Finding the darkness
I didn’t know what I’d done wrong, but I knew I had to stop making noise. Sounds were dangerous. Talking was dangerous. I had to be invisible if I wanted to survive.
I’m hiding again. It feels like I spend my whole life hiding. I like the dark corners of the flat, the places behind the furniture where I can disappear. If I stay hidden, Mum can’t find me. If she can’t find me, she can’t hurt me.
Today, she was angry again, though I don’t know why. It doesn’t take much to make her angry. The smallest things — a misplaced word, a sound, or sometimes nothing at all — and she snaps.
I think I’m getting good at it, at becoming invisible. Sometimes she forgets I’m even here. It’s better that way.
School, the safe place?
School is confusing. The teachers ask a lot of questions, and I never know how to answer. They want to know why I’m so quiet, why I don’t play with the other kids, why I don’t smile. I can’t tell them the truth. What if Mum finds out I’ve been talking? She’d be so angry.
Mrs. Bennett, my teacher, is the one who notices the most. She keeps looking at me like she knows something’s wrong, but I can’t tell her. Today, she asked me again if everything was okay at home. I wanted to say something, to tell her about the bruises and the fear, but the words got stuck in my throat. I just shook my head and smiled, even though it hurt to do it.
But I don’t think she believes me.
First bully experience
The eye patch makes everything worse. I have a lazy eye, and the doctor said I need to wear it to fix the problem. But the other kids don’t understand. They call me names — ‘pirate’, ‘freak’ — and they laugh at me. Simon, one of the boys in my class, pulled the patch off today and threw it into the dirt. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. I’m good at not crying now.
