I wonder if being at work all day meant that Emily felt she had to hold herself together for Nannan. If so it would make sense that within ten minutes of being home, the flood gates had opened. Huge body shaking sobs subsided eventually to a resigned tone. She muttered almost to herself, 'I don't deserve to be here' 'I'm worthless' 'Everyone would be happier if I was gone'
I see the eyelids swollen from crying and the set of her mouth, the way she pummelled and ripped at a chunk of blue tac in her hands. These confirm to me that she really does think it would be better for everyone if she wasn't here. I find myself, not for the first time, strangely detached. I think this is becoming my way of coping. I calmly talk to her about her worth, about how its her illness making her feel so bad, but one thing I say seems to hit home more than anything else. I told her that her pain might end if she wasn't here, but the pain I would feel, Nannan would feel, my partner would feel, her brother would feel, everyone who knows her would feel, would be unbearable. I meant it. I can not imagine what it must be like to lose a child, I don't want to imagine it.
Emily started to talk about her fear of treatment. I suppose as it becomes closer this will become more of an issue. Whilst she knows she is ill, fear of the unknown is building. She also fears having to spend time away from me. I talked to her about treatment being a chance to heal and rebuild her life. A chance to be able to do normal teenager things. Emily doesn't think she will ever do normal things.
Later this evening Emily started screaming that there was a man in the room with us. Nothing I could say or do would convince her otherwise. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, her hands contorted, almost claw like, covering her face. I'd calm her down, only to be faced with a fresh reaction. They were grabbing her throat. The man was stood in the room again. They were hurting her.
Eventually, I settled her in bed. The bedside light is on, she has a cuddly toy, her heart shaped keyring and now also clings to one of my old t-shirts. Comfort can come from the strangest things.
- 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.