So, I was sat one day at school when my phone rings, and it’s the bus driver. He tells there’s something he wants to say to me but he doesn’t know how to say it. I tell him to just get on with it, so he tells me he wants to f*ck me. Just like that. I make my excuses and hang up as I have nothing to say, I’m not sure what to say. Luckily he wasn’t driving the bus that night, nor the next morning. That next day, I decide to tell my friend Becki, as I can’t face the thought of facing the driver again. She takes me straight to my head of year and I repeat what I have told her, about the late night calls, the flirting and the recent phone call. She goes straight to my head of school and they get in touch with the bus company. That afternoon I have many missed calls and voicemails from the driver, telling me I haven’t done anything wrong, and he wants to speak to me.
That night, I have to tell my parents. My mum called me a slag and told me it was my own fault – she’s seen the way I roll my skirt up whilst i’m on the bus, how I wave at him when he drives off, how I look at him. From memory, my Dad reserved judgement. That next day at school I have to speak to the head, and I play her the voicemails. To cut a long story short, the driver is removed from the bus run. Later, the bus company visit my house and take a statement from me, and record the voicemail onto a tape. The girls on the bus, by now, all hate me. They blame me for the driver not being there, and they spit at me when they see me. They write a petition to ‘bring him back’. In the meantime, my parents make me continue to catch the bus to school, and I can clearly remember crying all the way, and trying to ignore the stares and snide comments from other kids on the bus.
A few months later, my Dad agrees that I can have a moped, to avoid having to continue catching the bus. This gives me a lot more independance (but was also slightly lethal!). In time the driver returned to the bus route and the situation returned to normal, was seemingly brushed under the carpet. I concentrated on my GCSE’s and got the grades I needed.
It was at this time I met a friend called Rachel. She lived with her boyfriend in the city and she was beautiful. Slim, toned, blonde hair and we became very close, very quickly. Other friends asked if we were in a lesbian relationship, but there was no element of that to our relationship. I looked up to her, I wanted to be like her. We became so close that I spent an awful lot of time at her house, as her boyfriend was away most of the time working. She also suffered from depression and took anti-depressants, Fluoxetine.
It was this, I believe, made me go to the doctor and ask for anti-depressants. I wanted to be like Rachel because I idolised her, and I knew there was something that wasn’t quite right with me. I went to the doctors and told them I was depressed, and was subsequently handed my first prescription for the anti-depressant Citalopram, a starting dose of 10mg, to be increased to 20mg within a few weeks. I remember the first few weeks were hell, my self harming (which had been a lot better) quickly returned and stronger, and I felt a black cloud surrounding me, although this improved within a few weeks.
Take Care. x