Finding Helen

By Tracy Pain

Tracy is a very troubled child living in a therapeutic care home in the 1980s. 'Finding Helen' uses an engaging mix of her caseworker's notes, heartfelt poetry which she writes to express her innermost thoughts and feelings, and a narrative of her volatile true-life story. As her case-worker Helen and the other staff attempt to understand the reasons behind Tracy's abusive and self-destructive behaviour, Tracy is torn between her desire to kill those around her and her desperate need to be loved. But as her negative behaviour escalates and the threat of psychiatric care becomes increasingly likely, can one woman's love be enough to save her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: May 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781785077975

Book preview

14

Chapter 1

1984 – Aged 14

The Early Months at Medvale: Nightmares

Extract from Staff Communications Book

Date: 5/4/84

Staff: Helen M. (Social Worker / Keyworker)

Judy (co-keyworker) and I came upstairs to find Tracy much worse than she has previously been. I am now 100% certain that Tracy is indeed suffering from hysteria as Pat (Manageress) has been saying all along. She was completely unaware of her surroundings and familiar faces. We took her downstairs and tried to comfort her. Two members of staff, Sonia and Rita, were still around and Sonia felt that Tracy had chosen to regress and needed to do this with Judy. We agreed that to enable her to do this Sonia should tell Tracy that it was a secret between her (Sonia) and Tracy and that it was okay to do this. Tracy had indeed regressed and I had discussed this earlier with her Dad. He said she did do some thumb-sucking at times and had once asked for a feeding bottle. I had already told him that we would probably need to let her regress before we could get much further. Judy and I feel that Tracy has gone back to about eight years. She is in a bad state of fright. The staff lay two mattresses on the floor for Judy and Tracy with my bed pulled to the door of the end sleeping-in room, though I don’t think we will be sleeping tonight. It is now 2.20am and if we can’t get Tracy into a natural sleep soon, I will call the GP in to give her a sedative as she is very distressed and frightened.

Phoned GP at 2.45am and Tracy was given 5mg Valium. Judy and I went back to bed for 4.30am.

***

The night is so very dark, the blackness all around me seems so solid that I can feel it pressing against me, pulling at me and slowing me down. I can’t possibly see where I am going. If I had time to look I know I wouldn’t be able to see my hands if I held them up in front of my face, but I am running, faster than I have ever run before. My legs are burning as every muscle is being pounded harder and harder as I push them to carry me forward.

I’m desperately trying to get away; fear giving me the extra push to keep on going. My heart is exploding in my chest, no longer pounding but ricocheting from my ribs, shaking every fibre of my body. Each breath I take sears through me, burning my throat and chest as I try to force enough air in and out of my lungs to keep up with the pounding of my body. I try to push myself harder and faster…I must get away. He is closing in on me and I can sense his hot, fetid breath on the back of my neck. I can smell the pungent aroma of cheap aftershave and sweat as I hear his rasping breath gaining on me.

I pound my legs harder, harder. The scream inside my head is deafening, but the only noise I am making is the wheezing of my lungs and the crashing of my body through the undergrowth. I just need to escape, to get away once and for all. I glance over my shoulder and I can see the glint of moonlight reflecting off the steel blade. I know without a doubt that he will kill me if he catches up with me, the hatred he feels for me is etched on his weathered face, it is there every time I catch him looking at me. He hates me and maybe with good reason, but I don’t want to die like this. He is reaching out for me with his gnarly hands and long, manicured nails. I can feel his fingers slip from the silky fabric of my shirt giving me an extra burst of energy, a brief moment of hope. It is short lived, I have tried so very hard to get away, but I can’t run any further. My legs are as heavy as lead, my breath is coming in short gasps now, not enough to supply me with the oxygen I need. I feel myself slipping, falling, slipping…

Laying quite still, damp with my exertions, my heart still pounding in my chest and my breaths still coming in short rasps. I can feel the dream ebbing away but can’t seem to pull myself out of it. I can see people looking at me. Three faces, one framed with a mass of yellow, wavy hair that flows down past her shoulders. Her face is familiar, quite round, with blue eyes and a very fair complexion; she is looking serious, almost angry. One other familiar face is framed with rich, auburn hair, cut into a bob and finished off with a full fringe. Her features are more angular, although there is a softness that seems to come from within. Her face is tanned and laughter lines spread from the corners of her eyes, yet there is no laughter there tonight, as she is also looking sombre and concerned. The last face is not known to me; her wizened, weathered face is surrounded by long grey hair crudely tied back away from her face. She looks like she is a hundred years old and has a witch-like appearance that makes me scream louder inside. The remnants of my dream seem to be confusing reality and I can’t shake the fear that swells inside me. Surely, they can’t be letting her near me; maybe he has sent her to finish the job he started.

