“Just pull yourself together.” Yeah because life’s that simple. Idiot. (Esmee)

“Just pull yourself together.” Yeah because life’s that simple. Idiot.

 I finally took Kathy to the A&E and spent the four hours sitting in the waiting room with her while we waited for a doctor to do what I had known he would do all along. Panic. We did not talk much during our weight, but by then all the words that needed to be said had already been spoken. Kathy had told me to leave a million times but no matter what I missed and that included work, or how many times Emmet made my mobile shake in my pocket there was no way that I would leave her sitting in one of those seats all alone. I knew how that felt. I had waited for an hour, shivering and rocking curled up on the seat opposite from where I sat now until a nurse had come over to me and asked me what the matter was. I had never forgiven my mother for the way she treated me that day. Her excuse was that she was scared. My reasoning was that no matter what fear she felt she could not have been as scared as I had been.

In a way there was nothing much sadder than waiting in the A&E when your mind was sick. People came and go and you felt for them, babies cried from car seats and even drunk people made there presence known in the middle of the day but you knew that the reason you where there was a little different from the rest of them. That the triage nurse wouldn’t really know what to say even if your mouth could actually put into words why you were in the A&E on an uncomfortable seat, staring at the leaflets, rather than at home curled up on the sofa with a mug of hot chocolate. It was heard to vocalize a feeling that was like a pain but worse than that. It was not a sharp pain or a dull ache, it did not come and go or remain persistent and it was not localized to an organ or a joint. It floated around the skin and flowed in blood. It imbedded it’s self in the organs and most of all for no reason you could see or think off you wanted to make it all go away in any way you knew how. As for the reason why you weren’t drinking hot chocolate on the sofa - It was mostly to do with the fat that there was not enough strength left in your arm to lift the kettle and the sound of boiling water might actually make you cry for the rest of the day.

The outcome of the sad hours was even sadder of course. The stranger in green I had almost promised Kathy that would make it better said nothing and then left the room without an explanation. Kathy was so new to all of it I could have cried with the way her face looked when he had. It was hope at its best. A hope that I knew would be shot down, and it was half an hour later when a nurse entered the room with white wrist tags and an admission form before explaining there was no children’s psych  that could make it over until tomorrow morning to asses her properly and she would have to stay with them until that time. Of course that meant a call to her parents as well.

Kathy’s mother turned up fuming with her daughter. She was a short yet thin woman with little bird type legs that were slipped into grey tights and pushed into black designer boots. She had dyed blonde hair that was just growing out at the roots but would probably be touched up soon in some expensive salon with a posh name. She carried a designer bag and smelled of an overpowering designer sent. I could see what Kathy meant. Her mother would tolerate nothing but the best. Imperfection was not an option.

She demanded to know what the hell she was playing at as she texted someone on a smart phone; she also demanded that Kathy pulled herself together in a huff before throwing herself down on the chair I had vacated for her.

“She can’t just pull herself together,” I protested unable to keep my silence as roll after roll of defences blocked Kathy off from the real world she was sitting in the middle of. I had done this to her in some ways. I had took her here and now I saw the harm I had done and I felt sick to my stomach. I could not win in Kathy’s situation and neither could she.    

“Don’t be ridicules,” her mother shouted looking down her nose at my old tatty second hand size fourteen jeans and oversized t-shirt that hid my tiny baby bump from view. “Who the hell are you anyway?”

“I’m just a friend, someone who wanted to help. It doesn’t even matter,” I sighed turning towards the curtain that separated us from the rest of the A&E before turning once more and observing the shell that sat crossed legged on the bed playing with the white bands that had numbered her. “Take care of yourself Kathy,” I said gently, forcing a smile. She did not answer. She didn’t even look up. Then I was gone.

We hoped (Esmee)

Hell i am sorry i am really not sure of this chapter but i had to mfinish it some way. As i said it is only a rough working through here. The main story is on the other site. I may drop the whole Kathy thing entirly yet. Any way  for the time that is here. I hope this isn't to abismal!

 

We hope

 “The hospital; Yeah right. Not a hope in hell is that happening Esmee. Do you have any idea what my mother would say to that? My dad would never speak to me ever again either,” Kathy scoffed her voice somewhere between amusement and complete and utter fear.

“If you’re dead neither your mother nor farther would have a chance of talking to you ever again anyway.”

