The monster

Alcohol is one of those things that changes with age.

I don't mean the taste although that is the case for you fancy people with you aged scotch.

I'm talking about how your view of it changes.

When your younger and you have that first sip of it at New Year. You can't wait to see what all the fuss is about so you try some Bucks Fizz something you now realise is so low in alcohol content it's really not worth drinking...

but remember being five or six...

having that first sip...

and pulling that same face you pull now after having a tequila shot.

GROSS

"Why do grown up like this?!"

Now whilst I'm sure that is the only childhood view some of you have,

that and drinking blue WKD on a park bench saying you're SO DRUNK but in reality it's nothing more than a slight sugar high. Pretty much the same feeling you'd get if you had one too many haribos.

No, I'm talking about a different memory.

The one where your parent/parents/family member are drinking some kind of poison and they switch into a person that you've met a few times before and you don't like.

The tears mixed with anger and loud voices followed by the sound of things breaking and falling as they try and walk.

A monster with slurred words, half opened eyes and unsteady on there feet.

I have a few memories like this, one that haunts me now more than ever.

I don't wish to demonise the family member so I will just refer to them as "he".

It's 2am I'm woken by the sound of Charlotte's feeding machine beeping. It's a bit temperamental at times and being only 11 years of age I had no idea how to fix it. 

I knocked on the next room, explained the situation and asked for some help.

He enters with some mumbling presses some buttons then returns to bed.

A few minutes go by then the machine starts to beep again.

He returns with louder mumbling which I still couldn't make out.

Charlotte by the way is still fast asleep being profoundly deaf it is very hard to wake her.

He rips the machine out of the socket and brings it to a side table to try fix it, still mumbling under his breath.

I am sat up in bed both concerned about Charlottes feeding machine and what he was saying.

"You know it's alright you" he finally spluttered.

Understandably confused by this sudden outburst all I could reply was "What?"

"You can go outside and play with your cousins, you can go whilst Charlotte has to stay inside, YOU are her sister, you should stay in with her"

I sat there stunned but it wasn't over

"Sometimes I wish, I'd of just let her die because this is cruel, what you are doing is cruel, It is your fault she's like this"

The next thing I remember is counting.

Crazy right?

I placed my hands over my ears, closed my eyes and counted out loud.

He was still shouting but I couldn't hear him. 

Tears streaming down my face but I just kept counting.

I remember confronting him about it at a later date, He denies it with his life or maybe he just doesn't remember it.

I don't need acknowledgement I know it happened.

Of course I know everything that he said was wrong and of course Charlotte being ill wasn't my fault, she was born that way.

But when your 11 and a grown up tells you that, you do believe them. 

It look of reassuring for me to stop.

Now ten years on and after I have drink, now and then when I start to lose control this fear hits me

"What if I turn into the monster?"

I'm sure other people feel this way, that's why I don't really like getting drunk, 

I don't want to be a monster.

------------------------

Serious blog love

Sad eyes

It's been a while... apologies.

Ever had one of those moods where you just hate everyone and everything?

There's no real cause for the anger so there's no aim, it just hits anyone who's in your path.

Of course there are people who deserve the anger, that bully from high school, that boy who broke your heart... but they aren't here right now so these random strangers on the train will have to do.

I don't look angry. I look sad.

I remember the morning after a break up I sat at the kitchen table. Stirring cheerios in my bowl with no appetite to eat it. 

I just started crying. There was no trigger. Noone had said anything I just sat in silent.

My dad who was reading the paper, put it down, got up and gave me a hug.

This was a big deal, he wasn't a hug person and being over 6ft tall it felt like being in the arms of a giant.

It both did and didn't help at the same time.

It didn't stop my heart hurting but for a few seconds I felt safe when I was so fragile.

My mum rushed into the kitchen, doing some dishes, moaning about my three younger brother running riot in the room next door when she turned and looked at me. 

She held me tightly which then made me cry even harder and said

"I wish I could take the pain away"

That is how I feel everyone see's me when I'm like this.

Even when I'm rude to people for being in my way and feel like I'm being the moodiest cow in the world, complete strangers turn and give me that sympathetic smile.

That same look in their eyes that my Mum and Dad had that day.

I guess sometimes even with your bravest moodiest face, you can't hide those sad eyes.

I should probably explain why I'm sad but I'm sure you've already guessed.

I miss my sister.

No matter how much you love someone, it isn't even close to how much you're going to miss them when they're gone...

and I loved my sister a hell of a lot.

Charlotte- The beginning

Don't worry I'm not going to tell you my whole life story. 

To be completely honest my life has years of very uninteresting events.

I thought I'd start to give an over view, a back story if you wish to show how we ended up here.

Now where do I begin...

My mum (Sarah) married my dad (Tom) and by all means happy.

