Catriona McRoberts

"Our house is not a home you know, more a place from hell.”

Hearts and minds broken daily, like the furniture and walls.

I would love to play with him but get told "go away", my heart heavy with sadness, I love my brother dear. My body aches, the blood pours out, "attacked again Mum" I mouth out.

Such a lonely place my room, friends don’t play there. Our doors closed and locked, I'm a prisoner in a cell block.

I would love to play with friends at home, but autism's anger means I’m alone. I look out on my garden and imagine it to be full of fun but it's empty, just like me.

I wish I could wake up one day without hearing his screams, instead just cuddle mum and talk about our dreams.

I did think it was normal for all to hit me, like my brother does you see, so became a punchbag among ‘friends’ since the age of 3.

The medicine works to make him sleep. At last, no sound, I'm free. Is this normal? Or just normal to me…

Helena, my sister, her cuddles are the best, my sadness and hers bring pain, just different, not less. I love to watch her on stage, happy and full of grace. I always arrive excited, hoping for the best but leave tears blinding me and again my face a bloody mess.

I hope one day to be the child I am, to escape the beatings, bad words and ringing in my ears with skin always stinging from daily cuts and tears.

My brother, age 8, has autism you see, but nobody helps, believes or wants to see; our hearts are broken, fragile, not free, though I pray for peace in our home one day you see.