The things of nightmares. The bedside lamp illuminates the broken silhouette of Grace Jones, to everyone else, she is simply a normal fourteen year old girl but in reality, she's much, much more than that. She's stronger than most girls her age, not physically of course, but mentally. She may be broken but in her mind she creates a haven to block out the world, but even for Grace, that's not always enough. She's turned too self harm too many times, it helps her forget about the emotional pain, she thinks but really it's just a distraction from the pain, it's just something else to think about, something that may set her mind of her life for just one minute but will leave scars forever. Sometimes she just wishes that she could fade away, it would be much more peaceful away from all this, but she knows deep down that she can't, she knows deep down that she needs to do this, for not only herself; but the ones who love her the most. This is Grace's story. I just really needed to get this out, some awful things have been happening to one of my closest friends recently, and I can't tell anyone about them, so I'm writing this to show you her perspective; of course most people see right through her, but I just really need to let this out...this isn't her exact story because I obviously had to change a few details for personal reasons.
Grace opens her eyes, once again; she knows that this will be another day full of pain, silence echoes her room as she slips out of bed, pulling her fluffy, light pink night robe around her shoulders and tying it up around her petite waist, sighing. Yet another school day. She thinks to herself sadly,but in a way she's grateful, because what's happening at home is much, much worse. She tugs a brush through her long, dusty blonde hair and throws it up into her usual high ponytail before slowly walking along the hallway into her kitchen; it's five in the morning, but she hasn't gotten any sleep as the nightmares are always finding a wake to interrupt her slumber in the most peculiar ways. She opens the top cupboard to retrieve the Cheerios before emptying them into a bowl and carful adding some milk, Grace is a perfectionist, always striving for more than she can handle, and at times, that's enough to deceive her into thinking she's not good enough. Delicate tears roll down her defined face as she scoops up yet another mouthful of Cheerios, maybe today she'll have enough restraint too keep it down; Grace hadn't eaten in almost a week, so naturally, she was famished. Her life was unsatisfactory in her eyes, unfulfilled and bland, despite having a loving boyfriend and friends, she desired more; she deserved more. Grace was verbally abused at school misunderstood people despised her individuality, and her humor; and there's very few people in which she can trust, but she soldiers on, for her loved ones. Grace scrapes up the last bit of food with her spoon,which screeched unpleasantly as it came in contact with her bowl. She had finished a meal, success. But that's only the beginning,now she must find the restraint to keep it down. Grace runs into her room and quietly shuts the door behind her before strategically placing a chair, to block anyone from rudely barging in, sighing in relief as she does so. She feels so alone in this, as she knows deep down that she's mentally ill, she knows that she should talk to someone about it, but who can she talk to really? Her own problems aren't usually respected in her group, recently she's felt the need to leave, sit somewhere else, away from the pointless drama that surrounds her.Of course, she does have one friend who will listen, and be there no matter what; and that's Alison; the girl who's best known for being pure and innocent, a girl who will be loyal to her friends no matter what, and that's why they're bestfriends, they laugh a lot together at the simplest of things and they share a great friendship, but Grace isn't much of a sharer, she likes to keep to herself most of the time, except for occasionally spilling her feelings when it all gets too much for her to handle, and Alison's always there to listen, finding the right words to say at exactly the right times, and of course Grace is thankful for that, yet sometimes she seems to think she's shared too much too soon, but deep down somewhere, she must realize what she's doing is the best for her, as she feels slightly relived as if weight has been taken off her shoulders when she shares this, because she knows that someone is now watching over her, like some guardian angel sent to protect her somehow, and for that...she is truly thankful.
Grace timidly makes sure all of her blinds, windows, and curtains are closed before proceeding to change into her uniform, she turns her back to her mirror and quickly steps into her knee length checkered skirt, and carefully zips it up at the side, her skirt was a few sizes too large, as it was purchased at the start of the year,when she hadn't yet developed her disorder. But she manages to carefully fold the skirt in, pinning it back with a single silver hair clip and a golden broach in which she had received from Alison at the start of the year, it was supposed to represent security and beauty yet it clearly has the opposite effect as she is using it defiantly. She then carefully lowers her soft white school blouse over her head and tucks it into her skirt, it still looks like a dress on her as it hangs of her curve-less body swiftly. Grace not once turns to face the mirror as she lifts her collar and wraps the stripy blue tie gently around her neck, composing a perfectly rationed result, not yet satisfied she tugs on her grey school v-neck jumper and strategically buttons up her blazer, covering her broach and clip perfectly. "Thank you,"She mouths, tilting her head slightly upwards and gesturing to the sky, today, just like the rest she will deceive everyone; creating a sense of false security for the ones she cares about, pretending she's completely fine, when in reality; she's the exact opposite...she's breaking. That is when she allows herself to face the mirror, and like every other day, she lets out a large sigh; how could people not realize what she was going though, her appearance, which was once beautiful had aged dramatically since the start of the year, her skin was pale white and her hair was now a dull blonde, and it sagged down over her shoulder lifelessly. She delicately tied a pale blue ribbon onto the tip of her ponytail and smiled artificially into the mirror a few times, hoping that someday, her smile might no longer be an illusion manufactured to deceive, but a smile made up of genuine happiness; a smile that is no longer a ploy to fool, but a sign of liberty; liberty from her awful life in which she tries so hard to portray as normal; and it's successful too, everyday she exchanges vacant stares instead of worded suspicion and comfort. Yet ironically she's thankful for, because that way, it's not as scary, not as official and for her, that makes it easier to push everything away and attempt to forget.