I was under pressure. A hell of a lot of pressure. I pointed my toe in front of me and presented to the judges. I was ready. I wiped my sweaty, chalk coated hands against my bare legs. I could do this. My red headed coach gave an encouraging smile. Yes, I was ready.
I leaped forward and caught the lower bar. I remembered everything coach had told me, ‘keep your butt tight.’ Thanks a heap coach.
Just like that I did an impossible trick after another, I felt like I was flying and for the first time I was free.

My eyes fluttered open. Back to reality, crap!
“Issey! Earth to Isspiss,” it was Leesh, one of my best friends.
“Huh?” I muttered, blinking back tears.
“You don’t look well,” she whispered, lines of worry creased her face. She was drenched in sweat, she was holding a tennis racket in one hand and her phone in the other, she handed it to me. I knew what that meant, every time, and I hated that I did. Someone called her from the court, everyone in year 8 was playing, everyone but me.
I punched in mums’ number.
“Mum,” I murmured, trying to swallow the sob that was rising in my throat.

Mum picked me up from the attended office; I got the same look from Megan (attendance lady) every time, the ‘you need to toughen up’ look and I’ll give her the ‘I wish I could’ look back.

“At least you tried your best,” my mum smiled, people say that I look so much like mum, I had her cheekbones, so apparently I was nothing without my cheeks.
“Mum, I’m sick of this,” I sobbed. It was true I was sick of being sick. Tired of being tired. Why do I have to be the one with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome?

I lay on my bed and cried, I cried until there were no more tears left. Why me? I always ask the same question. My grandma says that god is punishing me because I don’t believe in him. Well I wonder why (sarcasm by the way). What’s he ever done for me? I am in so much pain, why the hell should I believe in him if I have nothing to believe in. Hell, I don’t even believe in myself.

“Honey,” it was mum, her voice as sweet as honey. “You forgot to take your pills, you don’t want Dr. Lindsay to get angry at you.”
She brushed my brown curls out of my face.
I looked at her angrily, hoping my raw red looking eyes were enough to tell her that I wasn’t going to take them.
It wasn’t.
“Crap mum!!” I cried, sitting and flinging the pills against the wall, “I don’t want the freaking’ anti-depressants, I don’t want to have my sleeping pills! I don’t care if the stupid doctor gets pissed! I hate him and I hate that you let them control me.”
I was taking deep heaving breaths, a look of shock and horror stood on her face.
“ I just want to be like everyone else.” I whispered, hot tears overwhelming me as my knees gave out and fell to the floor. She kneeled down next to me, crying.
“ Everything is gunna be alright,” she cried, stroking my hair.
No mum, not this time and you no it.
God really did leave this house a long time ago.

I smiled at everyone at school the next day, cracking jokes, laughing at jocks stupid jokes just like always. They would never suspect. They would never suspect that there was anything wrong with me, or that I really didn’t want to be there. They would never suspect that I was once a gymnast. A bloody good gymnast. A gymnast who could have gone to the Olympics if she hadn’t let others control her and tell her that she was sick and that she had injured nearly every part of her body.
Imagine starting off doing everything and having everything going for you then… nothing. Your life just comes to a screeching halt, everything you once dreamed of, gone, destroyed.
I’m just thirteen years old, so much has happened in my life already. I know how it feels to want to die, to want to give in to the pain, all while I was thirteen. However, I also no what it feels like to posses true happiness. I can’t ever predict if I will ever get better, however, as long as I never forget what it feels like to be happy, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, even if I’m like this for the rest of my life.. I already have two loving parents and friends that would do anything to make me better. I could have gave in years ago. Why now, if it weren’t for them, I would have been a hell of a lot worse.

I guess the Beatles were right, love really is all you need.