I have always wanted to be perfect.

Once upon a time
it seemed like such an achievable goal
because I believed that perfection sat at the back of my throat
waiting each night for me to reach in and grab her after dinner.



But I soon realised
with scarred knuckles, yellow teeth, a scratchy voice and the same body I'd had all along
that perfection was not something I could achieve by cheating.


It was then that I started to see perfection sitting at the top of the hill 4 miles away from my house.
And in the black coffee I would cradle in my hands before I set off to that hill at 5am
And on the scale when I only had one foot on
And in the size 6 jeans I'd bought by accident, once
And in everybody else but me

I was dying to get my hands on perfection
But she just kept getting further away
Getting smaller each time I saw her.

But with a face as pale as daisy petals, numbers in the notes on my iPad, bruised knees and the blurriness behind my eyes,
I continued to chase what I thought was my only chance of being loved.

I chased her all the way to the approving messages, the smiles in the corridor by people who hadn't done that before and people's questions of just how I'd managed to get so healthy.
But I didn't stop there.

I chased her to the collar bones that caught raindrops, the spine that hurt against chairs, the gap between my thighs that seemed to stretch for miles and the defined cheekbones that cut into my once-so-plump cheeks.

I chased her to the clumps of hair on my pillow in the morning, to the cold shivers on a hot summer's day, to the baggy size 6 clothes and to the aches in my joints at night.

I chased her to the concerned faces and the offerings of other people's lunch. To the ground when I'd stood up too quickly and to the skipped periods.

And then to the hospital.

I chased her all the way to my death bed and yet still she did not come to visit me.
She was not with me when I looked down at my skeletal body.
And she was not with me when I caught a glimpse of myself in the patient bathroom mirror.
But she was with every other patient I came across, and she was with the nurse, and she was with every family and friend that came to tell me I hadn't needed to chase her that long because she did not exist.

I was 11 years old when I first self harmed.
11 years old and punishing myself for just being me.

In the years that followed
I forgot what it was like to feel okay inside my own body.

I was always trying to cut it open
As if all the fat and ugly would pour out of it and down the plug hole in my shower.

But soon,
It became more than just hating myself.

Somehow, it turned into an addiction...
A routine.

I would sit there with a deadpan face
And stare into space
As I sliced my skin open and felt that familiar sting

Sometimes, I would have so much time but not enough skin on my hips and thighs
So I would venture elsewhere

Knees, calves, feet, arms, wrists, stomach.

Until my favourite outfit was now the one I couldn’t wear anymore.




Self harm was my secret.
The one thing that could help me focus my mind on something other than the thoughts that consumed it every second of every day





But suddenly,
It wasn’t just my thing anymore.

Other people were making friends with my secret.

They were making friends with it and parading round school with it and showing everyone they knew
Claiming ownership and collecting all the donations of sympathy that were thrown at the scars on their wrists
And I felt betrayed.

That was my secret first and they had stolen it from me and turned it into a topic to be discussed and a tourist attraction that everyone was dying to see.

It was no longer my secret and me

It was my secret and the world’s philocaly

And just me

Just me stood with the rest of the world
In awe of other people’s scars
When once I had been in awe of my own


All the while I wore the long sleeves and never went to the beach
And always got changed in the toilets for PE
And I tried to remind myself
That my secret was still my own and it was safer with me
Than it was feeding the world’s intrigue.

Exams.
Longing for the future when I can be free
Of AQA and Edexcel
And these grades I only wish I could be

Everyone takes it differently
Like a tablet some struggle to swallow
They panic,
Giving themselves even more of a headache than before
They've worked so hard that their peers are in awe
But their heads were hurting them
And yet nobody saw

And just like with a headache, they struggle to look at the light
They'd rather be in the dark whether it's day or night
Focusing on the negatives, nothing positive in sight
If society didn't finish them off, exams might

They search for a solution,
Think they'll find it through control
But their hearts are so tired and so are their souls
So instead of controlling their stress they only make it worse
With the unhealthy coping mechanisms they start to rehearse

'I'm too busy', 'I have no time', 'there's too much to do'
To socialise, sleep and even eat food
To you it might sound odd,
But under this stress these ideas are easy to pursue
Control the things you can, ignore the other few
After all, what have you got to lose?

After exams have finished, this still carries on
If anything this need for control has only just begun,
Originally the compulsive thoughts were just due to stress
But now the lies and routines have become kind of fun

You know at this point that you're kind of a mess
But you quite like it and to be honest you couldn't care less
You're addicted to the way it makes you feel
Somehow not looking after yourself makes you seem more real
It reminds you that your life is in your own hands
And how strong you can become by skipping your meals

For others, its different
They seem completely unaware
About the importance of grades for their future
Or maybe they just don't care

The reality hasn't hit them,
Maybe it will when it's too late
But at least they've saved themselves from getting in a state
They've been kind to themselves, not developed the same self-hate
As the people that have tried so hard to be great

Those people might have the grades
but they don't have their health
They've walked out of school feeling the worst they've ever felt

This just shows that some people can't cope
Exams make them feel like their isn't any hope
The government may as well have handed them the rope
To tie around their little 16 year old throats

Maybe I'm being dramatic,
Trying to find someone to blame
And I know that not everyone will feel the same
But I'm trying to tell you that the ones that do
Need help and support so that they can make it through

'They're just exams' you say, but it's the world to them
And sometimes exams cause lives to end
And I don't want to lose my friends
So let's remind these students that their minds will mend