“Yes I know but if I am dead I wouldn’t feel it. If I was dead, if I was gone, I wouldn’t have to look into their eyes everyday of forever and see that the daughter they jumped through rings for was nothing, more than a disappointment to them – someone that could have changed the world but instead landed up in the A&E. It’s not really their feelings that I care about even though I should do. I mostly just care what my soul would feel like. What is the point of fighting to live if you spend the rest of your life wishing that you were dead?

I sighed running out of words to say to her suddenly feeling mentally exhausted as well as physically There was so many things that I could have and should have said to her and I wanted to but the ending seemed fixed. I would not change her mind that her parents would much rather haver her alive and in the hands of doctors for no matter what reason then having to watch as her coffin disappeared behind a curtain at the end of a ceremony of songs that tried to sum up the life of a girl that should have still had at least sixty more years spread out in front of her. It was devastating, so devastating that without any warning I found tears pricking at the back of my eyes that I pushed back down, biting on my bottom lip in protest that my emotions had betrayed me once again.

“I’m scared Esmee, I don’t know what to do, I am not as strong as I look. I walk around like I understand, like that is nothing that will ever get to me and here you are asking me to go to the hospital. I don’t want to be the freak. I want to be the super girl that everyone expects. I could be perfect if I could just pull myself together. If I didn’t cry over every small little thing – if I could stop waking up every morning and just hoping all day that someone would just give me a hug and tell me that it will all be OK even if it is a lie.” Kathy’s head dropped down and she pressed her hands into her eyes. I had lacked the words to help her because mentally for the smallest of time I had given up on her and now she thought it was hopeless. I had been the first person to every stop her and reach out my hand to her and I may have just made it worse. I should have known better. You never stop trying. You never stop talking, even if you have to say the same thing a thousand different times in a thousand different ways there should never be exasperation in your tone and you should never stop fighting.

“You are going to be OK,” I confirmed sternly as I shifted as close as I could to Kathy and wrapped my arm around her shoulders.  Her body was stiff against mine. Her back arched out like the contact may have burnt her in some way, her shoulders tort and body against the joint. I should have let her go but I couldn’t, her devastation making my arms want to wrap around her so tightly it took all my effort not to bundle her onto my lap. I wiped my eyes with my other hand discreetly. Hormones were making me a wreck over little things.

“I won’t hurt you Kathy,” I whispered gently

“I know, but you are the first person who has put there arm around me in nearly five years. It feels strange.” If she was trying to break my heart it was working. She was sixteen years old and no one had touched her in five years. They were only trying to help it was true but people laid on expectations that she couldn’t handle and never even bothered to reward her with a hug, never granted her any reassurance that she was going to be OK. That she would be loved even if she wasn’t perfect.

“You’re going to be OK sweetheart,” I said again turning myself towards her so I could wrap my other arm around her as well bringing her in close to me in a hug. I wasn’t who she wanted of course. My comfort and embrace meant very little to her on the inside. I could have hugged her forever and she would have given it all up if her mother or farther would tell her once that she was good enough, that they were proud of her just the way she was. That there love for her was unconditional and it wouldn’t go away if she produced something less than perfect.

 I was nothing too her. A passing stranger that in reality had been promising her something that I couldn’t really promise. It should have been that way of course, that a call for help wouldn’t go unanswered but the world was undeniably flawed. My hope had been offering her something that may not have existed. Parental compassion was not always guaranteed, and a doctor’s qualifications on paper were sometimes exactly that in the real world; paper thin and pointless.

“You are going to be OK Kathy. It will be all OK in the end,” I promised again because there was nothing more left to do in the situation. I could live with the hope that it was true and that was what we all did at the end of the day. When things seemed  impossible, when things were bad – we hoped.

The time to fight (esmee)

Augh this chapter felt like it would never end! I'm not two sure of it but i hope that it is OK and sorry about the fact it is super super long!

The time to fight

Kathy took my hand without thinking much more and I wrapped my fingers around hers before setting course for somewhere to sit.

“Do you want something to drink? There is quite a cute little café just around this corner - My treat of course.”

“No, I don’t really like Cafés much too many people, it feels like they are looking at me.”

