Taken

Old life

I must of ended up falling asleep at some point last night, because suddenly it's morning and sunlight is invading my room.

But lately I've tended to dread the morning because it means another day of putting up some crappy show to try and prove that I'm ok. And that all their mean and spiteful comments don't affect me. I think it's pretty obvious that they do.

The funny thing is that since I came home, I've been my biggest insulter. Whatever I did, the old Brooke could do it better. I was and I am always worse, useless and a waste of space. I sometimes wonder whether the old Brooke was a whole other person, just dormant in my mind and itching to get out and make my life miserable. I think she'd have a bit of a shock when she finds out there's not much to make worse.

My morning routine used to be planned out to perfection. I'd wake up at 9 and start the long and careful process of applying makeup, although looking back on how I used to look, I could get away with not applying anything. I had the sort of face and hair that meant it looked like I'd spent three hours at a salon when I woke up and crawled out of bed. I never ate much then, not enough. Everyone would say it. But I was slim, like, supermodel slim and then my only ambition was to stay slim. I always thought that the key to my popularity was that I was pretty and matchstick skinny.

To this day I still don't know what made me more popular than anyone else. I didn't have the nicest personality, but I guess that people just wanted safety really. As school queen bee you and your friends are pretty much untouchable.

I would be done with my makeup by about 9:30, which is miraculous considering the amount I slapped on my face, again rather pointlessly. I'd skip breakfast. My school bag was ever-changing as I always had to have the latest fashions or the new accessories that had come out in the shops. The upside was that I was never out of fashion. I could come in with a scrappy old backpack, and by the next day the school was a field of identical scrappy backpacks. I didn't even bother to play by the rules. If I didn't like something, I'd just change it.

Before I went out the door I would put on my 'best daughter ever' voice and wish my mum a good day before I kissed her on the cheek and gave her a quick hug. And then I would.. Um...

The old Brooke had a cooler school uniform too. Tight, short skirt and customised blazer. The sort of things me and Michelle would spend hours doing, looking at fashion magazines and cutting and stitching sparkly bits of materials all over our uniforms. It sounds like it should look unsophisticated and childish, but it didn't. It really didn't, and I sometimes wish that I could have that uniform back, but I chucked out all my old clothes because I just couldn't stand to remember what I used to be. Now my uniform is standard, knee length skirt and baggy blazer. I lost all imagination and the desire to even try.

I manage to drag myself out of bed and change into my uniform. I tried not to think about anything, it's the only thing that stops me from self destruction.

And it might look like I'm trying to tell you everything about me and who I used to be, but to be blunt, you don't know a thing because I'm not prepared to let stuff out. So I bottle it up inside because if I do try to let it go, there's no going back, and I'm not making another shitty mistake like that again.

So I live my life from day to day just trying to find peace again. It hasn't come yet, and to be honest I don't think it will ever come.

I grab a breakfast bar and swing my plain black shoulder bag over my head. When I look at myself now, I don't see any personality. I'm just a blank piece of paper waiting to be written on, but how my life's going at the moment, I might as well give up trying to scavenge any sort of normality back. It's not like I'm going to achieve anything.

"Have a good day at school, love," my mum sounds tired and fed up and upset. But she sounds like that all the time now. And part of me wants to go to her and fling my arms around her neck and tell her that she is the best mum I could ever have. And I would make her a cup of tea and we would watch TV together and laugh at all the lame jokes.

But the selfish part of me keeps me back, because at the moment I'm struggling to keep myself together, and I just don't have the words that she would want to hear. So I nod and slip out through the front door.

And I hate myself for letting her be depressed, and I'm relieved to get out of the house, and most of all I'm jealous of the person I used to be and the life that I was lucky enough to live. I just wish I'd respected what I had a little bit more.