These days it’s not called insane! It’s not called lunacy and it’s not called madness! No, these days it’s sanitised and called Bi-polar – they don’t even call it schizophrenia any more. These days they mis-diagnose it and prescribe anti-depressants that cost your child her sanity, her child and her life – and your life. These days . . these days . .
My child is gone; my child is gone; my child is gone …
And I want to write about her, I want to recognise that she was a decent, loving person when she was with us – that she loved life even if she didn’t really know how to live it – not in its entirety or oneness. I don’t care that she fucked up, I really don’t care. I don’t care that she squandered money in her search for happiness and fulfillment. I do care and I wish I had known and I wish that the bailiffs hadn’t come after her and I wish so much that I hadn’t told her that I couldn’t fucking deal with her shit anymore. I wish so much . .
There is a very small positive and that is that our divided family have stopped being stupid and have hugged and to some extent reconciled – that really is a positive. But it doesn’t cancel out that she has gone in circumstances that deny us and her the dignity and closure of burial. She lies there rejected and we stand here filled with guilt and shame that we didn’t understand and we didn’t embrace her and hold her when she wasn’t with us – when she was someone and somewhere else.
She lives on in her child – he is the epitome of her, in looks and temperament. Beautiful and delicate. To look at him is to look at her. But I so wish it was her – I do so wish it was her.
I remember her wildness and defiance from the moment she developed a personality. I remember her ‘I don’t care, so ever!’ as she accepted and faced the consequences of her defiance. She was never broken in spirit by any one or anything and in the end that was her downfall – her spirit that led her to destruction.
Rebecca – Becky, you were the youngest of my three beautiful daughters. You were the most rebellious – a true ‘Wild Child’, a troublesome, unconventional one-off. And truth to tell, none of us understood you – I don’t think you understood yourself, and now you are gone. One less candle in a world that so needs candles. This I promise you, that the light that shines on in your son will be nurtured and protected and believed in in a way that you never were. This is my promise and I make it freely and publicly. And I so wish that it wasn’t necessary.
Some may critisise this post for washing in public that which should be hidden – for expressing openly feelings that are difficult or awkward, that is their opinion. I needed to write this for very selfish reasons – everything has caught up with me, right now! I know my dear J will understand – she is sound asleep and two hours ahead of me, and writing this has helped. Thank you for your forbearance.