“That’s Ok; to be honest they aren’t my favourite things either though I can tolerate them if I have to. There are some benches just around this corner as well though, under some trees. My sister and me have sat under there before and had a chat. It quite pretty even in winter and it isn’t busy most of the time so easy to talk if you want to.” My voice chocked as I said the words my sister, as I realized what had happened that day when we had talked on that bench, a few hours later I was syringing charcoal down her mouth while she screamed in agony. It had been a good day until then but it all changed and the story could be the same here. I would have to leave Kathy eventually.

“It is pretty here,” Kathy commented as we reached the bench and we both sat down as far apart from each other as we could. I was not her friend or her salvation. I was the freak in the chemist in the old jeans and an oversized top. “I come here a lot and I have never noticed how pretty it is. I don’t see the beauty in much anymore though, but this, this is pretty.” Kathy smiled at the same time as her bottom lip quivered and her shoulders rose up to her chin as a form of self-comfort. She looked away from me just in time to try and conceal the tears that fell out of her eyes. I sat on my hands to stop me from reaching out to touch her. Her tears were private and what she needed. A thousand tears could stop a suicide. It could even result in a smile at the end of it all.

“How many of those pills were you planning to take?” I asked trying to bring the conversation gently around to what it needed to be, after all I would have been either in another shop staring at forbidden and now somewhat confusing baby stuff or in the car back home by now if she hadn’t caught my attention because I feared for her safety. After all I had a late shift that I was determined not to miss even if Emmet probably had other ideas for me.

“I’m not sure. You’re a nurse, what’s a good number?”

I find one or two is a good number. Get rid of niggling pains and such. They are also quite good if you got a fever as well.”

“So what’s a bad number?”

“An overdose is a bad number. These tablets are handy Kathy but they can also be deadly. They attack your liver in large doses and it can fail. It’s a nasty death. It’s not like just falling to sleep. The body just doesn’t give in like that, it fights to the end. Days can be spent in agony from a failing liver. This is not the easy or simple choice.

“Of course it isn’t simple. Nothing is simple anymore. I didn’t just get out of bed this morning and thing I will kill myself today. I just don’t know what there is left for me to do. I have to stop all of this somehow the pushing and the pressure and the hundred billion exams that fall from the sky and keep me revising to god knows what hour. Heaven forbid I should get anything less than an A or I forget to walk the dog or skip an hour of violin or singing practice. No your right none of this is simple but they won’t want me when I fail an exam or when they find out what I do to get through the days. They won’t want me when I’m not perfect so I am just taking away a problem.”

“All those things that you have just described can be resolved with some basic communication with your teacher and whoever looks after you. You just have to try and explain to them that you think it is all getting on top of you and you need a break. Killing yourself is really permanent ending to what will be a temporary problem.”

“Don’t you think I tried talking to them?” Kathy snapped turning her face towards me for the first time so I could see the tear streaks on her face. “It’s not that simple, besides; I think I might have gone too crazy anyway. I have started doing…things…strange things, to deal with the pressure.” Kathy moaned her voice so muted and gentle time she said the last bit that I had to slip a little closer to her on the bench to hear what she was saying.

“I am assuming that you are talking about the fact that you cut yourself?” I asked not dancing around the subject anymore or giving her time to deny it as I know she would have. She didn’t realise that she was not as crazy as she thought she was, that at any given moment when she was walking out in public or sitting in her class there was a chance that one or two people around her would bare the same kind of scars that she had. She was certainly unaware that the nurse beside her has them littering her arms so they were almost unrecognisable.

“I don’t cut myself, that’s for Emo kids and freaks right. Normal people don’t do that. Why would anyone do that?” Kathy tried to scoff even though there was real pain and anger somewhere in her voice that even she couldn’t here. She didn’t hate all self-harmer’s but she did hate one right then and that was the person she was trying to have a go at – herself.

“I cut my self,” I confirmed in a matter of fact tone as I pulled the sleeve up on my coat and jumper and revealed what was underneath to Kathy. She was suddenly drawn to me and closed the gap between us on the bench so she was right by my side. I was no longer a stranger to her now. We could have had nothing else in common, we might have lived on other sides of the planet but that one thing pulled her towards me and made me suddenly important. She saw me as the rule book for a game she had invented, however I had nothing more than she had I was still trying to find the rules and more importantly the way I could win the game and finish it.

