Today’s words: Arm, Waterfall, Wood, Paddock
Word count: 980
Completion time: 43 minutes
Summary: We’re free to let anyone in, but it always come with a risk
--
Based on a true story...
I don’t think that people realise the power they have over other people. In this big ol’ world with infinite planets, stars, and galaxies, how can one insignificant person cause another to change their entire outlook, see things through a brand new pair of eyes? I don’t know; but they can. One person’s words or actions can mean the difference between a trickle of water from a tap and a waterfall plunging into an ocean.
As a kid, my life was far from great. I bet a ton of people say that, right? Same old sob stories: I was never popular, I was bullied, I couldn’t fit in etcetera but just because so many of them exist doesn’t stop them from being less important. Yes, I was at the bottom of the social pile, yes I was bullied, and yes I definitely didn’t fit it. It was horrible, something you won’t understand until you’ve lived it.
Anyway, I didn’t have anyone to turn to (no friends, nothing) until I met him in year eight. Oliver. He sort of changed my life, that boy. We had a wood surrounding our school that we weren’t really allowed in during school hours, but the teachers didn’t do anything because it was still on the school grounds. It was there that I saw a blonde-haired boy with sitting on a fallen log, bent over something. I stopped walking so as not to disturb him, but my heel came into contact with a twig that snapped when I put it down. He immediately turned around.
We didn’t say anything to each other for a while, just stared. I didn’t know what to say and he was probably thinking the same.
He stood, picked a book up, and started to walk swiftly in the opposite direction.
“Hey, wait, what are you reading?” I don’t know why I called out to him: I didn’t know who he was and I didn’t really want company, either.
He stopped. “Romeo and Juliet,” he replied, confused. Maybe he didn’t know why he was talking to me, either. “What do you want?”
I didn’t know. I should have just let him walk on, maybe that would have changed everything. “Are you always hanging out here on your own?”
Now he looked suspicious. “...Are you?”
“Sometimes.”
We both just stared at each other again.
“I’m Emily.”
“I’m Oliver.”
Oliver didn’t have many friends either, so we got close. Soon enough, he became my best friend (even though I had no others to compare him to). People would make fun of him for hanging out with me because I was ‘the weird kid’ but he just took my arm and walked to our favourite lunch spot. I felt free when I was with him, like I could do anything ‘weird’ and he’d always have my back.
A few months later, he told me that he was gay. All I did was smile and hug him, seeing that it was obviously hard to say out loud.
“You don’t hate me?”
“Why would I hate you? You’re my best friend.” I loved calling him my best friend out loud, and I loved him just the same.
He exhaled and hugged me tighter. I never wanted to let him go, not ever. I would protect him just as much as he protected me.
His parents were not so sympathetic, being strict Christians who opposed anything that deviated from heterosexuality. There was no way that he could tell them – he’d probably be kicked out or worse. Things don’t always go the way we plan them though – after looking through his room one day, his dad found his diary and all hell broke loose.
He was no longer safe in his own home, so I offered him my place to stay but his parents wouldn’t allow it. They didn’t want him around but at the same time, they didn’t want him to leave. Then, they announced that they were moving to Cornwall, a whole county away.
I kept in touch with him though, we emailed or texted every day for a couple of years and he was still my best friend. We met in person several times too, which was always something to look forward to.
After a while, he started to become sarcastic towards me, and he’d say nasty things but follow them with a tongue smiley so it’d come across as a joke. I waved it off, blaming his family situation or his frustration at having to hide his sexuality...but they got worse.
He would make ‘jokes’ about things I told him years ago, things that I was still trying to get over, things that people would say in the playground, personal shit that I haven’t told anyone else, things that he knew would hurt me more than anything else he could say. I didn’t break until he blamed my personality and my size for my lack of friends, real friends. All I remember after hearing that is smashing my phone and opening my front door. When my mind caught up with me, I was six miles out of town, barefoot, in a horse paddock.
It took a while for me to delete him permanently from my life, because he was the first person who sincerely wanted to be a part of it in the first place, but I had to. He was toxic and I needed to get rid of him before I got rid of myself.
Ever since, I’ve been very careful who I tell things to, and I won’t let people get close until I’ve known them for years. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but it is.
You all...you have so much power, more than you know...so please be careful with how you use it, because I would never wish the pain I felt on anyone, not even him.
