About Me

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.

Tuesday, 16 October 2012

Better or worse?

Emily struggled at home on Friday evening.  Knowing I'd had a conversation with her father had obviously affected her.  We ended up watching a DVD of her choosing to pass the time until 10pm, definitely past her bedtime.

On Saturday Emily had the urge to clean my car, I followed her buffing with some scratch polish.  She was very animated saying that car cleaning, especially alloy wheels, should be part of therapy. It was nice to see her enjoying doing something.  It was even better knowing she'd asked to do it.

In the afternoon I suggested we sort out her bedroom.  The floor is strewn with 'stuff'.  There are random piles of it, there are carrier bags of it, there are gift bags full of it.  I guess this is really a typical teenage bedroom, but in my mind it made her room unwelcoming and chaotic. So many things didn't have a home.

At times she admitted she found the process stressful, but in the end, she agreed the outcome was worthwhile.  A room where most things, had a home.

Saturday night was easier.  Thank goodness for Casualty.

On Sunday my son and husband went for a bike ride.  Emily was adamant she didn't want to go.  Instead we stayed at home and she prepared the meat and vegetables for the slow cooker.  This had been part of her 'objectives' for the weekend.  Vegetables require sharp knives and I therefore found myself cleaning the oven to ensure I was within supervision distance.

Sunday night I returned her to the unit.  I was well aware that she had found the weekend hard.  Her spirits had been very low.  She had not self harmed and I was grateful for that, but instead there was a great sadness in her.

Yesterday, I heard nothing from her.  She never turned on her phone.  I decided to leave it.  If she wanted me she could call.  If there was a problem, the nurses would call.  Even so, I did not rest easy.

This evening my husband and I visited the unit.  Emily was nowhere to be seen.  One of the other young people told us she was in her room upset and nurses were with her.

When she finally came into the corridor, where we waited, she was flanked by two nurses.  This was unusual behaviour.  We were later than normal and I wondered if it was a reaction to this.

Once in a small meeting room the nurses proceeded to inform us that Emily had been found curled up on the floor of her room by another young person.  She was upset that someone, unseen to everyone else, was in the room with her.  As I sat beside Emily her left leg shook up and down constantly, she looked at the ground and she aggressively worked a stress toy in her hands. 

The nurses left.  Emily shouted that the person she could see was sat in the room with us and ran out.  When she came back with a nurse I talked to her about the daft things her brother had done.  He'd done cooking at school and had added a tablespoon of black pepper instead of a teaspoon... We'd had his cooking for our evening meal.  That was enough to make anyone laugh and from there we kept the conversation light and funny.

On the way home in the car, my husband started to try to analyse Emily's behaviour.  In the end I stopped him.  I don't know if Emily is really seeing things.  I don't know what on earth is going on and no amount of talking is going to change that.  One thing I do know, she doesn't appear to be getting any better, in fact I'd say she's getting worse.

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