And I Feel Them Drown My Name

It's a Cold and Broken Hallelujah

I'll tell the truth ... I actually wrote and published this on a different website over a year and a half ago, I hadn't even turned 16 yet. That's why it's not quite my best work. This takes place between series 4a and 4b.

Warning: Rated T for suicide, along with mentions of anxiety, panic attacks and self-harm.

Jody, I heard you talking with May-Li's grandmother. About how writing down everything in a letter makes you feel better, or 'lighter' as you put it. So here I am now, trying that same technique. Maybe by the end of it, I won't go through with what I'm planning to do.

Might as well start at the beginning.

I was born to two people who I'm willing to bet had a rocky relationship at best. For one, my father walked out on me and my mother. I don't remember it, but that's what my social worker told me. I guess my mum was pregnant with Chloe at the time. That should really tell you all you need to know - a man walking out on his heavily pregnant partner and heavily dependent infant son. Father of the year right there folks!

So yeah, things were looking pretty shitty for us, but oh Lord, things were about to get much worse.

It's all in my records - my mum turned to the drink as a means of 'coping' after Chloe was born. She just couldn't stand the prospect of the love of her life leaving her. She could barely provide for herself and one child, let alone two!

Actually no, scratch that. She couldn't provide for any children at all, full stop. All she could provide for was herself and her alcohol addiction. She acknowledged us, once in a while - she used Chloe like a doll, hugging her and feeding her when she felt empty. She would care for me in my infancy, only until I was old enough to toddle. Then it was left up to me to figure everything out. Mum would often leave me home alone to take care of Chloe, while she went out. I would sing to Chloe, anything I could, until she was old enough to join in.

Eh, I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this. It's all in my file - how I was taken into care on my fifth birthday, because my mother blamed me for Chloe's fall, just to save face. That's right, she let her own son, her five-year-old son, carry a false burden for what could've been his whole life. For crying out loud, did she have any idea of the serious psychological repercussions that would induce?! How the hell do you impose that sort of blame on a child?!

Normally, I would've been given some sort of punishment for allegedly pushing my sister out of the window, but the age of criminal responsibility is 10, and I was 5. Not wanting me to grow up in a toxic household, I was taken away from my sister - whom I loved and cared for more than anything or anyone else in the entire world - and put into care, where I didn't know anyone and I didn't know what was happening.

When I was 7 - or maybe 8 - I was given the chance to see Chloe again. However, that didn't go too well. Mum insisted on watching over the whole thing, and poor Chloe couldn't get a word in edgeways. Mum kept demanding to know why I did it, and naturally I couldn't provide an answer. I didn't know what would get into me to do something like that - I didn't even remember doing it! She kept going on and on, ranting and raving, I wouldn't be surprised if she was drunk. Right there, in that moment, was when it all got too much - I had a panic attack. My first panic attack at the age of 8, imposed by my own mother.

Have you ever had a panic attack? I really, REALLY hope you haven't - it's not something I'd wish on anyone. You feel out of control - it's like oxygen has been taken from you. It's honestly terrifying - you can't breathe, your heart is kicking into overdrive, your chest feels like it's going to collapse in on itself, your stomach is doing somersaults, you feel hot and cold at the same time, you're sweating, you don't know why you're experiencing this or how to get it to stop - and that's the scariest part, because above all, when you're having a panic attack, you don't have a shadow of a doubt in your mind that you are going to die right then and there, and there's nothing whatsoever you can do about it.