• 2nd&&3rd October This morning my grandmother got readmitted to hospital. The last time this happened I was six years old. I remember going to visit her, we sat in a garden, with pretty flowers around and a bird bath. She was wearing a pink nightie, we ate arnotts assorted creams while sitting on a picnic bench. She looked so sick, we only talked about the banal and her medication, just before we left she showed us the tv room where they’d all sit, mindlessly staring at the tv screen, each lost in their own stupid anxiety and depression. This morning I got stuck at my grandmothers house while she was getting ready for hospital. She looked so sick. Mum had to force her to move, always coaxing her, then acting the devil. The effort it took to get her to go to the toilet, then into the shower. I had to pack her bags. You could feel the sickness in the house. Watching mum and nannie fight each other and that bigger demon, that mental illness their faces, broken, tear-stained are stuck in my head. This shouldn’t affect me so much. I know shes sick, iv always known, the myriad of pills she swallows on a daily basis, the shakes from EST, the stupid irrational questions she’s always asking. I guess im so scared because all the pills, the shock therapy, the councilling in the world can all come undone so quickly. Its back to hospital. Her whole life’s been like this. My mother has spent her life dealing with it, looking after her when it becomes to much for Pa. I feel guilty that mum is also looking after me and dad, dealing with our demons as well as nannies. And hers too. Im scared I’ll end up like nannie. Mum’s got sick. She just cries and goes to bed. Shes not so angry any more. Just sad. Its horrible. Yesterday, or maybe a couple of days ago we had the debt collectors on to us, wanting to get our power cut off again. A dog attack, our dog to blame. And iv been not so great. I hate myself so completely. I hate how I act, as im doing it, as soon as I start doing something my mind is abusing me, guilt, anger disgust are all running around up there, never letting me alone. Plus the weight thing, the way I look, it quite disgusting. People think im pretty, but they don’t see me the way I do. I cant accept what they say, because I cant believe it. I can’t even bring myself to think that im even ok. Its just a massive ball of hate. I cut again. Its been over three months. It hurt so much. It was so fucking hard. I’m out of practice. Now there’s scratches all on my stomach. Finally I broke the skin. It took awhile, but finally the adrenaline kicked in, calmed me down. I could breathe again. It’s a good thing that I work, I suppose. Raffy, Phia and Dee. They are whats stopping me from shredding my wrists, from ripping out my veins, from making them tiger striped like my legs. I can’t stand the thought that they’d know that im like this. That im actually a horrible, ugly, broken person. Sometimes I get so scared, because I realise how much our lives revolve around self destruction. We plan it meticulously and we live it out. the drinking, the cutting, the burning, the starving then bingeing, the heart break, the random fucks. Why are we so intent on being wrecked?

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