“No, Lizzie, no.” Mam cupped my face in her hands. “You are not crazy, sweetheart. Do you hear me? You are perfect just the way you are.”
“Then why do they hate me?” I sobbed, turning my face away. “Why does everyone look at me funny?”
“They don’t hate you, sweetheart, and nobody looks at you funny.”
“They do.” I sniffled. “I know.”
NOVEMBER 27, 1992
Lizzie
CURLING UP IN A BALL ON THE COUCH IN THE SITTING ROOM, ICOVERED MY EARS ANDtried to block out the shouting, but I could still hear them.
“It’s for the best, Catherine,” Daddy shouted from the kitchen. “Trust me, I’ve been through this before.”
“I don’t care,” Mam argued back. “I am not medicating that child another day.”
“She needs the medication.”
“She needs a childhood!” Mam cried. “She’s our baby, our child, and I refuse to continue this farce.”
“You want to talk about farces, Catherine? Really?”
“She is not taking another pill. Do you hear me? It stops right now.”
“And when she acts out again? What then?”
“We’ll handle it.”
“I won’t move Caoimhe again,” he warned. “It’s not fair on our other daughter. You do remember her, don’t you?”
“That’s not fair, and you know it.”
“No, what’s not fair is living my whole life the way I have and having to repeat the cycle all over again.”
“What were we supposed to do?”
“Well, I know what you should have done!” he roared. “You should have fucking—”
“Oh my God, stop! I can hear you from upstairs.” That was Caoimhe. “What’s wrong?”
“Your mother thinks it’s a good idea to take your sister off her meds.”
“Are you insane?” That was Caoimhe. “Mam, she has to take them.”
“Don’t start.”
“She is an actual human when she’s on them, Mam. Take her off them and she’ll go right back to being a feral monster.”
“Caoimhe!”
“I’m sorry, but it’s true. Dad’s right. She needs to be on those tablets. The doctors said it themselves. Multiple doctors, Mam. Multiple times.”
“Maybe we’re not looking at this the right way,” Dad added. “Maybe a residential school would be her best fit.”
“I am not sending her away.”
“Not permanently.”