“You did all of these?” Kathy asked softly not able to take her eyes off of the red, dark purple and white scars that littered the entire surface of my arm. Her eyes were drawn to the bigger ones, the ones that healed strange because of a lack of medical intervention, and the ones that had opened wide and bled scaring me in the middle of the night. They were nothing now really. They were raised and dark red against the surface of my pale skin. It was my skins payback, the punishment it decided to give for being treated so badly, but in the face of it all it had forgiven me and it had healed. Reminders were the only things that remained -The reminder that I had fallen but at the same time a reminder that I had got back up again.

“I struggled for a long time and truth be told I still do sometimes but I think the reason that my arms look like this is because for a long time no one knew what I did. I hid it away and never told anyone and all the time it was getting worse.  It became impossible to stop. The thing is Kathy I thought the same thing as you, which was that I was one freak in a big world where everyone else could function and be exactly want they wanted. It isn’t true. There are thousands out there doing the same things and feeling the same feelings but not speaking up or seeking help because the subject is still taboo. You can get help and doing so is nothing to be ashamed about. Hiding away and swallowing that lot with a razor held at your wrist is not the way out of this mess. I’ve tried it and mostly what happens is you get dragged in further until you land up in a hospital or under the ground. They are the worst possible outcomes in all of this. I know right now you feel like an adult and you know how the world works but honestly in the grand scheme of things my love you are still a baby.”

It looked like she was going to fight me and why wouldn’t me at her age I thought that I had got the meaning of life down to an art and had come to the conclusion that it was never going to get any better and that to resolve the issue death was the only answer. If anyone had told me that I was going to get married or own a mortgage for the most wonderful house or to have a daughter and be pregnant again I would have laughed at them and told them that some people just weren’t made for life but I would have been the one in the wrong. If I had died I would have never have seen Emmets eyes or felt his skin on my body, or felt the ecstasy of making love to a man that matched with your soul perfectly. I would have never experienced the most wonderful pain that was labour or had a screaming healthy daughter lifted onto my chest while she was still attached to me.   Any pain that I endured now was worth it for them.

Kathy opened her moth to try and tell me what I had said was wrong but only managed to yelp instead as she shifted on the bench and the fabric of her jumper pulled at her almost useless bandage on her arm leaving her breathless with the pain.

“Are you OK?” I asked

“It’s fine, it’s nothing. They just really hurt lately.”

“Can I see them?”

“Why would you want to?”

“Let’s just say the nurse in my panics about infections too much. That bandage looks like it has seen better days.”

“I have never showed anyone before and you’ll just judge me,” Kathy moaned adjusting her sleeves so it covered her wrists and hands completely.

“You really think that I would have any right to judge you? and besides as I said if you get the help you need now. You you talk to a doctor, you see someone at you school and you get some proper help for all these really overwhelming feelings you will probably never ever see me again after today. On the other hand, if you take that overdose and keep cutting your arms I will probably be the one making up a bed for you in the mental health unit I work in.

Kathy had no words to answer me and instead looked away staring back up from the street we had come from with longing in her eyes to escape what she had gotten herself into. She could have left any time she wanted too. I would have called the police described her as vulnerable and hopped into my car and made my way home with a sick feeling somewhere deep down in the pit of my tummy. She would take the pills without any intervention. She was powerless to them, completely wrapped up in their promise of bitter relief that she thought was held inside the tiny white capsules. She would take the overdose but there was nothing I could really do to stop her from walking away but something internal kept her routed there - the evidence that the battle wasn’t completely lost. She was still open to the possibility of being rescued, even if she couldn’t stop herself from taking the tablets.

“Well you’re a nurse, can’t you help me?” Kathy whispered gently

“Yes but it isn’t going to get better overnight my love, you are going to have to put a fair amount of fight and effort into and you are going to have to do something really bloody scary  and really bloody hard with me right now as well.”

“What?”

“You’re going to have to take this had once more,” I said placing my hand into her lap, “Take some big breaths, and come with me to the A&E,”

Esmee : Hnads to hold

Hands to hold

I hadn’t wanted to be blunt. I had wanted her to tell me herself but she had no clue that I already knew what she was hiding and probably thought I was just some stupid interfering over talkative idiot that took her job with her wherever she went so I had no choice to give her game away and really thinking about it I probably should have been honest and blunt with her in the first place. Because of its taboo and society’s uncomfortable disposition around stuff like mental health problems we all tried to hide it; tiptoeing around the subjects with caution. We should have all been screaming about mental health though, if we talked about it enough and used words like depression, schizophrenia, Borderline personality disorder and bipolar we would all soon find out that we would not all disintegrate into dust at the very sound of their names. That many people displayed symptoms of some form of mental illness and many people could recover. If we said the uncomfortable things they wouldn’t be uncomfortable and going to the doctor and telling him that you felt low a lot of the time, cried a lot and sometimes hurt yourself to cope with things would become as normal as going to them because you had a cough or you were feeling sick. As proved by the way I reacted to Kathy even I got sucked into the stigma of it though and instead of pointing out that self-harm was a very real yet very treatable problem I had made a joke about cats instead.