One of the staff is holding me and I can feel the warmth of her body against mine, which brings me a little comfort. I can’t quite catch what they are saying, as everything and everybody seem so far away. Almost dreamlike but I know I am no longer dreaming. I seem to be drifting in and out – here but not here – and all I can do is watch and lay still. My body feels heavy as if each limb were encased in lead and I can see they are troubled. I try to speak, but no sound comes out. I begin to feel strangely calm as if in this place between sleeping and waking, I cannot be hurt, safe from him, wanting to stay like this forever.

I see the gnarled face coming in close, her beady eyes watching me intently like a snake coiled ready for attack. I can see her mouth move as if she is trying to speak but in my current state of drifting I can only catch the odd word – ‘catatonic’ – what on earth does that mean?, ‘trauma’, I just don’t understand what they are trying to say. They are pulling at my jumper and then holding my arm. I can’t struggle or pull away as my body doesn’t seem to be part of me anymore. I try to tell them it was just a dream, that they don’t need to hurt me, but they don’t hear me; it is as if I am not really there at all. As I feel a scratch on my arm, all I hear is the word ‘doctor’.

***

The sunlight streaming in through the gaps in the heavy dark brown curtains wakes me up, and from the brightness I guess it must be mid-morning. I lay still for a moment trying to get my bearings as I am feeling groggy and a little confused. As I lay there slowly becoming more awake, I try to take in my surroundings.

There are two very large, soft, beige sofas, designed for comfort with thinning patches of corduroy on the arms and saggy seats showing that they had often been used. Several black and brown, large bean bags are strewn around indicating that this is not a place for airs and graces, but a room meant for relaxation and chilling out. In the corner, there is a television that is staring blankly back into the room. The television looks lost in this large room, with its high Victorian ceilings and cold, pale, wood chip walls. Everything about this room seems bleak to me; all of the attempts to make it feel warm and homely are lost on me. With beige furnishings and magnolia walls, it is too much like home, a stark reminder of the loneliness and desperation I have grown up in. I think it would be fair to say that it is probably the room I like least in the whole house.

I am at ‘Medvale’, a council run, therapeutic, children’s home, which has been my home for the past few weeks. The staff have made me a bed on the floor; the duvet underneath me offers some comfort from the floor and I have my own duvet snuggled over me. Part of me doesn’t want to wake up properly as it would be good to be able to stay in this semi-conscious state forever, then I would never have to deal with the real world again. I could just stay safe and warm always.

I don’t remember being moved from my bed but, as they have put me in the TV room, I know I must have had a bad night. I am scared that the staff are going to be so angry with me for keeping everyone awake and for making them call out the doctor. I really couldn’t help it and I didn’t mean to keep everyone awake.

The door slowly opens and a lady pokes her tanned face around the door and peers into the room. I can see the concern in her eyes, which are puffy and showing signs of a poor night’s sleep. When she sees me awake her face lights up with her usual beaming smile; her laughter lines furrowing and Helen, my key worker, my social worker and my guardian angel, replaces the worried woman from my dream.

Helen is one of the longest serving members of staff currently working at my children’s home. She is amazingly insightful, seems to notice my moods and responds accordingly. Sometimes her behaviour is fun and childlike in an attempt to give me back my childhood that was so cruelly cut short. Other times she is gentle and caring, wrapping me up in an invisible duvet and protecting me from the pain that bombards me like a living entity.

Helen has a calming, soothing presence, which is reinforced by her soft Irish brogue. However, for all of her nurturing ways she is also a confident and powerful woman, who fights her corner and has often been called upon to fight mine for me. She has a fiery temper when she is crossed and incredible physical strength for a woman so slight.

Helen truly is the most wonderful woman in the world. It may be her job to care for me and guide me, but I know she really does care about me. She scoops me up and holds me tight, and promises me that everything is going to be okay. Right now, as I lay in her arms, I can believe her. I snuggle into her red jumper that is so soft against my face; I feel so safe and I know she will look after me. She carries me out to the dining room and puts me on a comfy chair while she prepares some tea and toast. She asks how I am and seems happy when I say okay. For now, there are no questions. I know the questions will come, but for now, I just want to forget.

We have breakfast together and then she lets me go up and have a bath; she has said I can stay home today and I am so relieved. I couldn’t face school. I sit for a while in the room that I share with Mia. At fifteen years old, Mia is older than me and she is very kind. She is so much taller than I am and has blonde, short hair. She calls herself a tomboy and lives in her jeans and sweatshirts. She is great fun and she looks out for me the way a big sister should even though we are not related, and in return, I try to help her. She tells me about the things that used to happen to her at home and I try to be the best friend I can be; after all, we are all in the same boat now. We have partitioned our separate areas with our wardrobes and drawers to give ourselves some privacy for times like now when we need to be alone.

