Hello there, my name’s Ellie, and I’m sixteen, today. Life ... sucks. Yeah, I have my friends to talk to and a couple adults I trust enough to feel able to talk to. But sometimes I don’t want to talk - sometimes I just want to end it all. You see, my parents couldn’t possibly care any less about me. I’m willing to bet everything I own that they would jump for joy if I jumped off a bridge. My father fucked off a few years ago and my mother didn’t care much for him either. And that’s no exaggeration, it really does seem like she doesn’t give a shit about me. I suppose any teenager will say the same, but this is in a different sense. Something changed, for the worse. My mother, especially, only takes notice of me if she needs a babysitter.

At sixteen, I’m legally old enough to own my own house, get married, smoke and make love but in my mother’s eyes, I’m not old enough to do anything other than go to school. It’s so bloody irritating. I can’t go anywhere without suspicion. The constant Where were you? Who were you with? is wearing me down. Damning my soul and thoroughly depressing me. I can’t stand to be in the same room as my mother these days. Especially since it happened. I went in search of love, some attention from ...well, anyone. And found my sort-of ex-boyfriend. Well we never officially split and ... Well I found his number - not him directly - quite by accident but he was more than willing to keep me company while I babysat my little brother.

Kieran was out so we had the place to ourselves for a while. My room was a mess, but who takes notice of that kind of thing in that kind of situation? I was also only fourteen at the time, but I didn’t care about that at the time either. And I don’t regret that part of the story for one minute. All I regret is what happened a little while later. Ten weeks to be precise. I swear I have never, ever experienced such excruciating pain! I couldn’t move, my face literally went grey and I was stuck in Strathclyde Country Park, with my cousin, who insisted I went to the theme park with her. I was in too much pain to go on any of roller coasters after that first one.

I just wish I hadn’t been in denial at the time that I was pregnant. I told myself I was too young, even though I knew I wasn’t too you to get pregnant. Just emotionally immature. And I hate myself for it. I’d just turned fifteen, when it happened. And I wish I could turn back the clock, maybe then I’d have that little baby in my arms, he or she would have been four months old by now. Instead, I chose to deny the little one’s existence inside me and go on a stupid fucking roller coaster.

Now, a year on from the worst day of my life, I long so badly for a child. I know it won’t replace the one I lost, but it’s a start.