Lies Like Love

AUDREY

THE PAIN PLACES: ME AND MY DEPRESSION BY AUDREY MORGAN, AGED SIXTEEN AND TWO MONTHS

I died three times before I was five years old. I can’t see it, can’t picture the scene, but my lungs still scream when I run and in winter it feels as if someone’s scoring my chest with hard bright nails. Mum says when I was small I only had to see water to throw myself in, no hanging about, like I was born to be a mermaid not a girl: scales for skin, eyes the colour of seaweed and a cry like a scream. But now I won’t go near pools or ponds or sea and in all my nightmares I’m turning and tumbling in filthy dark depths, weeds around my wheeling feet, water in my eyes and mouth and I’m swallowing tons of it, gasping, shrieking, falling deep. In my dreams I can’t find the light and my head is heavy, held under.

It’s because of Mum I’m still alive. Because each time I dived into that danger she’s the one who pulled me free like a fish on a line, she’s the one who pumped my chest and put her mouth on mine to give me air. She’s the one who called the ambulance later, took me to hospital, got me checked over and sat beside me the whole night through as I coughed up the silt and the sludge. Not that I can remember, but you can read about it if you’re interested: our local paper ran a story the last time – Hero Mum Saves Tiny Daughter! – with a picture of her holding me up like some sort of trophy. Mum kept a copy. Stored it with her special things in a box I’m not meant to look in. But sometimes I take out the yellowing page, smooth it flat and read about how I died. It doesn’t mention my dad though, no matter how many times I look.

I’m writing this so you’ll know all about me and my mum and what it’s like to be a teenager and poorly like this. Depressed. Not many people understand. Please leave us messages to help us get through!

Thanks and bye for now!

Audrey