Everyone tells me that Emily needs medication and therapy, but this does not seem to be forthcoming.
I've been phoning all week since the Dr said she was referring us to the residential unit. Obviously we have had the bank holiday weekend in between.
It didn't help that I was committed to an Art Exhibition over the four days of the Jubilee. Emily and my son should have been going away with their Father, but there was no way that Emily was going to be able to do this. Her father does not understand. She had an 'episode' when he was here recently and his reaction was just to pretend he couldn't see her crying on the sofa. There was no way he would be able to support her and she knew that all too well. The result was that while my other half and I were manning the exhibition, my Mum was looking after Emily.
As soon as everyone was back at work on Wednesday I started chasing the residential referral. I was told that it looked like there was an assessment by the residential team scheduled for Friday the 8th, but the reception team would chase and confirm. By Friday morning we were still waiting. It became obvious that an assessment the same day was unlikely. I was so annoyed with them. I'd called everyday and had assurances that I would receive a call confirming what was happening, but nothing came.
On Friday I'd almost reached breaking point. We'd all been sat in the house for 3 days waiting for calls that never came. I had a little girl who decided that no one cared. No one was calling back so that must mean that she was insignificant, right? So so wrong :( Why don't people realise the impact of their actions??
My partner suggested I get out of the house for an hour or two. I went to the local shopping centre. Emily had shown an interest in doing crafty things and I wanted some bits and pieces too. It was nice to be away from the house and not have a real agenda.
I did a little shopping for everyone. I'm conscious I don't want to leave my son out. The only thing I seem to be able to occupy Emily with is, constant re-runs of TV series (outnumbered & primeval) and crafty things like paint by numbers. So I bought my son a paint by numbers too and got Emily a pad of water colour paper.
The day before we had managed an hour at Hobbycraft. There she'd selected felt and stuffing to make weird creatures. I don't care what she makes as long as I can keep her occupied. Strangely though, she's made a kind of doll. Her remit was "something that was once normal, but isn't now" I think that says a lot about how she feels.
While I was out shopping I finally got a call from the residential unit. They told me Emily's assessment would be in 3 weeks time. I accepted this meekly and only cried after the call terminated. How the hell were we supposed to get through the next three weeks?? I didn't understand. I felt that the system was failing us in a massive way.
I texted my other half. As usual he voiced his support and optimism that we'd get through. I wasn't so sure, I wasn't sure at all. Weary as I was, I couldn't see how I could get myself and Emily through another 3 weeks.
The shopping centre is not far from CAMHS. I walked with a tear stained face through the shoppers, out to my car. I sat in the car and sobbed unchecked. I decided I needed to tell them how I felt, I needed them to know we weren't strong enough to get through three weeks.
I drove through the tears to CAMHS. I faced the receptionist and tried to speak. As soon as I did, the emotion took over and the tears flowed unchecked. I was ushered into a waiting room.
After a few minutes the Dr we'd seen before popped her head around the door and kindly beckoned me to follow her. Once in a room I found myself apologising over and over for my behaviour. The Dr understood why I was there and told me she was there to help me whenever I needed it.
There is nothing she can do about the three week wait for the next assessment, but she has offered to see us in the meantime. On Monday Emily, myself and my Mum will be off to CAMHS. Basically, we need to equip ourselves to be able to keep Emily safe until the residential unit can take over.
I sit here this evening, having shared a bottle of wine with my partner and then having moved onto brandy, and I am grateful. Grateful that the man, who is not Emily's Father, is kind and good enough to get right in there and help her in the same way I do. We are broken in many ways, but we are also blessed.
- Mum of 2, suffering my own mental health issues, I began to write this blog as a way to release feelings and emotions. At 13 my daughter was terribly bullied which has led to her having serious mental health problems of her own. She is now 16. I wanted to document our journey and hopefully be able to look back and see how far we have come.