Neglected by Jenny Molloy

Author:Jenny Molloy [Molloy, Jenny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

AMANDA

I needed to be drunk constantly and when I was drunk I liked to shout and scream; just open my mouth and let rip. When that wasn’t enough, I sharpened the plastic end of a Bic pen and pressed it into my arm. This happened most often during a blackout – I’d wake up the following morning without a single memory of the night before. I’d see the wounds on my arm and think, ‘Oh no, not again.’

As for drugs, I literally used everything. I was only eighteen years old but craved total obliteration. It was as if an infinite and empty hole inside me needed filling with drugs. No matter what was in the medicine cabinet at friends’ parents’ houses, I’d crush it up and snort it all. This approach to getting high led me to casualty so often they called me The Frequent Flyer. I had not one but two out-of-body experiences, when I watched myself from above and knew I was dying. Two older boys who were into drugs, Trev and Cam, let me hang out with them because I was so crazy but even they tried to get me to slow down. I had a massive crush on Cam and, although we became a couple, we only ever hugged. They were decent guys and tried to do right by me, even though I shagged one of Cam’s friends when we were still going out. I don’t even know why. I couldn’t sit still and be sober. It was impossible for me. I either had to be getting high or catatonic. At points in between I smashed everything I owned; I destroyed clothes, CDs, make-up, mirrors, everything. The only thing I owned I couldn’t smash was a can of hairspray.

I went from Malcolm and Terry’s B&B to a little bedsit paid for by the council, but the landlord threw me out when I jimmied the 50p electricity meter. I was terrified of being sober. If I was unlucky enough to come down, I became psychotic and had visions, seeing people and objects that weren’t there. When a time came when I wasn’t able to get hold of any drugs I got really scared and took myself to hospital. They put me in a psychiatric wing and, after many tests and a few days, I calmed down. The doctor told me I was badly anaemic and that there was something wrong with my hormones which would make it difficult for me to have children, although he said this might change if I stayed off drugs. Fat chance.

I received £2,000 compensation for the sexual abuse I suffered at the hands of Bill and I blew it in two days. When I finally turned eighteen, I was removed from care with a £100 ‘leaving care grant’ and a duvet. I know the system wasn’t perfect but when I look back at the chaotic mess of these last years of care, I can’t but help wonder why I wasn’t placed in long-term supervised care.

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