My Other half

breaking point

6.35am 
Today is the day, I break for the last time.
I lie staring at my ceiling as I have for the past 10 hours; I can't close my eyes, I can't sleep.
I can feel the pain rippling through my blood vessels even though I can't actually feel anything. I'm numb- in the way where you're not happy or sad; you're empty.

Empty of life. For a whole year, I have felt nothing and even when I try to break out there's no victory. Every day is the same for me, I let the time walk past me until it eventually carries me away to death.

I used to have ambitions, a plan... a dream. I wanted to be somebody, I wanted to be successful.
when you're weighed down by the darkness, all motivation is deceased.
10.00am
darkeness- There's no specific cause to the darkness in my mind, its everything.

Any little thing can add to the pain and eventually, they all meet into one huge weight that crushes me; pulling me further and further away into... the end.

11.00am
Getting out of bed today may be the last time I ever do. I tell myself this every day but I can feel it. I stand in front of my portrait mirror that leans against an off white wall, as the light coming through the black sheet hits it.

What I see is unbrushed, matted dull hair... dark patches circling eyes, the eyes that still shine bright but have no soul, you see past the colour into the blackness of the empty hole. I see the scars, I see the pain, I see the me I didn't even know I could be. I never wanted this, I guess I deserve it.
All of my life ive made mistakes, those kind of mistakes that cant be turned around, that can be moved on from and certainly cannot be forgotten by any one. I have nothing good to my name, i'm always going to be the girl that 'did this' so "we cannot be friends with her".
I look to the floor. I see the wallet sized picture of me and the girl... the girl I killed.
She killed her self, that's what my mom kept telling me. It was still my fault.
Lila, the only person I ever really loved- my best friend, and I still failed to recognise her sorrow. My last words to her haunt me, I didn't mean to be so callous... even though it was and it wasn't just her that saw them, as many retweeted and commented on my words online. I told her to drop dead. Drop dead. I was mortified when the news arrived and when I got tortured in repercussions of her death.
Swallowed by the guilt of this still, its the only thing to make me cry and break me into crumbles. The pieces of me are non existent now. I've compressed myself into nothing.

12.00pm
My presence hasn't been known since I left school anyway, my boyfriend left me and I isolated myself from the outside. My mum is all I had left, but I'd be lucky to catch her at home, or sober. She's like me- unpresent. People only know her drunken or high on cocaine and me as her unprivileged depressed daughter, hidden in the shadows.
No one cares.
Not one person here has the struggle of having to beg on the streets for food because your addict mother doesn't want you.
How about having to hide in your bedroom when strangers, who got dragged in by the coked up mum, invade your home, stealing your money and trying to hurt you.

Like I said, all these things in one persons life. Deadly.

How much more will I have to suffer?

1.00pm
I hear the door to my house swing open. I slouch to the floor, leaning up against my bedroom door.
I hear two unfamiliar voices, then footsteps climbing the stairs, I tense and jolt to a stand.
"Hello, anyone here?"
Its a woman, she sounds professional.
"Pete across the road said she had a daughter."
This time its a man, and they're walking across the hall to my door, I run to by the window and hold a lamp in my hand.
Shaking.
Tearing.
I cannot help but grab something to defend myself, and in the end it was pointless. The door swings open. I drop the lamp to the floor and at this point I knew it was bad news not bad men and these people were some form of safety. But not trust, I wait for them to fill me in, I won't tell anyone anything.

Nothing happens.

They exchange a look, then the woman who was fresh faced and with soft pulled back blonde hair begins to speak to me in a gentle tone.

" Hello sweetheart, I'm Miranda Dale and this is Dean Taylor. What's your name?"

I'm confused, but I reply with the hesitancy in my voice.

" I'm... sofia."

She nods, " how old are you, sofia?"

"Seventeen."

Dean Taylor begins to speak, holding a clipboard. " sofia, when was the last time you saw Margaret Atkinson?"

That's her. My mum, that drug addicted scavenger.

"My mum? I don't know."

Miranda gives a look of consideration, " your mother, she was found near the oakley pub, in a bus stop last night... She overdosed on cocaine sofia."

Dean taylor adds, " she was deceased on site of discovery... we're sorry for your loss.-"
Miranda interrupts, " we can contact social services, you can be placed with a foster family until you're 18... We have many homes lined up for you, and support groups... would you like to pack some things?"

There's nothing left for me here in this world, and there is no way I will live with strangers, I can't face anyone. I don't believe in good people, they're fake. No one is here to help me, I have to figure it out on my own.
I know what I have to do. The answer is clear.

I can't physically cry, so I fall to ground onto my knees and stare at the floor.
"I just need a minute, please can you wait downstairs."

My body freezes. I'm alone now. More alone than ever. A messed up mum was okay compared to no mum.
It's time to run away from this life, there's nothing here for me.

I climb out the window, slide down the porch roof and run barefoot and barely dressed.  There are people everywhere and they're all looking at me, but I look forward and right through them all. I run so quickly passing street after street. I need to be alone so I
run continuously until I see a high ledge.  its right there out side the window of this abandoned looking cathedral sat on a gravel hill. It's gorgeous and an aesthetic place of death and worship. I begin my entry, through a painted glass window and look for stairs to the ledge.
I don't, look, back.
I'm on the ledge, a sharp wind blowing in my eyes. The tears begin to trickle down my pale cheeks.

1.30pm
Today is the day.