My Baby Girl
She’s
agitated, constantly running her hand through her long, lank, brown hair,
pulling at the ends; “Is he out there? He’s out there, isn’t he? I saw him.
He’s waiting, he tells me he’s waiting, ALL THE TIME.”
Jumping
up, Ellie’s hands grab the bottom of the stained blue t-shirt, tugging at the
hem. She snatches up her tobacco tin with the smiling emoji, which appears to
be sarcastically grinning at her distress. Pacing barefoot over her dirty,
sticky tobacco strewn floor, she rolls, or attempts to roll, a cigarette. Her
hands shake too much, she slams the tin and her papers down on the table top,
scattering more tobacco leaves on the floor.
I
sit perched on the edge of the ripped faux leather sagging sofa, watching
Ellie, observing her distressed state. Her red-rimmed grey eyes, pale skin,
beads of sweat forming on her forehead, are physical symptoms of her distress
at the visual and auditory hallucinations that I know she’s experiencing.
There
is nothing I can do to help ease her fears. I used to naively believe that
telling Ellie they aren’t real would help her. It didn’t, nothing helps. Meds,
if she takes them, can calm her for a bit, make them easier for her to deal
with but nothing takes away the voices in her head, the paranoia.
Ellie
kicks an empty lager can across the room causing lager to flick up onto my
boots. I watch the drops remotely. I don’t need to tell her that drinking makes
things worse, she knows this. Ellie has tried so many things to find her
‘oblivion’ as she calls it. Some doctors say her drug taking caused her
psychosis to kick in. I think she started the drugs to try and manage the
scattered thoughts that were already in her head.
“You
could play that new Ed Sheeran CD you like Ellie? Just focus on the words in
the songs.” That’s my lame suggestion, or so it seems in my head, even as the
words come out.
Ellie
stops pacing, still moving her hands, wringing them together, and stares at me.
She starts banging the side of her head with her hand, shouting “get out, get
out, get out.”
My
stomach twists, and I hold myself back from pulling her hand away, from
stopping her hurting herself. I know it won’t help, just make her more agitated,
so I just sit there, watching, feeling useless.
Then
Ellie stops the banging and picks up the tobacco tin again in another attempt
to roll another cigarette.
“Ellie,
come and sit down, it’ll be easier to roll the cigarette.”
Surprisingly
she does sit down, on the sofa next to me.
Her smell wafts over to me. The mix
of stale tobacco smoke, unwashed skin and the alcohol on her breath, but it’s
so rare for Ellie to sit close to me now, that I push down on my queasiness. My
hand is itching to reach around her back and pull her to me. I miss her, the
Ellie I used to love, so much. This Ellie, she breaks my heart every day but it’s
not her fault. I don’t touch her though. She doesn’t like to be touched,
anymore.
The
little girl I knew loved hugs. My throat thickens and my eyes fill with tears
as I remember her running towards me, yelling ‘Aunty Eve, Aunty Eve, Aunty Eve’
over and over as I would grab her up in a big hug. “I love you baby girl”, I
whispered in her ear as I tickled her. Ellie would giggle, then squirm to get
down so she could take my hand and get me involved in her latest game.
Then
she stopped hugging me.
She
would still spend time with me but her attention became scattered and she
withdrew into herself. Everyone said, “oh she’s just being a teenager”. I knew
something was wrong. No-one would listen and Ellie wouldn’t talk to anyone
else. Then eventually she stopped talking to me, and started taking drugs and
drinking. I lost my baby girl then, but I never left her, unlike the rest of
the family.
Now,
Ellie is lighting her cigarette. “Someone comes in my flat you know, in the
night. I know they do. They move things.
I don’t feel safe, it’s not safe in here.” Her voices breaks, and she
looks at me, “I’m scared.”
My
tears fall out and roll down my cheeks, “baby girl” I whisper and I
instinctively reach out to pull her towards me. “I’ll keep you safe, I
promise”, as Ellie grabs me round my waist and cries on my shoulder as I hold
her so tight, selfishly savouring every second of her fear, knowing she’ll pull
away soon.
And
then it’s over.
Ellie
jumps up, her cigarette end long with ash that scatters over me as she rushes
to the window and peers out.
She
turns and says, “Aunty Eve?”
“Yes
baby?”
“He
wants to kill me. He wants to come and stab me and I told him no! I told him
get out my head.”
“Well
done girl, you tell him, you fight him.”
Ellie
giggles, and draws from her cigarette. Then jumps as there’s a knock at the
door.
My
stomach knots as I look from Ellie, to the door, and back to Ellie. And I know
she knows.
My
heart shatters as I see the look of hatred in her eyes, and the fear.
I
stand and rush towards the door before Ellie can stop me, all the time hating
myself. And waiting for the begging to start.
I
open the door and let the psychologist and the police into Ellie’s flat, into
her space.
“No!
No!
I’m not going, I’m not crazy.
Please!
You
can’t make me go. They’ll hurt me. Aunty Eve, please, you can’t let them. You
said you would keep me safe.”
“I
am baby, I am keeping you safe. From yourself. I love you baby girl.”
And
I leave.