I retreated out of the stall and waited outside until I saw Kathy arrive blinking in the natural light and clutching her bag of pills to her chest. She looked scared now because for her there was only one other thing left to do and that was to take her supply’s and hopes she would slip away. The fear was there because it always was dying no matter how badly you wanted it was unknown territory for any human as we only ever did it once and no one returned to tell us what it was like. As humans we were all programed to fear the unknown from an early age with our parents scaring us with the threat of strangers and other things. Anyone who said they were not the tiniest bit scared of death was lying.  The fear did not me we would commit suicide but it was there only if for a few seconds.

“Kathy honey,” I called getting her attention from where I lent up against the wall, “Why don’t you come and take a walk with me?”  I asked before realizing the only way I could sound any more suspicious was if I had asked her to come home with me and see my new box of kittens or promised her sweets if she came for a ride with me in the car.  “Ok I realize that just made me sound like the child catcher , I wasn’t thinking anything dodgy, well lit public places with lots of people around was want I meant.” She was not convinced

“I have to get home, I’m sorry. I got some stuff to do; it’s sort of long overdue really.”

“Suicide is a very permanent thing Kathy and there are no second chances at life. Those pills will still be there whether you take them right now or you come and spend some time with me. I know you don’t know me but I work with people like you and I have been through some crap too. I am a good listener. I know you are desperate and distressed and want to check out as soon as possible and I have felt like that too but is an hour really going to make a huge difference in this huge thing you are about to do?”

Kathy went white as she comprehended what I was saying to her. Her hands shook and her bottom lip quivered as her eyes threatened tears that she refused to let fall.  With a few words I had knocked a hole in a defence she had been crafting and she was no longer unbreakable. I was unable to tell whether I had granted her any release or whether she was just angry with me. If she had made up her mind and refused my offer I had to make another decision and quick. Did I walk away and leave her and either tomorrow or the next day prepare myself to see the headline “Teenage suicide tragedy.” Or did I stop her, restrain her if necessary and call police and paramedics. They would resolve my situation but they would destroy what was left of Kathy with embracement and that wasn’t even thinking about the fact that the police could do me for assault even if I did use a by the book restraint.

“An hours a long time when you feel like this; even seconds feel unbearable right now,” she whispered. “There was only one thing that ever made it stop and even that isn’t working well anymore, it may have made me crazy but at least it help. Now I just do it because I can’t stop and it’s not like I can tell anyone because I am the only one that I know who does this and everyone would think I am crazy.” 

“You are not crazy and you are not the only one. I can promise you that,” I reassured taking a few steps towards Kathy and offering out my hand for her to take. It seemed stupid but I had seen the power of physical contact especially among the very distressed help more than any words ever could. I had felt it too at my very worse. There was something about a hand to grab onto that made things seem a bit different. It was the hand to save you, something that was willing to protect and anchor you if only for a little while. It was something that you could hold on to a physical solid reassurance offered into a world of demons that could not be seen.

“I cannot make the feelings go away. I have no magic wand that will suddenly make you better but I am here for a little while. I am someone to talk to and you haven’t got to worry about freaking me out with anything you say because to be honest there is a good chance that after I leave you today you will probably never see me again and if nothing else if I felt so bad that I wanted to take my life I think I would just want a hand to hold for a while.” 