Showing posts with label based on a true story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label based on a true story. Show all posts
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
Sunday, 6 April 2014
#102 - Say Something
Today’s words: Candle, Rash, Clown, Turf
Word count: 844
Completion time: 48 minutes
Summary: It’s easy to joke about rape, it’s even easier to be a rape apologist, but if you don’t say something...all you’re doing is saying it’s okay.
TW: mentions of sexual assault
--
Based on a true story...
The first time, it was whilst you were playing a video game:
“Man, I am raping you so hard right now! I own you, man!”
“Hey shut up, I’m just out of practice...”
“You’re on my turf now and you’re about to die. Take that!”
The second time, you were on your way home from a club:
“Oh man, stop being such a... a....”
“A what?”
“I dunno, a clown.”
“Haha, what? You see a red nose and a big bow tie? I’m being serious. Wouldn’t you want to touch a girl if they were wearing a short skirt? Come on, you know they want it, I’ve seen the way they dance. That’s what grinding means – they want your dick, so you give it to them.”
The third time, you were watching a movie:
“If a girl ever disrespected me like this bitch, I’d stick it so far up her ass she’d be tasting my cum for months.”
“If she’d even let you near her ass.”
“Like I’d let her get away, more like it.”
All innocent comments. Neil would never actually do anything like that, you thought, because he was your friend...your best friend, in fact. Why would someone you have so much fun with ever do something like that? Everyone jokes, you can’t have a go at someone for a joke, no matter how offensive and misogynistic they are.
The fourth time though, that was different.
One night, Neil decided to invite everyone back to his house after a warehouse party got cancelled. It was you, Neil, Jessica, and Katie, plus some other mates that you didn’t know that well. There was only a bottle of wine in the house, so everyone made do and sucked from the same bottle all night. Not you though, you were more interested in talking to a girl that had started coming onto you.
After a few hours, the ‘party’ dispersed and only the four of you were left. Since it was getting pretty late, you all decided to go to bed – you and Neil in his room, Jessica and Katie in the spare room. All you could think about was the girl that had somehow disappeared with the rest of the party, so you spilled everything to Neil, asking him if he knew her, if he thought you had a chance with her, how goddamn pretty she was.
“Oh, will you shut up?” Neil said, getting out of bed and scratching his back. “Fucking rash... Listen, I’m gonna see how the girls are doing so just go to sleep, okay?”
In the morning, you were woken by a feminine voice shouting in the next room, shortly followed by Neil’s voice. Confused and not quite awake, you stayed in bed and listened to what they were shouting about. All you could figure out was that Neil had done something bad that the girl was angry about. Typical really, you thought.
When the shouting was over, a door slammed shut and Neil came into the bedroom again.
“What was that about? Who was that?” you asked.
Neil waved his hand in the air as if to dismiss the inquiry. “Just Nadine. Christ...”
“What did you do?”
“You know Katie? I ended up in bed next to her, touched her a bit, and now they’re all angry.” He started pacing up and down the room, kicking at the rug.
“What do you mean?”
“I had Nadine banging on my front door at eight in the morning because Katie had texted her about it.”
“Why was she so angry?”
“Frigid or whatever. I can tell when a girl wants it, can’t I? So this really isn’t my fault.”
It took a while before it clicked. “How...how did you know she wanted it?”
“I just knew!”
You stopped talking. You knew exactly what had happened, but you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Neil was your oldest friend, he was a good guy deep down, you assured yourself...and plus, did that really even count as...? You waved the word away like you were blowing out a candle.
If Neil got in trouble over it, you’d lose your best friend, so everyone had to keep quiet, especially Katie.
What the fuck is wrong with you? You really picked your rapist friend over a girl who had been touched without consent? He knows that he got away with that, and he knows that he could probably do it again to someone else. You really chose your own feelings over those of any number of girls he could assault?
This is one of the reasons why things like that don’t get reported; it isn’t always because the victim is too scared to speak up, it’s because people don’t want others to get in trouble so they do what you did – beg the girl not to say anything more.
Have some sympathy, you say, look at it from his shoes, you say. What about her shoes? Or do they not matter? Do the other potential victims not matter?
Think about it. Speak up.
Word count: 844
Completion time: 48 minutes
Summary: It’s easy to joke about rape, it’s even easier to be a rape apologist, but if you don’t say something...all you’re doing is saying it’s okay.
