Chapter 1
She hated life. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She wanted her life to change so she was doing what she needed. That’s what she suggested. But did that really equate to suicide?
The only reason for any suggestion of foul play, anything other than the suicide that the death seemed to be, was the suicide letter. It wasn’t like the usual sort. It didn’t fit. It didn’t make sense. Sure, she was going to do something, but the letter didn’t suggest suicide.
“Dear Anyone who will listen,
There is nothing left in my life. Even to think of how it was before hurt. To think back on those precious memories I have would cause too much hurt. Every time I do, the tears flow. I curl up in a ball, hugging my knees, my face wet, my eyes red. I cry until I can cry no more, until I feel silly for crying so much, but I can’t help it.
For too long I kept my feelings bottled up and now I can’t stop them from making themselves known.
When I talk about it with my counsellor, she notices the pain that brims over in tears. She notices that it is worse than I let on and that the happy, bubbly girl everyone else saw was just a mask. So in my past few sessions I removed the mask for the first time. It had helped, talking about my problems, but now I can’t put the mask back on. It has been distorted beyond recognition and now it just can’t hide the true me anymore.
My mum always asks me why I am so over-sensitive when my sister is taking my things or my brother hits me; just because I hit him back and I shouted at her. It wasn’t that I was just being over-sensitive to them; I just wanted to escape, to be alone where I didn’t have to play a role and be someone I wasn’t. Of course life didn’t work that way.
Responsibilities always get in the way. Almost everyone would agree. For me, my responsibilities are GCSEs in school, my family and my friends. Together, they give me too many reasons to stay. I couldn’t just leave them behind, as much as I wanted to; that would hurt them. So I tried to deal with it. I tried talking to my friends, to my counsellor. It did help, sometimes, but other times it was all to no avail. I would still break down in a fit of tears, until my eyes stung and my throat ached.
In school, I could usually distract myself. I had enough to think of, what with my studies and my classmates. School is a happier place. I can surround myself with more positive people, and feel like I belong somewhere.
At lunches in school, I tend to go out to the field where the majority of people in my year gather to play football, chat and relax. There, I could be more myself than any other time or place. I could be around people who would accept me for who I was without wanting to change me in any way. We play football and chat, discuss everything.
During classes, I just try to keep occupied. In some classes, such as resistant materials and sciences, that’s fairly easy. Others were not so simple. In these classes, the work was too easy and the conversations short and boring. It did nothing to hld my interest, so I was left with my mind clicking away on the negatives.
Home is a different story altogether. I hate it. Between my mum and my siblings, I was being driven insane. My escapes were reading and walking Lola, my puppy. When I wasn’t doing either of those it was hell. Even if I had already spent an hour or so ‘being sociable’, as my mum put it, even when I didn’t want to, it would not be good enough. I would still be expected to play my part, to entertain the guests that were my mum’s friends who I couldn’t even begin to relate to.
Just recently life has been even worse. I feel empty, almost like a zombie, and I’m sure I must look like one to everyone else around me. Before, when it wasn’t so bad, I could make it through the school day and I could face people. Now, I feel as though any personal contact, even hugging one of my siblings, would be too much. The thought of facing another day at school makes me curl up in bed and pull my duvet over my head, just to see if the day would disappear along with my view of my room. No matter how much I enjoy school, I still hate the initial getting up and going, as I know that school has to end.
Eventually every morning, my mum waked up and makes me get up. I get ready, not really paying attention, merely in a state of stupor, or occasionally daydreaming about what it would be like to escape. That’s what I wanted, needed. An escape.
My mum drops me off at school every morning, so I don’t have the long, lonely journey to travel with only my thoughts for company. That would be a good thing, except that I then have to put on a happy face for her. Some mornings though, when mum has pulled away and I haven’t quite reached the school buildings yet, I consider turning around and heading in the opposite direction, towards anywhere else. So many times, almost every morning, I stop, debating with myself, what I need or what is right. I always went with what was right. But that changed. It had been inevitable, but I had always tried to deny the truth, in the vain hope that maybe things would sort themselves out. I always hoped for the right outcome for the most people. It didn’t work though so I am doing the next thing that might.
This is what I need to do,
Amy”
That is what the letter said. The homicide department wouldn’t normally have become involved but the circumstances of the death along with the letter were deemed suspicious. The death had to be investigated. Something wasn’t right and that something had to be determined.