Esmee : To kill the pain

To kill the pain

It was not my line of work that made me react even though it may have been my line of work that had made her stick out like a sore thumb to me. I often wondered how people could walk past someone like her and ignore what was going on completely. How anyone with a heart or soul or children could notice a child so distressed with injuries and the blatant intention of trying to end her own life and walk on without saying a word to her. The truth is though if any of them had known what was going on inside of her, could comprehend how desperate she was or what she was about to do most of them would have stopped and tried to lend a hand, however the neon sign that I saw blinking over her head was only visible to me. The blood stain on her sleeve could have been ink, the bandage there because she had fallen over and hurt it somehow and the tablets was because she had a headache or period pains or even because her injured wrist hurt. The spirit was almost completely concealed inside a tote shopping bag. I had only seen it because I had been looking for it. In life those reasons that were considered rational and possible were the ones that always made them self’s known. If I had gone up to any other person in the shop and said, “she has cut both her wrist on purpose and she has bought spirits to help wash down the tablets she is about to buy all at the same time,” they would have thought I was the insane one. The difference was I knew that teenagers contemplated suicide and cut their own wrists because every day I went to a place where it was normalized to something silly.  Even I had begun to judge someone by the depths of their cuts, foolishly thinking that someone who used a scalpel blade and cut down to the bone was somehow in more trouble than the person who scratched the skin with a compass. The girl with the compass scratches would disagree or worse try to prove herself that she could also be “good enough”   

There was of course another reason why I knew she was in trouble and it had nothing to do with the nurse’s degree or the NHS badge I carried around in my handbag. It didn’t even have anything to do with the five years on the job experience. The main reason I saw throw her while others rationalised her was because I had once stood in front of the over the counter painkillers and tried to work out the right amount that would destroy me completely.

Without taking my eyes off of the struggling girls face for more than a second I whipped around to the wound care isle and grabbed the stuff that was needed to properly look after cuts and sores including paper stitches and swiped them through a self-service checkout before throwing them into my oversized handbag and heading over to the same isle the girl was in pretending to look at the pain killers myself. I actually had no idea what I was going to say or even if I could help at all. I wanted to intervene of course, once again not because of the nurse thing but because of who I really was. I had prayed forever when I was looking over the tablets that someone would read my mind, that they would maybe come and save me. I would have walked away if someone had cared enough to ask me to.       

“Are you all right? You look a little lost,” I asked the girl as she swore under her breath at the tablets that teased her from the display. “I’m a nurse,” I confirmed smiling as she deviated her wide eyes from the prize she was seeking and looked me up and down like I may have actually materialized out of a packet of the pain killers. I dug around in my bag and pulled out the blue NHS badge that contained my name, a very dodgy picture of me as twenty four year old and other bits of information that was needed and handed it to the girl who scrutinised the writing. “You can call the number if you want,” I suggested “Check me out.”

“It’s OK, I believe you.”

“I’m Esmee,” I smiled before glancing over the shelf of pain killers again then back to the girl. “I take it your in pain if you’re looking at these things.”       

“You could say that. I’m Kathy,” The girl said quietly before handing the badge back over to me causing the sleeve to rise up on the arm with no bandage revealing two fairly nasty gashes that oozed blood sending a line trickling down her hand which she whipped in her jeans before yanking her sleeves back down and taking a step back from me her eyes wide and scared.

I could see the cogs turning inside of her head and almost hear the rate in which her heart thumped as she searched her empty mind for an excuse to use, for something to say that could possibly explain such perfect parallel cuts on her arms. She had made her excuses before for the scars but she had had them planned all along. I had caught her off guard while broken and bleeding I was trained too and not as easily as sedated by excuses like I got scratched by the cat or fell into a bush but it was all that she had.

“It’s nothing, I mean it’s the cat, she is a vicious little thing and I had to give her some medicine, it was asking for trouble, hence the pain killers, it’s kind of sore,” Kathy mumbled looking at everything else apart from me. Her legs told her to run of course but her mind wouldn’t let her. Part of her wanted me to ask the awkward questions, for me to guess correctly so she didn’t have to make up the lies but the need for the secrecy about her stage coping skill forced the lies out somewhat against her will. She couldn’t give it up even if she wanted to and addiction made humans sly deceiving and destructive  I had seen people so caught up in there need that they still lied as they were bleeding to death, convinced that one more cut could save their souls.

“That’s one nasty cat to cause cuts like that. Did he tie razor blades to his paws or something?” I laughed gently but winced as I saw the words hit her somewhere just under her ribs making her unintentionally grab at the sore bit that my words had left with one of her arms. I hadn’t meant to hurt her but making light of a situation worked with some people, it lowered a rock solid defence and made me approachable. They would tell their secret in a joke then I could intervene. Other times it made people think I was making fun of them and then they pulled faces like she just had. Maybe next time I should have just cut the crap and punched her in the face. Great choice Esmee.