TW: mentions of sexual assault
--
Based on a true story...
The first time, it was whilst you were playing a video game:
“Man, I am raping you so hard right now! I own you, man!”
“Hey shut up, I’m just out of practice...”
“You’re on my turf now and you’re about to die. Take that!”
The second time, you were on your way home from a club:
“Oh man, stop being such a... a....”
“A what?”
“I dunno, a clown.”
“Haha, what? You see a red nose and a big bow tie? I’m being serious. Wouldn’t you want to touch a girl if they were wearing a short skirt? Come on, you know they want it, I’ve seen the way they dance. That’s what grinding means – they want your dick, so you give it to them.”
The third time, you were watching a movie:
“If a girl ever disrespected me like this bitch, I’d stick it so far up her ass she’d be tasting my cum for months.”
“If she’d even let you near her ass.”
“Like I’d let her get away, more like it.”
All innocent comments. Neil would never actually do anything like that, you thought, because he was your friend...your best friend, in fact. Why would someone you have so much fun with ever do something like that? Everyone jokes, you can’t have a go at someone for a joke, no matter how offensive and misogynistic they are.
The fourth time though, that was different.
One night, Neil decided to invite everyone back to his house after a warehouse party got cancelled. It was you, Neil, Jessica, and Katie, plus some other mates that you didn’t know that well. There was only a bottle of wine in the house, so everyone made do and sucked from the same bottle all night. Not you though, you were more interested in talking to a girl that had started coming onto you.
After a few hours, the ‘party’ dispersed and only the four of you were left. Since it was getting pretty late, you all decided to go to bed – you and Neil in his room, Jessica and Katie in the spare room. All you could think about was the girl that had somehow disappeared with the rest of the party, so you spilled everything to Neil, asking him if he knew her, if he thought you had a chance with her, how goddamn pretty she was.
“Oh, will you shut up?” Neil said, getting out of bed and scratching his back. “Fucking rash... Listen, I’m gonna see how the girls are doing so just go to sleep, okay?”
In the morning, you were woken by a feminine voice shouting in the next room, shortly followed by Neil’s voice. Confused and not quite awake, you stayed in bed and listened to what they were shouting about. All you could figure out was that Neil had done something bad that the girl was angry about. Typical really, you thought.
When the shouting was over, a door slammed shut and Neil came into the bedroom again.
“What was that about? Who was that?” you asked.
Neil waved his hand in the air as if to dismiss the inquiry. “Just Nadine. Christ...”
“What did you do?”
“You know Katie? I ended up in bed next to her, touched her a bit, and now they’re all angry.” He started pacing up and down the room, kicking at the rug.
“What do you mean?”
“I had Nadine banging on my front door at eight in the morning because Katie had texted her about it.”
“Why was she so angry?”
“Frigid or whatever. I can tell when a girl wants it, can’t I? So this really isn’t my fault.”
It took a while before it clicked. “How...how did you know she wanted it?”
“I just knew!”
You stopped talking. You knew exactly what had happened, but you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Neil was your oldest friend, he was a good guy deep down, you assured yourself...and plus, did that really even count as...? You waved the word away like you were blowing out a candle.
If Neil got in trouble over it, you’d lose your best friend, so everyone had to keep quiet, especially Katie.
What the fuck is wrong with you? You really picked your rapist friend over a girl who had been touched without consent? He knows that he got away with that, and he knows that he could probably do it again to someone else. You really chose your own feelings over those of any number of girls he could assault?
This is one of the reasons why things like that don’t get reported; it isn’t always because the victim is too scared to speak up, it’s because people don’t want others to get in trouble so they do what you did – beg the girl not to say anything more.
Have some sympathy, you say, look at it from his shoes, you say. What about her shoes? Or do they not matter? Do the other potential victims not matter?
Think about it. Speak up.
Thursday, 27 March 2014
#100 - Noah
Today’s words: Purchase, Classy, Grey, Comfortable
Word count: 1,343
Completion: An hour and a half...ish
Summary: A boy on the autism spectrum decides to withdraw from everyone due to fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, until he reaches his late 20s and concludes that he needs to make a change
--
1 in 100 people have an autism spectrum disorder (which Asperger’s is included in), so if you’d like to find out more about autism or Asperger’s, please do your research.
