken. But I have always kept it, because of my little guardian angel who has always been there for me when the devil sneaks into my head.
April 23rd, 2016
‘Freak!’ Olivia shrieks and chucks her diet coke can at me from high on her bench, her throne where the rest of us scuttle below her feet, terrified of getting stomped on. She throws back her head and laughs, as her friends giggle along beside her. Olivia Masons. Queen Bee. Ruler of our school. True, it wasn’t nice of her to throw her drink at me, but to be honest, it’s all I’m expecting.
If you like it please say! I just want to know wether this is a waste of my time!