“She is a very cleaver cat,” Kathy tried to smile as she regained her composure from the attack I had just pulled on her.  She knew she had to laugh at my joke because most people would have found it funny and done exactly that. Even though it hurt her more somewhere inside she would pull herself apart and stab at open wounds to keep her secret under lock and key.

“I mean tying razor blades to her paws seems like something Luna would do. Well I should probably grab some pain killers and head off. You were going to tell me the good ones.”

“Ibuprofen is probably best for the cuts as they’re an anti-inflammatory as well which will help with any swelling. Obveously make sure you read the label carefully and don’t take too many. They are very unlikely to kill you in overdose but they will make you feel pretty crappy not to mention the pretty much continual vomiting. They are not generally suitable for Asthmatics either.”

“I’m Asthmatic!” Kathy snapped more animated then she had been the entire conversation as she throw the packets back on the display and gabbed the Paracetamol instead, the smile she could not contain spread across her face, I had given her the weapon of her destruction.

“Thanks Esmee. I am sure this will really kill the pain,” Kathy smiled as she retreated with her prize.

Esmee : This baby

This baby

I did not skip breakfast that morning and neither had I wanted to. I didn’t even think about the calorie content that much as I chewed my way through the meal. It was a welcome break from what it had been over the last few days of meal time torture. It would come back of course. It always came back after a while. No matter how much you tried to block them out from your head or told yourself that you were crazy for having the bad thoughts. The ones that told you, you were fat when you were thin or that eating meant losing some stupid control over yourself that you never really had in the first place. You could never really honestly and truly make them go away completely. Even steam could get through waterproof seals and that’s what the thoughts were. Evasive and clever, just shadows mist and steam that came to drive you down, however any time off from them, the little victories over them were good things to be noted down.

Later that morning I headed into town. Emmet had offered to go in with me but I wanted to be alone somehow. I had had a good breakfast but before that with the trigger of my jeans not fitting I had fallen to a place where I had not been to for a while, a place where I did not want to go again. It was the place where the steam and shadows that sometimes got through the gaps solidified and turned into ghosts and demons to take you away. It wasn’t really some necessary brooding that I wanted to take part in. It was just thinking and besides I wanted to shop, and Emmet wasn’t a fan of the whole shopping thing. He thought all his new shits and jeans magically appeared in his wardrobe by the cloths fairy.

The town centre was quiet to my delight and my first stop was mothercare for some much needed new maternity clothes.  I had eventually braved going into our storage type room to sieve though some of the spare cloths that we kept up there in vac bags. We probably had more cloths then most cloths shops kept back for the foster children. In fairness most came with a bag packed but the emergency’s sometimes didn’t, arriving beaten and broken on our door step in cloths that were either vastly inappropriate, including one thirteen year old that had turned up in a leather skirt  fish net tights and tank top that advertised that she was in fact the queen bitch. She had come straight from the streets after the police had picked her up prostituting herself, her father was her pimp and her mother didn’t care. Other times the cloths were just worn, dirty or the wrong size completely. After a few times of being caught out we had managed to get an appropriate set of cloths in nearly every size and that included an adult size 14 that thankfully still fitted me well for the time being so decided to wear them into town

After handing just over four hundred pounds to the cashier for some much needed new maternity gear that included Jeans tops and a pair of stretchy dungarees that would come in handy when I was a lot bigger and a cheeky packet of first size sleepers and vest that I fell in love with I started to wonder around the town centre aimlessly, dragging the bag of cloths around with me and wishing with every step that I took I had not bought the baby cloths. When in the heat of mothercares surrounded by the world that was made for babies it was very easy to believe that it was all rosy, that everything would be clear and that everything would be OK. It did not threaten miscarriage or still birth in moterhcare and  It certainly did not mattered that the hour before - though he regretted it - my husband had asked me to abort the baby I was now dressing in “mummy and daddy loves me” inscribed vests.  The truth is I would not abort the child and Emmet would not ask me to do so again but in the real world lost somewhere amongst the grey pavements and even greyer tall buildings that towered over everything and casted shadows inside my head once again babies could get harmed and could die while inside their mothers even after the golden 12 week mark. There was always a way for the pieces of something to fall through the cracks even if you had all the super glue and sticky tape in the world to keep them together.

