The story of a girl who lost her way.

She had a pretty bad year. No. Let me rephrase that. She had an extraordinarily, utterly, horrifically, tragic year. And Why? She turned into the walking definition of mental illness. Those two words have caused pain, misery, greatness, realisation, knowledge and most of all, experience. Lessons have been learnt and her story has been eventful. She has come across many challenges and has had to make some tough decisions this past year, but looking back on everything, it was worth it all.

Pain. That word was like her middle name. She knows it back to front. The poisonous, prickly, painful parasite of life is something that infects us all. Including you, my dear reader. Whether it’s through loss, death, injury or human language, it’s there and it’s made its way into the system of every single person in the world, even a schadenfreude them-self. I myself have pain running all through my blood and it has been injected into me at maximum dosage.

Welcome to the story of a girl who lost her way.

At the start of the year, Amanda was just a young girl in a lot of pain, losing her innocence to the two immoral acts in which this society romanticizes and, to an extent, promotes. The two subversive yet satisfying, sinful S’s. Self-harm and suicide.

It was a year ago her mother found out about her self-harm. She hid it for a good 6 months, but then made the mindless mistake of leaving those bloody blades of doom somewhere stupidly easy to find. After that, it was straight to the doctors.

It took Amanda a whole 6 months to knock down her walls and actually talk to her therapist, let alone look her in the eye. However, once they were down, they were down for good. Or should I say bad? Taking down her walls didn’t just mean to her therapist. It meant to everyone. It took no genius to guess something was going on though. After all, she would run out of nearly all lessons crying.

However, Amanda’s parents then found out about her noxious notes; the last fragments of herself as she wished this wicked world a well-needed goodbye and good riddance...

This was about the time the therapist injected Amanda with her own cluster of concoctions.

People would ask her how she was and they’d always receive a smile and a reply of, “I’m fine”, which is never good.

How are you? “I’m fine.” I am so ready to put a bullet through my brain.

What was the party like? “It was fine.” It was the worst party ever. I wish I’d never gone; my anxiety was terrible!

Do you like your food? “It’s fine, thank you.” It’s disgusting; I don’t even feel like eating, but I can’t be rude.

She lost her best friend, after being too emotionally unstable to handle, for good that day and her anger got worse from then on, which caused her anxiety to raise the roof.

Shortly afterwards, she got diagnosed. (This, my dear reader, was when Amanda established herself as the walking definition of mental illness.)                                      

She was diagnosed with OCD, ADHD, tics, anger problems, anxiety, depression and then lastly, she was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome. No, not the food! I’m talking about the annoying, yet brilliantly devised brain of wisdom which lacks the art of social communication, but exceeds in other areas of life, e.g. mathematics.

It was a relief knowing why she was different, but no help in preventing her dark thoughts and actions, which unfortunately consumed her all too much.

Why do you think I read it and not her?

That was a story about girl who lost her way.