the photo belongs to a real anonymous girl.
My daughter was quite the normal girl.
No... not normal at all.
My daughter was fabulous.
She was full of beans, always laughing like crazy, making everyone laugh, singing so well her singing teacher had no doubt she would end up in musical theatre, dancing tap, had so many and such good friends they used to fight over her attention. She was, she is! the most beautiful thing, had no physical problems or handicaps, was quite good at school though studying wasn't her favourite thing.
she was, as far as I was concerned, just perfect, right? WRONG.
If it wasn't because that morning she didn't realise she was wearing short sleeves when she walked into the kitchen and found me there preparing coffee, I would have gone on God knows for how long, thinking she was just a normal kid her age.
She was then nearly fifteen. A fifteen-year-old daughter to a separated mother, who had experienced domestic violence as a baby, and survived 9 months in a refuge under conditions that would fill a novel in themselves.
I am not blaming the system.
Every droplet of blood on her t-shirt right now is my fault. And that too I will explain later.
For now suffice to say that, whoever is behind our daughter's and son's deep anxiety and depression, we must do whatever we can to make sure other parents realise before there's any blood spilling.
Being a teenager was never easy.
Being a teenager now is hell on Earth.