They had their first child which was a boy named Adam (My brother). Adam was very well behaved, quiet and always happy with a big grin on his face. Obsessed with trains and dinosaurs but never really spoke.

Two years later they had their second child, a girl named Amy (That's me). Adam wasn't interested in me at all, apparently he didn't even like me till I was two or three. I was not like Adam. I was naughty, cheeky and a lot of trouble but I dressed like a girly girl with dresses and matching hats. That's my mums fault.

Just under 2 years later my mum was pregnant with her third child. The bump was different. It was smaller. There had been no sign that there was anything wrong with the baby but when Charlotte was born, everyone was shocked.

She was this tiny baby, born full term yet weighed only 5 pounds. The doctors raced her away to be checked over as there were clear obvious signs something was wrong. The doctors came back with a list to the floor with things wrong with her, My mum had just gone through labour, spent 9 months uncomfortable and the baby wasn't right.  She was angry, grieving for the perfect baby she thought she had.

A neighbour and good friend came to visit with a soft toy for the baby. My mother angry and emotional told her what was the point, her baby wasn't perfect and she cannot look after a disabled child. My neighbour looked at her and sternly said the words that made my mum change how she saw things.

"She is still your child"

Charlotte wasn't perfect but she was loved with everything my parents had. Having a disabled child is really hard but having one with no warning, that is terrifying. 

I am so proud of my mum for becoming the person she is now, she was always there for Charlotte even when things got hard. 

A very strong woman.

Memorial day

There I am stood in this white walled room. 

Surrounded by other families.

All pleasantly talking to each other, exchanging smiles and drinking tea.

What thing do we all have in common?

All these families. Lost a Child.

My eyes begin to water and I try to down my coffee as if it would stop the tears. 

Embarrassed by my puffy red eyes I turn my back to everyone, acting like I'm reading a notice on the wall.

"How to cope with the loss of a child"

well that didn't help

A support worker who worked closely with my family came over to talk to us, asking questions about how we'd been.

Whilst I tried to hide my face and wipe my eyes it was no good, eventually I had to turn around.

That smile on her face soon turned from happy to pity.

I suddenly had so many arms around me.

"This is a safe place" she said

I'm now crying hysterically, my eyes search around the room and see all these other families with the same pity smile.

Why was it so hard?

Why was no one else this much of a mess?

The last time I was in that room, was Charlotte's funeral.

This building was where she died. 

It was where I lived for most of last year.

The staff all knew me, recognised me.

There's still my painting I did with Charlotte hanging up in the hallway. 

The smells, The colours, The heartbreak.

One thing was missing, the one thing that always brought me back to this place.

I used to sit by her bed all day, I'd have my breakfast, lunch and dinner there.

She'd only be awake for a few hours each day but I'd be there.

I'd hold her hand when she was scared, I'd sign to her when she wanted explanations.

I have a clear purpose.

I'd always had that same purpose.

Growing up me and Charlotte were just a year apart and I was the strongest signer in the family.

I never left her side.

I'd translate so she could talk to others, I'd look after her when she was ill and I'd protect her.

I couldn't protect her from this.

I had one purpose in life, one true duty and I failed.

What am I supposed to do now without her?

Warren Street

There I am on the tube to my internship induction.

A huge opportunity for me and my dream job.

Only a short journey with just 5 stops.

Next Stop Warren Street

Suddenly my heart is in my throat.

The air is thin.

My eyes begin to water.

My hands are shaking....

Of all the things to trigger me, I never thought of a tube station being one of them.

Why Warren street?

You see that is where I spent most of 2013.

Sitting on that tube.

Not knowing what I was going to see.

My sister was ill from Christmas eve 2012 and the problem is no one really knew what was wrong with her.

She was ill. Seriously ill.

I was still at university but found myself spending more time at home as my sister get more ill as I needed my family but more importantly they needed me.

That's the thing, I don't regret having to retake a year of university or losing a boyfriend as I was spending so much time away because I had to do it. 

My family needed me and I stepped up. I don't regret that.

It was pancake day, we had the usual routine of all the children sitting round the kitchen table whilst my mum tried (and on the odd occasion succeeded) to perfectly flip the pancake.

The phone rang.

What you have to try and understand is when someone you love is ill, every time the phone rings your heart drops. It's emotionally exhausted constantly trying to work out what is being said on the phone, if it is the hospital or just my nan rambling on about her cats.

This time I knew straight away it was the hospital.

I could see it in my mums face, the watery eyes, the hand over the mouth trying to compose herself when her heart is being broken.

"I have to go to the hospital now" 

She runs out the room, grabs her shoes but you can tell she has no idea what she's doing.

I grab her arm and ask her to tell me what they said.

"Charlotte's having internal bleeding, they don't know why and they don't know if it's fatal but they need me to go up there"

Tears filled eyes look at me.