My mirror has photos of my Mum and my little sisters stuck to it, and I have even managed to get a photo of Tiggy, my short-haired, ginger tomcat, who I had to leave behind. I miss him terribly. Every night I used to leave my bedroom window open at my father’s house so that Tiggy could come in and sleep on my bed. It was against the rules – the cats weren’t allowed upstairs at night, but he was my best friend and I couldn’t imagine sleeping without him. I told Tiggy everything, and he never judged me. He just went on loving me and wanting me to hold him. We got him when I was only one year old and often as a little girl I used to dress him up in doll’s clothes and take him out in my doll’s pram. He would lay there quite happily, purring away, relishing the attention, loving me hugging and squeezing him. I feel so bad about leaving him behind; I know he won’t be happy without me, and I don’t know if I can ever be happy without him to cuddle. When nobody else cared, when there was nobody else to hold me or fulfil my need for warmth and affection, Tiggy was there, warm, soft and happy to be cuddled for hours on end. I think he was what got me through the terrible, cold, lonely days of my childhood.

I go down the grand, sweeping staircase of the children’s home and find Helen sitting in the office. Can I have my cat here? I asked her.

I’m sorry, Honey, you’re not allowed pets here, Helen replied.

I tried telling her how important it was, but she wouldn’t listen. She tried to assure me that he would be better off where he is; what does she know? With no one to cuddle him and give him love, I know I’ve left him to a miserable existence.

Now come the questions: are my dreams memories of something bad that happened? Who is chasing me? Well, that one is easy – my father, always my father. I know they want to help but how can I tell them, they don’t understand how scared I am. My dreams are not memories but visions of what is to come. He will want his revenge and who can blame him. The nightmares have been coming every night for a long time; sometimes I wake up and I’m not in my bed at all, I find myself curled up underneath where I guess I feel safe. They seem to be getting worse, more vivid, and increasingly real. I dread going to bed knowing that he will come for me again and fearing that one day I will not escape.

Helen seems sure there is more to it; she thinks he has done something to me but how can I even begin to explain it. For as long as I can remember I have always been scared of him. She’s asked if I’ll see a doctor – a psychiatrist – but assures me she doesn’t think I’m mad. She can’t possibly think what I did were the actions of a sane person. I agree and she offers me a cigarette. I inhale deeply and try to relax; however, I feel wound so tight I could explode.

I go up the stairs to my room and turn on my stereo; flopping down on my bed, I press my face into my pillow feeling the anger and pain bubbling in me like lava waiting to erupt. As the hot tears run down my cheeks, Phil Collins sings the words I want my Mum to hear so badly: Take a look at me now, there’s just an empty space. There’s nothing left here to remind me, just a memory of your face. I play the song over and over until eventually sleep quiets the tears.

I just want my Mummy; I want to go home.

Mia wakes me to tell me it is dinner time and I go through the motions of having dinner. I feel exhausted; when everyone has finished and we are allowed to leave the table, I go back to my room to lose myself in songs that say how I am feeling so much better than I could ever do. I hope the staff can hear them and can understand that I am trying to tell them how much I am hurting right now.

***

Extract from Staff Communications Book

Date: 6/4/84

Staff: Pat R.

I, Pat, phoned Dave Oubridge (line manager) to tell him about last night and ask for authorisation for a night nurse if necessary. I also phoned Dr Anthea Blofeld (child psychiatrist) to ask if she could come and talk to us at the staff meeting about Tracy’s behaviour, and how to handle it. Anthea says we are handling Tracy exactly right. She asked if we want her in a hospital or on medication. I said no to the hospital because she needs as normal surroundings as possible or her behaviour will become more bizarre, and no to medication because it won’t help and she’ll resist it. I said that we might well need a night nurse for a while though, because we can’t work all day and all night too. Anthea and the Department of Family and Child Psychiatry (DFCP) will support and will contact us again on Monday.

I brought her downstairs to meet her needs and to prevent her disturbing the other children.

I put her on the sofa in the TV room and provided her with a quilt, with ‘silky’ and ‘little fluff’. Then I arranged the beanbags beside the sofa and lay on them within reach of Tracy, just touching her to soothe her occasionally, and I listened. Tracy is telling us a lot in what she is now saying.

I spoke to her very little – just saying a couple of times that we all loved her and that she is safe at Medvale – she cannot hurt anyone. Sonia and I decided to split the ‘Night Watch’ between us; I stayed until 4.30am and then Sonia took over.

It is important to let Tracy do this when she needs to but within our limits and without secondary gain. Therefore, I would suggest the TV room as we arranged it tonight – no audience and no prior arrangement. It is important to remember that it is her subconscious mind talking and it is her subconscious mind that hears every word said in her presence. So only say in front of her what you want her to hear. No drama, fear, shock, surprise or even tension – just calm, matter-of-fact caring, as though this happens every day of the week (God forbid). This is like a scab on a wound; it will cease to exist when she no longer needs it. Poor kid.

