Fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time.

Once upon a time there was a little girl who would walk through the countryside with those who loved her.  She did not know much of the world and its cruelties as she had been protected and cherished, a child never forgets their first unfairness and she clung onto hers as proof that she wasn't as perfect as she would have liked to be.  The little girl grew up and began to notice how those around her were perfect.  She began to feel unhappy, until a little red balloon floated her way.  The girl caught it and it wrapped tightly around her wrist.  The red balloon began to lift her up into the sky and the girl felt happy.  Her companions tugged onto her saying that it wasn't safe, but she kicked them away.  Higher and higher she rose until she could no longer see her loved ones.  As she floated towards the sun she grew hotter and hotter and she grew into a panic as she began to burn.  The sun was so hot that it soon burst her red balloon and the girl fell crashing down into a blue lagoon.  She lay there for days.  She felt ashamed and unhappy.  Her companions called to her, but she did not feel worthy enough to be with them and turned her face away into the water to drown.  The girl felt herself be dragged out of the water, propped up on her feet and made to walk on the grass again.  Sometimes she stumbled on the dips in the ground, or cried as lightening came her way.  But other times she smiled when she saw the nicer things.  She smiled and smiled, and a red balloon came floating her way.


That's the only way I know how to describe it.  I think that it started in Secondary School.  I thought that when I left it would be easier and all of that would go away.  But it started to come apparent to me that it was getting worse.  For years I had been passing it off as being attention-seeking, or that I was hormonal.  But then I started to get scared.  They put me on medicine which improved things somewhat, but when I went to talk to someone I felt like a piece of shit - like a time waster.  They got me to balance eggs and to pop bubble wrap.  I'm not sure why.  They wouldn't answer my questions because I was under eighteen and eventually it was decided that I would leave because rather than drawing pictures of smiley faces like they wanted me to - I just cried and screamed.

I had to wait until I was eighteen to go to another counsellor.  In the meantime I worked on trying to fix myself.  A few months later an appointment was made.  I turned up and they'd done a cock up on the system so I was double booked and was asked to leave.  It sounds silly, but I swore then that I wouldn't go back.  I'd forced myself out of bed, I'd got myself ready to open up and then I had to shut in down.  My Mum convinced me to go back, which I did reluctantly.  I had an interview with the woman.  I can't remember what she said, but I felt like such a waste of time afterwards.  She pointed me the direction of other places I could go to instead.

So all in all, my trying to get better hasn't been very successful.  Once in a while I think that if there really is nothing wrong with me, then I can stop taking my medicine.  That always ends in disaster.

I'm not looking for sympathy.  I don't know what I'm looking for.  A way out really.  I don't know what's going on in my body.  I don't know if it's something that I need to talk about.  Or if everyone has their own red balloon.