I wish I had just one more day...

I knew one day my past would catch up with me at college. I just hoped it wouldn't be so soon...I hoped that I could keep everyone in the dark for just a bit longer, pretend to be normal and happy for just a few more days. But that was all just wishful thinking. I got called in to the college's version of the student services the other day I didn't know why because there was nothing on any of the carefully filled out forms to suggest that I needed their help. All I knew was that two of my teachers were there telling me I had to go at such and such a time and that it was a requirement for me. I thought it was just a routine check, that they'd do it on all the students eventually. Boy was I wrong. I goes in there and my psychology teacher (We'll call her Catlady, because she's obsessed with cats) and this person who I can only describe as looking like she's about 12 were in there, waiting for me. (Catlady) is the reason I knew it wasn't routine, because why would she be in there for all the students? She's nothing to do with helping the students or the head of A-Levels or anything, and when I'd realised this, I wished I'd looked through the door before going inside, so I could run away. They wanted to talk to me about some concerns some of the teachers had expressed. They said I looked anxious and scared and like I wasn't coping.  They asked me why this was, I answered simply 'I have OCD and when my teachers ask us to make models of things using bacteria infested boxes that should be in the bin, in a messy classroom where all the pupils are careless about where they put their papers I get stressed.' They asked if that was all, because they'd read somewhere that I had a tendency to break down about once every month and that in my old school I was receiving quite a bit of help. I told them that the 'help' I was receiving was for a different reason and that it wasn't quite a bit, the only counsellor I saw that did any good was (Fire) They asked me what the different reasons for my needing help were. I told them that if they'd already read my file they'd know exactly what it was for and that they needn't embarrass me further by making me tell them things they already know.
They looked at me with PITY. They Pitied me. I hate that. I haven't had a leg blown off in some war and I'm not disabled, there is no reason to pity me at all. I have OCD, and some sort of eating disorder, and a few other things wrong with me. There is nothing in that list to pity. Nothing at all. Why the fuck do they think they had the right to pity me?! Bastards every one of them. I can guarantee that all the teachers in the college know about me now, that special one who hates herself so much, that freak, the weird one. They'll be checking me for scars and fresh cuts on Tuesday. They will not like what they see I bet. They're hoping I haven't cut, they are SO wrong. I have cut, my hips don't look like a persons hips anymore, they look like I'm some sort of burn victim, and I Love them. My scars are Beautiful. And so are my cuts. What can they do? Take my blades off me? I'll get more. Tell my mother? They're bound to confidentiality. I covered all my tracks. There is no way they can do it unless I cut on my wrists, on a critical area. And I don't. I make sure of that. So all they can do to me is tell the school, make me the weird kid again. I can deal with that, I have books to read, I know people don't like being friends with the weird kid so I'll save them the trouble and just stop talking to them...Its for the best I guess, I just wish I had another day to act like it was all okay. Bye my Angels <3