***

Tonight the nightmares come again but this time my father is trying to kill the staff at Medvale and then the staff turn on me. It is not my fault, but they come at me with murder in their eyes. I start to run. I see two members of staff, my keyworker Judy and another called Sonia, and run towards them. And in the way only dreams can, they become one, and that one is my Mum. I know she will keep me safe I run as hard as I can, my arms outstretched. She is reaching for me but when she grabs me it isn’t with the love and tenderness I expect. Her nails dig into my skin and she’s holding me too tight, I can’t pull away. She’s holding me for him so that he can finish what he started.

I start to scream and desperately try to pull away. The harder I struggle the tighter she holds me, my voice is faltering, and I have no strength left to scream. Then I realise it’s not my Mum, Sonia is holding me. I am safe at Medvale, I begin to relax and drift into a more fitful sleep. This time, I wake on a mattress on the floor of Stuart’s room. Stuart is a child here, but he is only around during the holidays, leaving his room empty for a lot of the time. I pull the quilt up around my shoulders and just lay there listening to the bustle of the house. I feel lousy and terribly guilty. I don’t mean to keep everyone awake, I really don’t want to dream anymore.

I seem to have spent most of the day in bed and feel totally washed out. I know the staff are angry with me and think I am doing this deliberately, but I just want this to end. There is no end to this misery, though, as another bad night and these dreams seem to become increasingly real and more intense. I am sure my Dad will win in the end and I will be dead, no longer a burden to all of those around me. I wake this time and feel disorientated before I realise I am in the television room. I lay on the sofa, under my duvet, listening to everyone getting ready for breakfast, hoping that no one comes in, as I just want to curl up and die. Mia pops her head around the door wanting to make sure I am okay. I hate seeing her so worried and can’t apologise enough.

I spend most of my time with Mia; we are so close and I can share so much with her and her with me. Sonia has asked Mia if she can be my special helper and I am hers, that way we can always be there to help each other. We are allowed to go out for a walk and then after dinner Mia comes with me to meet Carl. Carl used to be my boyfriend and I have promised to meet him to try and stop him from coming here. He only wants sex and I know that it will be over quickly and he will give me some space for a while. Mia wanders off while I let Carl do what he needs to and then we meet back up and wander through Rochester High Street talking about the crap that our lives have thrown at us. I don’t tell her what Carl and his friends did to me. Instead, I focus on the problems I have with my father.

There really isn’t anything to do and I can’t shake the black mood from my dream. I keep playing it over and over in my head; why can’t my father just leave me alone? Mia is a great friend, we have known each other for such a short space of time and she is already like a sister to me. I talk things over with her as we stare out over the River Medway. Standing on the bridge, with the moonlight reflecting off the ripples in the water, I feel so melancholy. There is a chill in the air and I pull my jacket tighter around me. I long to be with my Mum and I guess deep down I know that isn’t going to happen. I feel so alone. Before I know what I am doing I have climbed over the railing, Mia’s voice sounds so distant almost as if she isn’t calling me at all. The water looks so inviting and I let myself fall forward.

I’m jerked backwards as Mia is pulling with all her strength. I fall, sobbing on the pavement where Mia holds me tight and lets me cry. We make our way home but we are so late and we know we are going to be in trouble. I’m still crying and Mia explains everything to Rita, who is on duty tonight. She is an older lady with a shock of white hair. I am always quite wary around her as sometimes she can be kind and gentle, but she has a mean side that is strict and unforgiving.

She tries to comfort me but what can she say; I don’t want to live without my Mum. I know I shouldn’t have put Mia through that, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself, it was as if she wasn’t there at all. I just want my Mum. We are both grounded again for being late.

Tonight Mia has decided to read me a story she wrote at school. The story seemed to work because as she reads I drift off to sleep and, instead of being chased, I dream of the dog in the story.

This seems to set a precedent because now a member of staff reads to each of us every night, they lay next to us on the bed, or sit on the edge and read until we sleep. Just feeling so warm and safe and knowing they are there, help to keep the nightmares at bay. They still happen, but they are not so bad, not so real, or quite as vivid. I am beginning to wonder if maybe the staff here can keep me safe from my Dad after all.

I wake up feeling really low; part of me really wants to believe they care, but then they keep making me see my Dad. Doesn’t anybody understand I tried to kill him for a reason? They have started talking about having family sessions now; surely if they really loved me, they wouldn’t make me see him again. I know they are going to try making me go home, then my Dad will know he can do whatever he wants to me.

***

Extract from Staff Communications Book

Date: 9/4/84

Staff: Pat R.

Rita found a letter from Tracy under her pillow at 9am. It was a suicide note addressed to Judy, Mia (Medvale child) and Sonia. Rita contacted the school and they are going to keep a