"I'll come with you, we'll get the train up"

A 50 minute train ride can feel like a life time. There we both were sitting on a train having no idea what we were going to see.

Your brain goes into over load playing different scenes out in your head of what could happen, arriving and having the doctor say the dreaded "I'm terribly sorry, we did all we could"

I couldn't bare to think about it, and I could see on my mum heartbroken face the same thing was going through her mind. 

My mum had always been very strong, cold almost at times but there she was crying her eyes out. I'd never seen her look so fragile.

I think that's one of the worst things, seeing your parents cry because they're not strong enough to look after you, right now you have to look after then.

I grabbed her hand and smiled.

"I always remember when we were little going shopping in Croydon, Charlotte in the push chair, and we went into the Disney store had a look around and then left to go do some other shopping. We're halfway across the shopping centre when we look down to see Charlotte with a Winnie the Pooh bear double the size of her"

Mum began to laugh, the first smile I'd seen on her in hours.

"I completely forgot about that, I used to use it in my police talks to school about shop lifting."

Next stop Warren street,

We'd been on this route so many times we knew when to stand up, what side the doors opened and the best way to get to the hospital from the station.

The hospital is this huge glass tower. It's quite daunting but sometimes I'd be up there 5 days a week.

My biological parents don't get on. I'm sure they must of at one point but I've never known them that way.

They were refusing to talk to each other.

Therefore I had to organise when they were both visiting hospital so they weren't there at the same time.

I was the middle man.

Seems crazy you think they'd just get along for the sake of Charlotte but lets not get into that.

I didn't want Charlotte to not have a visitor so even if a family member didn't visit we'd organise for the play therapist or aromatherapist to come in and see her.

I'd basically fill in the gaps.

My mum and dad would tell me days they could do and I'd come in all the days they couldn't.

It was much easier when my older brother was home (He's in the navy) as we'd split the visits between us: it gave me a bit of a break.

Also Charlotte loved seeing him and she would always mention how she missed him.

Anyway back to the story, my mum and myself go up to the twelve floor.

Whilst Charlotte was no longer a Cancer patient as her conditions were probably caused by the cancer she was in the Teenage cancer ward, an amazing ward supported by the Teenage cancer trust.

We got into her room and she was sitting up.

Overwhelmed by seeing us she just burst into tears and sobbed her heart out.

She was scared and so were we.

---------------

Blog love

xxxxx

Why I love my little brother.

It's not a very well kept secret but my little brother Oliver is my favourite member of the family.

He's weird and wonderful. 

When asked what kind of pet he'd like... he replied with "A turnip"

When he was around 2 years old and didn't know many words he had an irish accent. There no one Irish in our family yet my mother had some how given birth to a Leprechaun.

When we were on a plane back from holiday he asked me where the sea was, I told him it was the big blue bit and pointed out the window. He asked if that is where ducks live?... So close...but no that's a pond.

He sleep runs. Not sleep walks. Sleep runs. He runs up and down the hall in his sleep. It's very strange...

The most memorable moment with my little brother was last year.

I had just broken up with my boyfriend that evening so was too upset to read him his bedtime story like I normally did.

I couldn't sleep that night. I lay awake at 5 o'clock in the morning feeling sad and heartbroken when Oliver came in my room. Still eyes half shut.

"What are you doing Ollie?"

"I..." He obviously tried to say something but his little brain was far to tired for that.

He climbed into my bed, hugged me and went to sleep.

That is when I knew I'll be fine because there will always be one boy who loves me with all his heart.

Man that was cheesey

Sorry about that guys

Blog love

xxx

The terrifying truth

I love the new trending topic #Yestoallwomen

They have very good points and has changed the way I see some things.

You see,

I grew up with a police woman for a Mum who mainly worked on the rape squad. 

I was taught to cross the road to check if you are being followed.

To if you are being followed to run to the nearest house or most public place to get help.

To walk in the middle of the road late at night (obviously not when there are cars there) as that way you can see all your surroundings.

To if you are walking late at night have a plan of what you would do if you were attacked, where you would run etc.

This is probably the same for most girls, they were given the safety talk growing up by their parents about being safe.

I was told that if heaven forbid I ever was raped to try and notice any distinguishable features: hair colour, eye colour, clothes, any tattoos etc.

I was told if I ever was raped to not change my clothes until I had been to the police station as they are used as evidence.

I always thought rape was a stranger in a dark alley way late at night but what if the rapist is someone you know?

What if it's a boyfriend or husband, Is that rape?

What if you say no but don't physically resist, Is that rape?

What if you are both drunk, Is that rape?

What if you are asleep, Is that rape?

I only learned recently that, all of that is rape.

You'll be surprised at how many people are affected by this, how terrifyingly normal it is for a girl to be raped.

We taught all these way to avoid being raped, told not to dress provocatively or to tease guys but...

Surely we should be focusing on teaching people not to rape?