She hated life. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She wanted her life to change so she was doing what she needed. That’s what she suggested. But did that really equate to suicide?
The only reason for any suggestion of foul play, anything other than the suicide that the death seemed to be, was the suicide letter. It wasn’t like the usual sort. It didn’t fit. It didn’t make sense. Sure, she was going to do something, but the letter didn’t suggest suicide.
“Dear Anyone who will listen,
There is nothing left in my life. Even to think of how it was before hurt. To think back on those precious memories I have would cause too much hurt. Every time I do, the tears flow. I curl up in a ball, hugging my knees, my face wet, my eyes red. I cry until I can cry no more, until I feel silly for crying so much, but I can’t help it.
For too long I kept my feelings bottled up and now I can’t stop them from making themselves known.
When I talk about it with my counsellor, she notices the pain that brims over in tears. She notices that it is worse than I let on and that the happy, bubbly girl everyone else saw was just a mask. So in my past few sessions I removed the mask for the first time. It had helped, talking about my problems, but now I can’t put the mask back on. It has been distorted beyond recognition and now it just can’t hide the true me anymore.
My mum always asks me why I am so over-sensitive when my sister is taking my things or my brother hits me; just because I hit him back and I shouted at her. It wasn’t that I was just being over-sensitive to them; I just wanted to escape, to be alone where I didn’t have to play a role and be someone I wasn’t. Of course life didn’t work that way.
Responsibilities always get in the way. Almost everyone would agree. For me, my responsibilities are GCSEs in school, my family and my friends. Together, they give me too many reasons to stay. I couldn’t just leave them behind, as much as I wanted to; that would hurt them. So I tried to deal with it. I tried talking to my friends, to my counsellor. It did help, sometimes, but other times it was all to no avail. I would still break down in a fit of tears, until my eyes stung and my throat ached.
In school, I could usually distract myself. I had enough to think of, what with my studies and my classmates. School is a happier place. I can surround myself with more positive people, and feel like I belong somewhere.
At lunches in school, I tend to go out to the field where the majority of people in my year gather to play football, chat and relax. There, I could be more myself than any other time or place. I could be around people who would accept me for who I was without wanting to change me in any way. We play football and chat, discuss everything.
During classes, I just try to keep occupied. In some classes, such as resistant materials and sciences, that’s fairly easy. Others were not so simple. In these classes, the work was too easy and the conversations short and boring. It did nothing to hld my interest, so I was left with my mind clicking away on the negatives.
Home is a different story altogether. I hate it. Between my mum and my siblings, I was being driven insane. My escapes were reading and walking Lola, my puppy. When I wasn’t doing either of those it was hell. Even if I had already spent an hour or so ‘being sociable’, as my mum put it, even when I didn’t want to, it would not be good enough. I would still be expected to play my part, to entertain the guests that were my mum’s friends who I couldn’t even begin to relate to.
Just recently life has been even worse. I feel empty, almost like a zombie, and I’m sure I must look like one to everyone else around me. Before, when it wasn’t so bad, I could make it through the school day and I could face people. Now, I feel as though any personal contact, even hugging one of my siblings, would be too much. The thought of facing another day at school makes me curl up in bed and pull my duvet over my head, just to see if the day would disappear along with my view of my room. No matter how much I enjoy school, I still hate the initial getting up and going, as I know that school has to end.
Eventually every morning, my mum waked up and makes me get up. I get ready, not really paying attention, merely in a state of stupor, or occasionally daydreaming about what it would be like to escape. That’s what I wanted, needed. An escape.
My mum drops me off at school every morning, so I don’t have the long, lonely journey to travel with only my thoughts for company. That would be a good thing, except that I then have to put on a happy face for her. Some mornings though, when mum has pulled away and I haven’t quite reached the school buildings yet, I consider turning around and heading in the opposite direction, towards anywhere else. So many times, almost every morning, I stop, debating with myself, what I need or what is right. I always went with what was right. But that changed. It had been inevitable, but I had always tried to deny the truth, in the vain hope that maybe things would sort themselves out. I always hoped for the right outcome for the most people. It didn’t work though so I am doing the next thing that might.
This is what I need to do,
Amy”
That is what the letter said. The homicide department wouldn’t normally have become involved but the circumstances of the death along with the letter were deemed suspicious. The death had to be investigated. Something wasn’t right and that something had to be determined.