Another: The Class of 1999

Chapter 1 - Fresh Start

Some people consider moving homes a blessing, others see it as a nightmare. Many are glad to get away from their troubles and start afresh, meanwhile others are distraught at the thought of leaving everything they know behind.

When my father told me that we were moving far away, I wasn't angry at all. I was relieved. I was happy. I was ready. And when I found out that the town we were escaping to was at the other side of the country, that was even better. I needed as much distance as possible between my old and new life. I was NOT prepared to have anything from my old life track me down and haunt me. I needed the new start just as much as my father did.

When I followed my father into our new home - a small but comfortable two bedroom house - I was overcome with emotions of peace, calmness, and happiness. Positive emotions which I hadn't felt in a long time. The house wasn't as fancy as some, but it was perfect to me, and it definitely made a change from the small apartment the police had set us up in previously.

Every wall was dark grey, the carpets dark green. The colours didn't match, but I was thankful that they were there. I felt grateful for the walls surrounding me, and the floor under my feet, the roof over my head. Sturdy and solid; no sign of them collapsing in on us. Even walking up the stairs, feeling soft carpet underneath my feet, was surreal. It was different to the creaking wooden stairs I was used to, but a huge welcome. Finally, I didn't have to hesitate after each step I took, worried about the noise and who it might irritate.

Upstairs, I was met with three doors, and I went to the door on my left. Balancing the box in my hands, I turned the handle and pushed the door open to my bedroom. My safe haven.

We didn't have much furniture in our old apartment, and what we did have was quite damaged and unfit to move, so my father had used his precious savings to buy new furniture and make my bedroom comfortable. After so many years of feeling like I wasn't worthy, having someone be kind to me, take notice of me, just wasn't something I was used to.

Colour. My room was colourful. The walls had been painted pink. My new bed, positioned by the window, was layered in a new blue duvet with white spots, and a pillow cover to match. There was a bedside table with a small but fashionable lamp shielding my electric alarm clock, already plugged in and set for the next morning. My wardrobe stood just a small gap away.

On the left hand there was my desk and a full length mirror - I had joked about having one, but I never expected my father to have enough spare money. The fact that I wanted one was a shock me as well; either the mirror would help me gain confidence, or make me realise just how much I hate myself.

I placed my box of possessions on my new bed and surveyed my new living space, not quite sure where to focus my sight first. I was still in shock, disbelief that this place was mine. This whole room was my space, I didn't have to share it.

The wardrobe was calling my name the most, mainly because I knew it was finished and finalised in its look. The clothes which I had deemed worthy of coming with me were hung up nicely inside along with my new school uniform. However, my wardrobe wasn't even half full. There was so much empty space left to fill.

Next I went to admire my new full length mirror. I was thankful for the new item of furniture. What I was NOT thankful for was what it showed me...

Growing up, being told I was pretty had always been tough, because I felt like everyone who complimented me was teasing me. I just couldn't see it; I saw beauty in the people around me, but struggled find positives about myself. I just looked ordinary, nothing special. My extremely light brown hair was praised by older women, so perhaps that was one good thing? But my hair was straight and reached my shoulder blades, it had nothing else appealing about it; no life or volume. My dark brown eyes were almost covered by my fringe. I used to get told that my bangs needed cutting, but I liked my fringe at the length it was; it meant I didn't have to look people in the eyes and I could keep my head down. Almost like if I couldn't see the world, the world couldn't see me, and I could remain undetected.