“You said that last time.”
“And you did get better.”
“But then I got worse.”
“Well, that’s life. That’s not just you. Life is better and then it is worse, over and over, for everyone.”
It was like I’d climbed Everest, had the summit in my sight, the flag in my hand, all ready to pierce it into the top of the mountain and say, “Whoopdedoo, I made it,” and then an avalanche from out of nowhere swept me right back to the bottom of the mountain again.
Was it worth bothering to try and climb it again? I was exhausted. I’d already climbed it. I didn’t want to…but, then, what other choice was there?
I extracted myself from her shoulder dent. “How’s Rose?” My voice quivered, with shame and guilt and worry.
Mum sighed, rubbing her eyes. She looked knackered. I guess she’d just fallen down a mountain too. “She’s not great, Evelyn.”
“I’m so sorry. I know you never wanted her to see me like that.”
“It’s not just that… She…never mind.” Mum picked up the jeans she’d brought and refolded them for no reason.
“What?” I asked, sitting up on the bed.
“I shouldn’t tell you. You need to rest.”
“I’m fine.” I looked at my surroundings. “Well, obviously I’m not fine, but I’m fine enough to care about Rose. I’m okay handling other people’s problems – it’s just my own I’m not so good at.”
Mum gave me another sad smile. “All right then. Maybe you can help. I don’t understand a lot of it anyway. I don’t get technology.”
“Technology?”
“She had a counselling session,” Mum continued, her eyes filling up again. “To, you know, make sure she was okay with what she saw…” More guilt free-fell down my throat. “And, well, she got very upset. Not about you. Well, about you a little bit…but, well, she’s being bullied at school… She broke down on this counsellor and told him everything. We’ve had to have a meeting with her school.”
“What!?” I asked, in complete shock. “I thought she had loads of friends?”
“Your father and I did too. But they’re not her friends. They’ve set up this silly website where they call her names, I don’t quite understand that bit. But she’s been coming home from school every day to an inbox full of horrible emails and text messages.”
“Saying what?”
“She showed us some.” Mum’s voice cracked again. “They call her a geek. Or up herself. Or ugly. They invited her to this sleepover and then said at the last moment it was cancelled. Then they rang her mobile that night and giggled down the phone, saying the sleepover was happening and they just didn’t want her there.”
My mouth was wide open. The guilt in my stomach lit an ember that grew into a fire. A fire of rage. Every defensive mechanism in my body ignited. I clenched my fists and winced. My hands still really hurt.
“I was there that night,” I said. “I should’ve noticed something was wrong. Well, I did, but she convinced me it was all fine.”
“You had other things on,” Mum said kindly.
“That’s not an excuse. She’s my little sister. I should look out for her, not the other way round.” I burst into tears again.
So much is lost when you lose yourself. Not just your pride, or your hope. But worse things, things that affect others. Like your ability to help them when they need you, to notice when they’re hurting. You’re too wrapped up in your own hurt, your own mess. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t want to be selfish, I didn’t want to be a crap sister…and yet I was…because I wasn’t strong enough.
Mum cooed and let me cry. I thought about Rose – perfect, lovely Rose.
“Why would anyone bully Rose?” I asked.
Because it should’ve been me. I was the freak. I was the abnormal one. I was the annoying one, the needy one, the crazy one, the one to point a big finger at and say “ho ho ho, look at that loser”. I was the one who could never eat spare ribs with my fingers, and never stay the night in other people’s houses because I didn’t trust how clean they’d be, and couldn’t go ice-skating for someone’s birthday party because you have to borrow shoes… Those were reasons to get bullied. Yet there was no flaw in Rose – no unredeeming quality to pick on.
“Because people do,” Mum said simply, putting the jeans down. “People are broken, so they bully others.”
“But there’s nothing to bully Rose about?”
“They find something – even if you’re near-perfect, they find something. You can’t protect yourself from the world, Evie. God knows, I know you try. But bad stuff happens, people are mean, there are no steps you can take that ensure the world leaves you alone. All you can do is try not to be one of those people who contributes to the bad. And that’s why I’m proud of you…”
I looked at her. “Proud of me? For what? It’s not like you can hang a sectioning certificate above the stairs?”
“Yes, proud of you. Because, despite all you’ve been through, you’re still good and kind. You’re not bitter. Well, you are, but only at yourself. You may feel broken, but you don’t break others.”
“I make your life hell.”
She grinned and gave me another hug. “But you don’t mean to! You hate what you do to us. And maybe we all need to have a big chat about how we can handle each other better. We’ve been talking to Sarah and she’s been giving us some tips. You didn’t tell us about your relapse symptoms. You tried to hide them instead. And that must be mine and your dad’s fault too. Not just yours. Maybe this whole tough love thing isn’t entirely working?”
I laughed. “You can’t just let me go doolally. Otherwise I’ll never get better.”
“Maybe. But your father and I could be more accepting…because this” – she gestured around the room and to the bandages on my body – “this isn’t your fault.”
“But, if I could’ve just been stronger—”
“No!” she interrupted. “It’s not your fault.”
“But…”
“Evelyn.” Her voice was so stern it shut me up. “Look at me, listen to me.” She cradled my face in her hands. “None of this is your fault.”
And I cried so hard I thought I’d never stop.
Forty-five
Rose’s visit
I hugged her so hard I almost killed her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, hoping if I squeezed hard enough all her pain would ooze out.
She hugged me back. Hard. “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting worse?”
“Who are the girls? Tell me. I’ll kill them. I can easily plea ‘temporary insanity’ at the moment and get away with it.”
“Evie, you can’t ever do that to me again, promise me?”
Dad stood over our hug, smiling wryly. “Do you not think,” he interrupted, “you should both answer each other’s questions?”
Rose and I unhugged and grinned at each other.
“All right, I’ll go first,” I said. “I am so so sorry for what I did to you…” I looked at Dad. “For what I did to all of you. I thought I had it under control. I thought I was just like everybody else.” I looked down at my ruined hands. “I guess I was wrong.”
Rose hugged me again. “You’re forgiven, on one condition,” she muffled into my shoulder.
“What?” I asked nervously, tapping her back. “I don’t think I’m ready to start cleaning your room for you.”
She only half-giggled. We both knew I was a long way away from doing anything normal with cleaning. My care team still let me touch the light switch six times. Apparently I could do whatever I wanted, rituals-wise, until I’d “adjusted to my new lifestyle”, i.e. the ward, my ruined hands, the trauma of the relapse.
“I won’t make you clean my room. But I want you to promise me that you’ll stop comparing yourself to everyone else.”
“What?” I broke off the hug, not understanding.
“You. Evelyn. You’re always like, ‘I wish I could be like this’ or ‘I wish I could be more like so-and-so’. You’re so obsessed with being normal, but that’s well boring, and you’re extraordinary, Evie. Promise me you’ll stop trying to stop being you.”