To write this, I watched a film (‘Adam’, made in 2009, very good), spoke to two people with Asperger’s, and looked at this website: http://www.autism.org.uk/About-autism/Autism-and-Asperger-syndrome-an-introduction/What-is-Asperger-syndrome.aspx, but I am not even close to being a reliable resource for autism.
--
Based on a true story...
“I had a really good time tonight, Noah.”
“I had a good time too. So...I’ll see you on Monday.” Noah turned to leave, putting both hands in his jacket pocket.
Becky raised her eyebrows and held a hand out. “Where are you going?”
He turned back to face her with a smile. “...Home. The night’s over, right?”
“Yeah but, don’t you want to say anything?”
He twisted his mouth and tried to think of something to say. “Like what?”
A few seconds passed before she stuttered: “...Noah, do you like me?”
What a weird question, he thought. “Of course I like you, you’re my friend.”
“Your friend?” Particular emphasis on the word ‘friend’.
“Yeah...”
She looked down and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand.
“What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”
“I...I just thought you liked me.”
“I do like you!” He didn’t know what else he could say to get the point across.
“You know what I mean,” she said, storming off and leaving Noah standing outside the cinema.
He didn’t. To Noah, the word ‘like’ only meant one thing – ‘like’. He enjoyed Becky’s company, she was nice, funny, and she didn’t make fun of him: that meant that he liked her, didn’t it? What was he supposed to say? He didn’t know. He never knew what should or shouldn’t be said.
The following week, he realised that what he said had made her feel bad when two of her friends came up to him during lunchtime.
“Hey, Noah!” One of Becky’s friends, Rachel, waltzed up to the bench that he was sitting on, followed by another girl that he thought was called Lorna.
“Hi, Rachel.”
“What have you said to Becky?” Rachel put her hand on the wall behind him and lifted one leg onto the bench, staring at him over the rims of her glasses.
“Nothing, I haven’t seen her today,” Noah said as he continued to eat his sandwich.
“I mean the other night, on your date, what did you say to her?”
“Date?” It was supposed to be a date?
“You said you liked her,” Lorna spoke up before she knocked his lunchbox from his lap.
He stared at the food scattered on the ground and then back up at Lorna. “Lorna, I do like her.”
“Then why did she ring me in tears saying that you turned her down?”
“Turn her down? How? I said I liked her.” It was just like the other night – people didn’t seem to understand the word ‘like’.
“You can’t say that you like a girl and then say that you just want to be friends.” Rachel this time.
Now that really didn’t make sense to Noah. “Friends like each other, right? You girls, you both like each other because you’re friends.”
“Don’t try to be funny with us, Noah.”
“I’m not? Look, maybe there’s a misunderstanding or--”
“You damn right there is.”
Rachel forced him forward by his collar and slammed the back of his head into the brick wall twice whilst Lorna kicked him in the shins and grabbed his hair.
“You don’t play with girls’ feelings like that!”
After a while, a teacher came to break it up.
That wasn’t the first time he’d had miscommunications with people that upset them, nor the first time that he was bullied, whether it was due to those miscommunications or not.
It felt like any time he opened his mouth to speak, he’d end up offending someone or causing an argument or a fight. He came to the conclusion at fifteen that he felt a lot more comfortable keeping his mouth shut altogether, then no-one could have a go at him. Turns out, though, that staying silent when people want you to talk can also cause agitation. He couldn’t win and knowing that he couldn’t win, he got depressed and his once colourful life turned completely grey.
He dropped out of school, never went to college, and went away with no GCSEs or any qualifications that employers would be interested in. It didn’t matter; even if he was qualified for jobs, he was sure that he wouldn’t even make it past the interview stage. How was he supposed to greet them? What was he supposed to talk about? Did he smile? Was that right or too friendly? What was a right balance between classy and casual? How would he get a job if even people from school didn’t accept him for who he was? How would people ever understand that he couldn’t help it, that he had Asperger’s syndrome?
Noah became incredibly isolated from everyone, even his parents, until eventually he didn’t leave the house for three years. Not to see friends, purchase new clothes, buy groceries, nothing. He wouldn’t touch his front door, let alone open it for anyone. He felt like the only one who understood him was right there, so why did he need to leave? Why did he need to open himself up for more abuse, more scrutiny, more misunderstandings? Sure, it would be easy to say try, but he did try, he’d been trying to figure things out his whole life but all it got him was black eyes, broken teeth, and severed friendships.