Without knowing how I really got there or weather I had actually bumped into anyone or anything from under my obsessive thinking on the way I found myself in boots the pharmacy and smiling at a toddler about the age of Mia who was talking to a doll who to the toddlers utter surprise was talking back at her. The toddler stamped her  miss behaving feet and squeaked with glee which amused her once again heavily pregnant mother and farther no end not to mention me.

Joy was out there and so was happiness, sometimes it swelled inside you and made it almost as hard to breath as pain did and I was lucky enough to at times have felt it to have lived and breathed right inside the glorious magical feelings that came from joy. However with all happiness there was pain and so often it slid silently beside happiness like it had done today for as I pulled my eyes away from the toddler and scanned the rest of the shop I saw another child. This one was admittedly older, probably a good thirteen to fourteen years on the toddler who stamped her feet in uncontainable glee but to my 30 year old self still practically a baby, however she had not found a toy to play with. She was not looking at the make up or body sprays or even hovering over the hair dyes to indulge in that teenage right of passage that would inevitably end in disaster and a trip to the hair dresser. This baby stood in front of the display of bye one get one free painkillers with despite wide eyes and shaking hands. This baby had a poorly applied blood soiled bandage peeking out the ends of her long sleeves and a blood stain appearing on the sleeve of the opposite arm This baby did not have a doll in her hands that she was not willing to give up for no one; A bottle of the cheapest spirit money could buy and a bag from another pharmacy was her prize to keep. This baby though still had clearly given in.

Esmee : I will alwyas find you

I will always find you.

Esmee

“This is so fucked up,” I moaned sitting down on top of the toilet seat and putting my head into my hands. “I am so fucked up; I can’t even look after my own baby.”

“Now you’re putting words into my mouth. I never said you were fucked up or a bad mother. You have more love and more maternal instinct in your little finger then some people will experience in their whole life but I have just found you promising size six to a reflection that was not my wife’s, to the reflection that will come for you.”  

 “I don’t want to get sick Emmet but if you’re asking me for a promise that I won’t you know you are asking too much. I have bad bits and I always will weather I am pregnant or not,” I said defeated by everything the morning had so far thrown at me. My head hurt with the stuff I was trying to get into it, with the fear for what had happened. I had stood and without a fight declared to myself that after the pregnancy I would crash diet until I was back to a dangerous weight and for the briefest of moments the thought of it had made me high not scared. How had it come to me walking so close next to the edge of a crumbling cliff line again? I had known I was struggling. I had fort for every bite of food at times but through all of it I had never lost grip of the fact that eating was in fact, though difficult, a good thing. I had longed for a size six but always understood that the size I was actually better. For the time I had cooed into that mirror and declared war on my body again guaranteeing a miniscule weight to a delusional mind I had actually believed that it was a good thing. I believed that the road to redemption, the road to perfect and pure lied in the labels of my clothing and the numbers on a scale and not inside of me or in the face of my children.

“I’m already sick again aren’t I?” I moaned.

“I think we’re heading for trouble,” Emmet agreed nodding his head slowly before going to his knees in front of the toilet and taking my hand into his, his fingers running over the tendons in my hands. “I got scared Esmee. I should have never even considered asking you to abort our baby. It was wrong of me but I’m not superman and the thought that you being pregnant was making this worse for you was too much and I spoke before I thought properly. I saw you change into someone else right before my eyes and it was terrifying, like you might have never come back to me. I can’t live without you Esmee. It’s self-preservation that makes me want to keep you safe more anything else.

My body hurt at his words as the punched me in the heart and rippled out around the other organs and limbs.  It was the kind of hurt that made me what to hug him close to me yet push his so far away all at the same time. I never really wanted to have him far away from me. I had tried to leave him I had set him free and it nearly resulted in him lying under a train but what happened if I didn’t even know if I was going? If I faded before I could even guess that something was going wrong. What If I became Amy overnight when I wasn’t looking?

“I will always find my way back to you somehow,” I tried to reassure Emmet as well as myself as I reached up at wrapped my fingers around his hair pulling him in closer to me so our lips could meet somewhere in the middle grating me the physical reassurance that I could never feel more then I did when he was wrapped somewhere inside my arms.

 “I will never stop looking either,” Emmet guaranteed after I allowed him to part from my lips, “Ever.”