Suicidal

When I did go back to school, everyone nudged each other and whispered. Not just for one reason, two. My brother went to the school near mine, and we had very good connections with their school.
Everyone who knew me knew what happened, everyone who didn't, had heard false rumours. It was hell at school. None of my friends were in some of my classes, so I had to sit alone. It was alright at lunch and break, but people still kept staring and avoiding me. At home it wasn't much better. Everyone was still grieving and the tension was killing me. I had to have my tea alone, now, as my parents never cooked theirs until late. It was so lonely. I used to have a bedroom right next to Tom's, where we could secretly talk at night, without my parents knowing. It was like a sleepover.
One night, when my mum came home from work, she brought me a diary. My mum works in a stationery store, and she gets 20% off, so she bought it for me. She knew how hard it was for me to cope and said she'd got it me so I could write everything down, my feelings, everything. And I didn't even need to show it to her. I took it. I planned to write in it in a few weeks. It was too hard right now. Too many bad memories, and I didn't even remember most of it, anyway.
I wrote in it a couple of days after I got it. I think mum saw and raided my bedroom afterwards. Some of my drawers were quite messy and my wardrobe was too. A feeling of anger overwhelmed me. Why should she be looking through my feelings?
The first time I wrote in the book was about Tom’s death and stuff. It went like this:
“I don’t think I can cope with Tom gone. He was the biggest thing in my life. Now he’s gone I don’t know what I will do. Tom always helped me with my schoolwork, so I could get better grades. He always cheered me up when I was down. He always joked and embarrassed me in front of my friends. He was the best friend and brother any girl could ever wish for. He was probably also a great boyfriend to his girlfriend, but I wouldn’t know. That’s not in my department.
Anyway, I can’t actually believe he did this just for me. He saved my life by destroying his. He knew I wouldn’t be so stupid as to kill myself when he just did. But, I wish he hadn’t. I wish he’d just have talked me out of it instead. I wouldn’t have done it if he had just talked me out of it. Okay, maybe that’s a lie. But I definitely would’ve rethought it.
The truth hasn’t sunk in yet that he’s dead. I mean… I’d heard about people who commit suicide and get saved by their best friend. But no one who had been saved by their brother, who saved them by killing themselves instead. God. I just hate it. I miss his annoying habits, too. The way he eats his food, the way he slurps his drink just loud enough for mum to tell him off. The way he cracked his knuckles every hour and the way he’d get bored so easily! I just want him back. RIP Tom
Anyway, the place I put it in was much too great for her to find. I did kind of worry that she found it, but I doubt she did. She wouldn’t have dared look anyway; she was always too scared to find out the truth, that she wouldn’t.
I started taking it everywhere with me when I thought she looked through it: to school, in town, even if I was going for a five minute walk. I became kind of obsessed. The pain of Tom gone was getting very hard to bear, I just couldn’t handle it. I started to cut my wrists.
My friends saw the cuts and got really worried. They pretended they didn’t see anything until they caught on that I was doing it regularly. They even took me to the school nurse, but, luckily, they weren’t stupid enough to tell my mum. She would’ve gone mental, and then she would cry and ignore me for days. They knew my mum; they knew what she was like.
They helped me with my self-harming and after a few months I cut down on it but I couldn’t stop altogether. My friends also tried to help me get over Tom’s death. It was hard, but I kept trying.
My mum noticed how depressed I seemed and offered to get me counselling, but I denied. I’m quite sure she found my diary. I got a new one and kept my old one in my locker. My new one hardly had anything in it that she wouldn’t like. I usually took it to school and wherever I went it came with me, but I couldn’t be bothered. I didn’t care whether she read it or not anymore. I just wanted Tom back.
My schoolwork was going down, too. I was going to fail my exams at this rate. I planned to ask my mum for extra tutoring, but one night she offered herself.
“I got a call from your teacher today, Hilary,” she said, sounding slightly worried. As if things aren’t bad enough, I thought.
“Sorry about my grades, it’s just…” I started.
“I know,” mum cut in, sitting next to me and stroking my hair. “I know how hard it is since… Tom died. Your teacher, Mrs Adelberg, noticed you were struggling with your grades and has offered to pay for some extra tutoring at home for a while. You can still go to school.”
Mrs Adelberg was my Maths teacher. She was the nicest teacher you could imagine. She noticed how down I was and had already mentioned it a few times. When she got my end of term grades last term, she kept looking at me sympathetically all through lessons. I’m pretty sure she found out my other grades from my other teachers.
I had thought my mum would kill me about that, but, of course, she knows how hard it is with Tom gone. He used to help me with school as well, so those grades in particular are on the downside.
My extra tutor teacher was called Mr. Doltreh. He was very strict and loved to intimidate children. He had a Hitler-type moustache and a tiny goatee. He loved snakes, cats and dogs but apparently not mice, spiders or ants. He always wore a grey suit with a white shirt and sometimes a black tie. I wasn’t really looking forward to him teaching me.