Do you believe in angels? No? Maybe it’s just me then. I didn’t believe in them either. At least, not until the day I lost my faith in God.
Maybe I should explain a little about myself first, before I go plunging into my worries all over again. My parents’ names me Charlotte but my friends call me Charlie. I am currently attending Grange Valley High School and I have an uncomfortably sad life full of sorrow and heartache.
I really don’t mean to worry you and weigh you down with my problems but after all, why would you read if you didn’t care? Although, I must warn you that if you don’t like suffering then this really isn’t the story for you.
Since I was about four years old my Mum and Dad have abused me.
The only dream I can ever remember having is to be able to fit in. I have very few friends but those I have I value completely. Other children’s friends go to our school and they have someone to play with during break. I, on the other hand, have no friends at school. My friends play with me at home, or in the park at the weekend.
Well, I don’t suppose I can put it off any longer really, can I? The reason you’re here. The reason I’m here. Maybe I was destined to tell you all along. I suppose it all started eight years ago on the 6th April 1997, my fourth birthday. It was not a successful day in any way. I had woken up with that strange tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach. You know the one you get before you go on stage? Something was going to happen to me. I didn’t see it coming but it definitely happened and it kept on happening. My Dad hit me with his smooth bare white hand. The same one he had bathed me with the night before. I received no reply as to why he had done it. There was no explanation for my Father hitting his four year old daughter. At that age I could only believe that he hadn’t meant to do it. Just a slip of the hand.
This was not a one off as I would have myself believe. On evenings when I returned home from school. On special “family” days or whenever the feeling took him, I knew what was going to happen. The cold bare white hand would appear once more and the cold sense of fear would creep into me, causing my heart to fail me. If it wasn’t for my naivety I might have gone crazy. I could not let myself believe that my Father was an abuser. My Mother did nothing to stop it, so I must have been right. It was just another slip.
You may think I’m crazy. And rightly so. I went on believing the same lie for seven years. It is only recently that I have turned to my friends for help. Yes, I know what you are thinking. “She has no friends”. At least not material friends, my friends are the angels. They help me on my way every day when I can bear to think no more about my life.
The teachers at school think that I’m an idiot. Oh how could Mary Jane possibly be a bully, she’s so sweet. She’s not sweet to me. All five days of the school week I go in dreading her appearance and come out with some strange feeling of relief. Mary Jane is one of those girls who seems to think she owns the world, with her group of good for nothing friends. They all give me a hard time. They don’t care about me. They like to see me suffer under their sarcastic snide comments. Unlike you. I know you care.
I used to see a counsellor once. Someone I could talk to about my parents, my bullies, and my awful life. This was quite a while ago when I was ten years old. I can remember her very well because she had the voice of an angel. Not slow and hesitant but soft. She talked to me like an equal, I wasn’t beneath her. I told her everything I thought, all my troubles seemed to melt away for those two hours a week. She always said that God would help me when I needed him. If I thought and prayed with all my heard, He would hear me.
Every night when I got home after the hand had hit, I would sit and pray. I told God my innermost thoughts and, if only for a while, this psychological effect worked. At times when I wasn’t with my counsellor, I would go to Him instead to relieve myself of pain and the ache in my heart that grew heavier every day.
But then, one day my world was turned upside down like a tin of toy soldiers emptied all over the floor. He had taker her from me. He, my God had taken the only friend that I had. The only person I could talk to. My counsellor. The doctors said it was cancer that took her, but I knew the truth. My life only meant something when I was with her and now God has snatched her away. No, I’m not crazy. It’s true. From that day on, my God was no longer worthy of my trust or love. He was no longer my God.
How could someone who had had their heart ripped out go on living? What was the point? I didn’t know. There was no point for my worthless, little life to carry on. To go on pretending my life was fine would have been more painful than Mary Jane and her gang of hounds, feeding off my flesh on a harsh winter’s night.
I think you can guess what I was going to do, can’t you? Well, wouldn’t you? If your parents didn’t care, you had no friends and God had abandoned you. I think you would have thought about it too. No, it’s no use pretending there was another option. There wasn’t. Believe me, I thought over all the possibilities. To leave the world was my only option. The final milestone of my pathetic life. At the age of eleven I was planning my own death. And because of what? A bunch of stupid creatures in my class, added to the fact that God was no longer there for me. My Mum and Dad read the note on the eve of their anniversary. Once again the strange tingly feeling crept up and the hand swept across my face intent on making it a red symbol of rage. I knew then that I could not let anyone get the better of me. I would not give in. Not now. Not ever.
I believed that if there was just someone who could make me feel safe, I would be fine. There was only one person who could do this. But she was gone. Or so I thought.
Now please don’t laugh at me. But she was there with me. I could feel her. She was my guardian angel. I talked to her, she had friends in heaven. Friends that soon became mine too. There were children to play with me and the real parents I longed for but never knew - they were there too. My life was back on track. I had friends and parents, even if incorporeal. They were there. So, in a way I was wrong. God had not left me. He had taken her so I could discover more friends.
So, I end this story with hope for children like me. It doesn’t matter how tough it gets, someone will always hear you. God is there for you. The angels are there. And I am here for you like you were there for me. Thank you. Life isn’t so bad after all.