Never again, he thought, never again would he open himself up to anyone. That’s what he thought – that he would always have himself and no-one else for company, and that’s the way he’d force himself to like it.
He still used his computer but rarely to speak to people, just to do some personal research and watch a few TV shows or movies. One Sunday evening, he came across the TV show The X Files and decided to check it out, being a fan of most things sci-fi. In nine months, he had watched all 202 episodes (nine series) and movies. As the last series drew to a close, he felt something stir within him that he couldn’t identify; something about the characters and the way that they acted moved him.
The credits rolled and when they were done, he opened Word and started typing out a screenplay. He didn’t know what it was about, where it was going, or how to even structure a screenplay but he wrote and wrote for a week until he’d finished 70 pages. Afterwards, he stared at the screen and cried for hours.
When he was done, he felt like a new man.
How could something like a fictional TV show be enough to help him? He didn’t know, but it did. Once his tears were all gone, he phoned his parents to tell them what had happened and decided to restart his life the day after.
It wasn’t easy – he’d been without social interaction for three years and he’d felt depressed longer than he’d been physically isolated. He had lived with Asperger’s since he was a child, but maybe it was easier to get a better grip on being depressed, he thought, since that was partly what made him remove himself from peoples’ company. Yes, he was still depressed, but he felt like a weight had been lifted ever since The X Files was completed.
He was on the road to recovery.
Noah stepped outside for the first time in years. It didn’t feel right, but he kept on walking to the closest corner shop, keeping his head down and making sure not to hang around for too long.
Day one – success.
After day fifty-two, he felt almost like himself again.
The next year, he attempted and passed his driving test, and started an Access course so that he could go to university. He was in his late 20’s but who cared? He was doing something with his life, something that he’d always wanted but was too scared to do before, and it felt great.
He might not always understand what people are thinking, and he is still struggling with being depressed some days, but he’s glad that he managed to climb out of that hole and take control of his life.
Word count: 1,343
Completion: An hour and a half...ish
Summary: A boy on the autism spectrum decides to withdraw from everyone due to fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, until he reaches his late 20s and concludes that he needs to make a change
--
1 in 100 people have an autism spectrum disorder (which Asperger’s is included in), so if you’d like to find out more about autism or Asperger’s, please do your research.
To write this, I watched a film (‘Adam’, made in 2009, very good), spoke to two people with Asperger’s, and looked at this website: http://www.autism.org.uk/About-autism/Autism-and-Asperger-syndrome-an-introduction/What-is-Asperger-syndrome.aspx, but I am not even close to being a reliable resource for autism.
--
Based on a true story...
“I had a really good time tonight, Noah.”
“I had a good time too. So...I’ll see you on Monday.” Noah turned to leave, putting both hands in his jacket pocket.
Becky raised her eyebrows and held a hand out. “Where are you going?”
He turned back to face her with a smile. “...Home. The night’s over, right?”
“Yeah but, don’t you want to say anything?”
He twisted his mouth and tried to think of something to say. “Like what?”
A few seconds passed before she stuttered: “...Noah, do you like me?”
What a weird question, he thought. “Of course I like you, you’re my friend.”
“Your friend?” Particular emphasis on the word ‘friend’.
“Yeah...”
She looked down and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand.
“What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”
“I...I just thought you liked me.”
“I do like you!” He didn’t know what else he could say to get the point across.
“You know what I mean,” she said, storming off and leaving Noah standing outside the cinema.
He didn’t. To Noah, the word ‘like’ only meant one thing – ‘like’. He enjoyed Becky’s company, she was nice, funny, and she didn’t make fun of him: that meant that he liked her, didn’t it? What was he supposed to say? He didn’t know. He never knew what should or shouldn’t be said.
The following week, he realised that what he said had made her feel bad when two of her friends came up to him during lunchtime.
“Hey, Noah!” One of Becky’s friends, Rachel, waltzed up to the bench that he was sitting on, followed by another girl that he thought was called Lorna.
“Hi, Rachel.”
“What have you said to Becky?” Rachel put her hand on the wall behind him and lifted one leg onto the bench, staring at him over the rims of her glasses.
“Nothing, I haven’t seen her today,” Noah said as he continued to eat his sandwich.
“I mean the other night, on your date, what did you say to her?”
