A Mother's Torment...

All I wanted was my little girl to come home. When she did, it was in a coffin

- Kara O'neill

Watching my daughter writhing in pain, I held back tears.

‘It hurts, Mum,’ she whispered. ‘I know,’ I replied. It was summer 2001 and my daughter Becky, then 19, had been addicted to drugs since her teens.

As a girl, she didn’t fit in, fell in with a bad crowd.

It started with sniffing aerosols, then heroin. After that, life became a constant battle.

I watched in terror as the daughter I knew became a shell of herself.

Skin sallow, greasy hair, her ribs protruding.

The little girl who once loved writing poetry, colouring books and hugs was now unrecognisable.

It broke my heart. I did my best to help. Attempted to wean her off drugs, got her into rehab.

Yet she’d disappear for months.

By 18, she was hanging out in Swindon’s red-light district, always looking for her next fix.

Then her head would clear, and she’d ring in tears, begging for help.

She was still my baby girl, so I’d pick her up, give her a bath, make her a meal.

Hope this time, with the support of my husband Charlie, and Becky’s brother Steven, then 23, we’d be able to put her back on the right path.

Then in December 2002, Becky, 20, appeared in court.

She’d been charged with burglary, I’d gone along to support her.

Afterwards, I was desperate to get Becky back home, where she belonged.

But... ‘I want you to drop me at a friend’s,’ she said. ‘Please, Becky, let’s just go home,’ I begged.

But she was adamant. Ran in to the house while I waited in the car.

I figured with me watching, she couldn’t vanish.

Eventually, she came back out.

‘Mum, I’m going to stay here,’ she said quietly. I burst into tears. ‘I want you to come home,’ I told her.