Today was just a normal day for me. Waking up, feeling depressed, nothing to look forward to. Nothing exciting ever happened in my life. I’m just Sapphire Brown, the shy, quiet kid who’s truant and depressed and also self-harms. I’ve been like this for years now. There’s hardly any skin on my forearms which I haven’t cut. My legs, sides… back.
Everywhere I go I get funny looks from passers-by. In summer I wear big sweatshirts and joggers, to hide my scars. It’s kind of obvious, but no one knows. I have no friends to tell, no family. My mum and dad moved us to Australia (Sydney) five years ago, leaving all my family behind. My dad died four years ago, cancer. This made mum become an alcoholic, she started smoking cigarettes, injecting, snorting. This is why I have no family. Mum isn’t the kind of person you can talk to. She’s always off her head or out getting high. Sometimes she doesn’t come back for days.
I got dressed ready for school, the first day of year ten. I used to put a lot of effort into my appearance, but nowadays I don’t bother. It hasn’t changed everyone’s opinion on me. Why waste money buying make-up and hair products if it’s not worth it? I don’t have any money anyway. No place will accept me for a job. I’ve tried everywhere. Hair salons, café’s. Even personal jobs like dog walking.
On the bus to school I sat on my usual single seat at the front, near the driver, away from everyone else. Whenever I used to try to sit next to someone they’d move as close as they could to the window, or they’d sit on the edge of the seat if I was next to the window, as if I was some sort of disease, like if I touched them they’d die. I was this freak. I could hear people whispering about me from where I was sat. I was just counting down the hours till I could get home, get my blades and make another scar, or fifteen. They think that talking about me when I’m sat just metres away from them is alright… All the insults… It’s them who keep me the way I am, but I doubt I’ll be living much longer. No one would care if I topped myself.
School was just the usual, the funny looks, whispering behind hands, pointing. I felt like running out of school, but I didn’t. I got on with my school work. That was my only distraction, the only thing that kept me going. There wasn’t really a band out there that interested me.
When I got home it all came crashing down on me. Sat on my double bed I broke down in tears. I tried to resist the temptation as I knew it only made the haters hate even more; but it was no use. I pulled open the bottom drawer of my bedside table and pulled out all the scrap pieces of paper to find my little brown box. I pulled it out and ran in the bathroom. Sitting in the bath I struggled to open the lid because my hands were shaking so much from the urge of needing to cut again. I finally opened the box and my eight blades spilled onto the black tiled floor. Picking up one of the silver blades I positioned it above my skin, dragging it width ways along my left forearm – one, two, three, four, five… six times. I watched the dark red blood prickle out of the wounds. But it wasn’t good enough. Not one of the blades cut deep enough. I had to get a new one, so I reached for the little cupboard under the sink, pulled out mum’s new razor and using a kitchen knife pulled out the five blades. Nice, sharp, new blades. Positioning myself and the blade again I restarted the cutting. This time it cut deeper, much easier. So much more blood poured out from the cuts. When I’d gotten to my eighteenth cut I stopped, I wanted to carry on but I had to stop. I grabbed the towel on the floor and pressed it against my left forearm. It was over… for today.