I can't change who I am...and I don't want to.

Chapter 1 - Even a person is a trigger.

People say that you can tell how someone is feeling and what emotions they have spread into a story board in their minds, just by looking at their faces.

But then they forget,

We can act.

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A ray of beauty arose onto my bed sheets, warming my toes and sending them energy to move and wiggle. Sitting up in my messed up bed I saw my refection hit me through the mirror. My chestnut hair with curls here and there spiralling downwards over my breasts and body. Small withered pieces stuck up in all directions making me look as if i had just been hit with tornado.  The collection of ‘Well done’ stickers placed tediously around the edges. Stupid physiatrist. At the age of sixteen I don’t need to earn shapes of all colours that can stick to anything. They had started to peel around the edges, each and everyone different. Making me realise how quick life has moved on from being a child. Life wasn’t just going to get easier.

It had barely started.

"Erika honey I’m making pancakes. Your favourite." My mother was right I did love them but favourite is a word that is used too often in society. Where to some people it may mean everything to others it's taken for granted. Favourites should be rare, just like love.

But these pancakes, the sweetness that sent your mind buzzing for the day ahead. How could I not adore them? I followed her call down our creaky stairs and took my place on our small table, perched in the middle of a busy kitchen. To anyone but my family it would seem completely lifeless.  There were only three of us. That was it. My father, searching through the mug cupboard attempting to find a mug that was clean enough to place his daily supply of caffeine into. My mother, at the stove with her cat apron clinging to her slender body. Her hands crafting fireworks as they worked around the old stove.

Everyday people won't even notice the beauty and depth of these small things. But when I lost myself. The thought of loosing anyone else would cause me to shatter. My issues had gotten better over the years. I use to cry nonstop. Sleeping was the hardest, the dreams I had were so terrifying they caused me to never want to leave. Face the real world.

Face the danger.

Face the humans hungry for pain and satisfaction.

So one day I sat on the window sill next to the front door. I just stared watching, with protection that I hope and wish will always be there.  From that day on, it’s all I ever do.

A pancake was placed in front of me, my mother smiling as I took a bite. The beauty causing my senses to come alive.

"This is so nice mother, thank you."

"You’re welcome at least you will eat yours, your father seems to be to pre occupied."

"Excuse me, if you haven’t noticed these bills don’t go unpaid." His smile was warming. They were so in love it made me cringe. Yes I am a teenager and I still do get embarrassed even if no-one sees it.

"The bills don’t ever get paid..."

"Erika you know we try our best, to pay them. But your mother and I are very slim with our jobs right now, you know that. If you could maybe chip in and get a job it would help so much." He had toned down the volume of his voice with the last sentence. I knew he didn’t want me to hear. My father had always been very breakable with my problems. When he saw the cuts placed onto my thin icy skin. He lost it. Thinking that his only child was suicidal, if I was him I would’ve been the same. Distraught, confused and desperately wanting to know why but not wanting to at the same time.

"You know she can’t get a job love, what job will allow someone who has barely left her child hood house and never spoken to anyone but us and that boy over there?"