Chapter VI

I just want to quickly point out, that these chapters can get quite harsh and unpleasant quite quickly, so younger and more sensitive readers please be aware.

Days ended up passing by quickly, although whilst smoking ourselves out of our world, time didn’t really matter anyway. But as all ways, pride comes before the fall. The police found me, contacted the commune, and my mother was on to me again. I was moved closer to Copenhagen, away from my best friend, and I lived the next six months cooped up in room, never leaving, hardly eating wondering whether I had reached the end of my fight. Alcohol blurred my vision, my sense of reality – I had given up. Everyone wanted me to fail, so why not give them what they wanted? Drinking and smoking became part of my everyday life. Causing rows at bars, staggering home in the early mornings, trying to remember why I was coming home with only one shoe and a sprained wrist and finding new people to share my misery with came to be the purpose of my life.

Finally 17, and coming to my senses. Tired of the grave I was digging for myself I reengaged in the fight and moved back to Odense. I found a flat, and a boyfriend to put in it so that I wasn’t alone. I started working at a sandwich bar to earn money alongside the money from the commune so that I could pay the rent and started to build my life back up again. Slowly, after spending hours every morning trying to cover up the bruises and marks my boyfriend awarded me, I started to realise that I hadn’t moved an inch in either direction. I was still held captive by someone else, and I still hated every minute of it. He grew stronger and more confident by the minute, upping his dosage of drugs and number of women he would fuck on the side, and greeting me with anger whenever I came home. I became his toy, expected to please him when required, feed him when required, be his sex toy when required, and otherwise just speak when spoken to and look hot when his friends were over. I started cutting again after having stopped for the good part of six months, and sleep came only after having met the bottom of numerous bottles, constantly searching for that feeling of peace without pain.

On my 18th birthday, the day I had been waiting for since I was 12, the so called boyfriend was once again out, fucking some other hopeless girl and getting as high as life would let him, and I had been left alone, to celebrate with no one but myself and the voices in my head.