PILLS~All Boys Foster Home Story

~ Police ~

^^^ Taylors white bear from when he was born called Bubbles (photo is mine as its my bear which I got when I was 2 and its also called Bubbles. Called the same one purpose)

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Dear diary, 1/10/2017

I haven't written In here in two years. I've been 15 for near enough a month now and I hate life. I'm grown an attitude to cover my depressed and suicidal self. I've been locked in the attic for two years and one meal a day. Usually a bowl of soup or a bowl of chips. I regret coming out now. The only reason I've finally gotton a few things out of my room is because my parents have gone away on a holiday to Minnesota, USA for 3 weeks.

I've been to Minnesota once and to be honest I loved it. One of my aunts live out there with her 3 horses, 2 dogs and 2 cats. I don't know how my parents are gonna make an excuse for me not going. Because me and my aunt text quite a lot and knows I love it there and would do anything to return. My parents are returning tomorrow actually. They don't know Ive picked the lock on the attic door so many times all I have to do is use all my force and push the door open. I've escaped mainly to get some things from my room including my mobile phone, my diary and some food and water. 3 weeks without food is hard, luckily they gave me 3 bottle of water before they left probably because they don't want to come back to a dead body. Imagine trying to explain that to the police. The police.. I've been tempted to call them over the years especially when my mum broke my wrist but by the looks of it it's healed properly.

I've spent my two years in this attic doing my favourite thing drawing. They forgot to completely empty this attic so I have a box full of my old art supplies which I used when I was 12. I went off art for a bit due to a comment from a student and put my old supplies up here in case I ever needed them again and well I did, just to keep me from going insane staring at these four walls (which are now covered in drawings) 24/7.

I know I'll be beaten tomorrow because they've gone three weeks without there punching bag. As far as my old school know I'm home schooled now which isn't entirely wrong, my parents surprisingly did give me a pile of 15 books all on GCSE English Language, English literature, Maths, Art, Music, Science and various other subjects all of which have been completed. I'll write tomorrow and hopefully I'll still be alive. Funny word alive. Because I feel nothing like alive right now. I feel dead on the inside and outside, emotionally and physically.

Taylor~

I hide my diary along with the the drawings supplies I'd been using before writing, into the dark corner which also held my food and drinks and mobile phone. I would call the police but I know I'll burst into tears and I haven't cried in years because of this attitude, sarcasm wall I've built up. I haven't killed myself because I have this sense of hope maybe when I turn a legal adult my parents will unlock this attic let me out and I'll run get help from maybe a local family member. I would call a member of my family but I'm scared. I know I'm a wimp. Come on who'd want to have or love a wimpy 15 year old teenage boy. I make sure my food and drinks, phone, art supplies and diary are well hidden, tucked into the corner behind the entrance to the attic. I crawl over to my beaten mattress clutching my bruised ribs and fall asleep nearly instantly as soon as my head touches the old dirty pillow.

Next day

Dear diary, 02/10/2017

IVE HAD FUCKING ENOUGH. I CANT DO THIS. I WANT OUT OF THIS SHITTY Attic, THIS SHITTY HOME. I need to call the police and quick. I feel disgusting and disgusted in my self. My own father just raped me and accused me of loving it because I'm a 'Dick loving cunt'. I either want to die or I want my parents locked in the most secured prison in fucking England. I'm going to call police now. I need to. Its Gotton way to much now.