[Silver Springs]

This is a hard question for me to answer. Probably because I'm of the mindset that life is what you make of it, and people can only affect you as much as you allow yourself to be affected. Emotionally speaking of course.

When I was a little girl I had a lot of confidence problems. Probably as many as I do now. These I held my Dad completely to blame for for many years. Okay, I was an overweight child. But I can remember being very happy. Until I started taking in what my Dad would say to me. He found nothing wrong with cracking jokes about my weight, my social awkwardness and my bookish intelligence. He saw it as nothing more than fun, even though years later I was to find out that he had in his childhood battled bulimia due to being an overweight child. He knew how much the bullying could hurt. As long as I can remember, my Dad's been a bully. Not just emotionally. Whenever I did something wrong, took too long in the bathroom or whatever, he would bring out his trusty hard soled slippers and his belt. I was scared of him. At one point he had me so frightened of doing anything to upset him that I wouldn't even allow myself to go to the bathroom. For months, maybe even years I would hold out as long as I could, until eventually I managed to damage myself permanantly. Each time I would have an accident because I hadn't been to the bathroom he would beat me again, only increasing my fear.

But eventually, without his help, I got past that and then the fun years of school began. And I got to know another kind of bully. I think in all honesty, most of my life has been controlled by fear in some way or another. Fear of angering my father, doing something to offend my peers or lose the few friends I can count at the moment. Alot of the time I'm so gripped by it that I retreat into myself. My iPod comes with me wherever I go and I use it to hide from social situations. When I have my music playing, I have somebody that understands me.

After leaving my school and moving into a higher form of education, I was happy. For the longest time I didn't have to worry about bullies or how people were going to treat me. I came out of my shell. Then my Dad found another way to rock my world. My Dad has a severe disability known as Fibrous Displasia, and thus he can't work. Most of the time he's in too much pain to leave the house or even bed. And so he, like me, seeks solace in the online world. Only a few months ago my Mother found out about his girlfriend he'd met on that ****ing horrible site we know as Facebook. He'd been cheating a year. And the worst thing was: I kind of knew about it. I could hear him retreating downstairs in the early hours of the morning to call her and her little girl whom he had allowed to call him Daddy. He would borrow money from me, of course I never knew what he would do with it, to spend on her whilst doing very little for his family other than his usual taunts and jibes. He would even give away precious gifts he'd bought my Mother years before to the woman. We had a really hard Christmas last year and it was only then that we realised why. He'd dipped into the Christmas fund and spent most of the money on buying the little girl a Wii console. He bought my Mother a £3 dvd and myself nothing. I said nothing about hearing the phonecalls because I didn't want to hurt my Mum more than she already was. Every day for the next few weeks after that I would come home and she'd be passed out drunk on the kitchen floor. I wasn't allowed to have feelings about the situation because I had taken it upon myself to just try and keep the family together. I know it sounds selfish, but this was what I knew. I didn't want my fractured status quo to leave. It probably sounds awful, but even though I hate my Father so much...I still love him.

Because of my Father's distance, I developed a very unhealthy relationship with one of my male Tutors a couple of years ago. I would take any opportunity that I could to go and see him. To sit in his office and cry away from prying eyes even. I saw him as a Father figure that I had lacked, and I confided my soul's worth in him whenever he had the time for me. He was probably the first person I really spoke to about my self harm. I don't think he had a choice really, considering how I'd told him. I'd had a really bad day and had cut myself in the bathrooms. So badly it turns out that I needed stitches. I was bleeding heavily which was obvious against my grey jeans (It's always the legs. I never allow people to see them) and I almost passed out in his arms in the office I was so shaken. I hadn't meant to confide in him so much. But once the barrier had been broken I couldn't stop. I needed him. I needed that one person. That one father figure who I could talk to and feel like he even cared just a little. Deep down I knew it was just his job. But I see now that I probably abused his kindness. But in the empty room that was my moment that day, he was the only one standing there with a kindness to offer.