“Date?” It was supposed to be a date?
“You said you liked her,” Lorna spoke up before she knocked his lunchbox from his lap.
He stared at the food scattered on the ground and then back up at Lorna. “Lorna, I do like her.”
“Then why did she ring me in tears saying that you turned her down?”
“Turn her down? How? I said I liked her.” It was just like the other night – people didn’t seem to understand the word ‘like’.
“You can’t say that you like a girl and then say that you just want to be friends.” Rachel this time.
Now that really didn’t make sense to Noah. “Friends like each other, right? You girls, you both like each other because you’re friends.”
“Don’t try to be funny with us, Noah.”
“I’m not? Look, maybe there’s a misunderstanding or--”
“You damn right there is.”
Rachel forced him forward by his collar and slammed the back of his head into the brick wall twice whilst Lorna kicked him in the shins and grabbed his hair.
“You don’t play with girls’ feelings like that!”
After a while, a teacher came to break it up.
That wasn’t the first time he’d had miscommunications with people that upset them, nor the first time that he was bullied, whether it was due to those miscommunications or not.
It felt like any time he opened his mouth to speak, he’d end up offending someone or causing an argument or a fight. He came to the conclusion at fifteen that he felt a lot more comfortable keeping his mouth shut altogether, then no-one could have a go at him. Turns out, though, that staying silent when people want you to talk can also cause agitation. He couldn’t win and knowing that he couldn’t win, he got depressed and his once colourful life turned completely grey.
He dropped out of school, never went to college, and went away with no GCSEs or any qualifications that employers would be interested in. It didn’t matter; even if he was qualified for jobs, he was sure that he wouldn’t even make it past the interview stage. How was he supposed to greet them? What was he supposed to talk about? Did he smile? Was that right or too friendly? What was a right balance between classy and casual? How would he get a job if even people from school didn’t accept him for who he was? How would people ever understand that he couldn’t help it, that he had Asperger’s syndrome?
Noah became incredibly isolated from everyone, even his parents, until eventually he didn’t leave the house for three years. Not to see friends, purchase new clothes, buy groceries, nothing. He wouldn’t touch his front door, let alone open it for anyone. He felt like the only one who understood him was right there, so why did he need to leave? Why did he need to open himself up for more abuse, more scrutiny, more misunderstandings? Sure, it would be easy to say try, but he did try, he’d been trying to figure things out his whole life but all it got him was black eyes, broken teeth, and severed friendships.
Never again, he thought, never again would he open himself up to anyone. That’s what he thought – that he would always have himself and no-one else for company, and that’s the way he’d force himself to like it.
He still used his computer but rarely to speak to people, just to do some personal research and watch a few TV shows or movies. One Sunday evening, he came across the TV show The X Files and decided to check it out, being a fan of most things sci-fi. In nine months, he had watched all 202 episodes (nine series) and movies. As the last series drew to a close, he felt something stir within him that he couldn’t identify; something about the characters and the way that they acted moved him.
The credits rolled and when they were done, he opened Word and started typing out a screenplay. He didn’t know what it was about, where it was going, or how to even structure a screenplay but he wrote and wrote for a week until he’d finished 70 pages. Afterwards, he stared at the screen and cried for hours.
When he was done, he felt like a new man.
How could something like a fictional TV show be enough to help him? He didn’t know, but it did. Once his tears were all gone, he phoned his parents to tell them what had happened and decided to restart his life the day after.
It wasn’t easy – he’d been without social interaction for three years and he’d felt depressed longer than he’d been physically isolated. He had lived with Asperger’s since he was a child, but maybe it was easier to get a better grip on being depressed, he thought, since that was partly what made him remove himself from peoples’ company. Yes, he was still depressed, but he felt like a weight had been lifted ever since The X Files was completed.
He was on the road to recovery.
Noah stepped outside for the first time in years. It didn’t feel right, but he kept on walking to the closest corner shop, keeping his head down and making sure not to hang around for too long.
Day one – success.
After day fifty-two, he felt almost like himself again.
The next year, he attempted and passed his driving test, and started an Access course so that he could go to university. He was in his late 20’s but who cared? He was doing something with his life, something that he’d always wanted but was too scared to do before, and it felt great.
He might not always understand what people are thinking, and he is still struggling with being depressed some days, but he’s glad that he managed to climb out of that hole and take control of his life.
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