Time to listen?

Emily still has her down days, but I feel these are finally beginning to reduce.  She has managed to detach herself from the Unit and is slowly starting to build confidence in 'normal' life.  Her school visits are still limited to 1 lesson a day on 3 separate days, so there is a long way to go and a lot of catching up to do, but it is progress.

I have been proud to see how she has begun to do things outside her comfort zone (our house).  In the last couple of weeks she's been shopping with my Mum, visited the nearby shopping centre with a friend and showed prospective adopters around on her own at the cat sanctuary where we volunteer.

These may seem like small things, but not to us.  These are real achievements.  In meetings with school she has now stopped mumbling and looking at the carpet and instead makes eye contact and is able to put her point of view across.

This is not the end of the road, but the ground seems to be levelling a little.  I now need to learn more about dyslexia and different ways of learning.  There is a lot of catching up to do if she is to stand a chance at GCSE's, but I know she is a bright girl and even if she has to do some exams at college later, she will get there in the end.

Recently she opened a teenager account with HSBC and we have agreed a clothing allowance.  With an allowance and a debit card and is learning the value of things and how to budget.  This is something else that is helping her to feel in control of her own life.  I'd recommend it for every teen.

And me? Too many downs and not enough ups.  Work has been terribly stressful.  I've got to the point where I have been doing 12 hour days rather than the 7 hour days I should do.  This has been a real problem and has been dragging me down. Whilst I only work 3 days a week, my other days are also frantic.  When I'm not rushing around taking Emily to one of her lessons or appointments, I'm having to fit in meetings and general stuff like shopping and house work.  My cats are a great love of mine, but they too create work for me.  It very often feels that I am on an never ending treadmill. I'm sure everyone can relate to this.  .    Adding in my issues around my weight and at times I've wanted to give up.

It's easy to get caught up in your own problems, but just recently someone gave me a wake up call.  Through Twitter I received a direct message.  A woman of a similar age to me, who I have only ever exchanged 'tweets' with and do not know in the 'real' world, reached out.  I do not want to go into her story here, it's not mine to tell, but I think she really needed someone to hear her.

I used my own experiences to help me try and understand. We have continued to message each other and through her, I realised that sometimes, when someone really needs you, a strength will take over.  We can all try to make a difference to others.  Those of us who understand what it is like to live part of our lives in darkness, in fear, in hopelessness, can help those who are there right now.  Readers of my blog have done this for me, not only just by reading what I write, but by commenting too.  Some of the supportive comments I have received have really helped and I cherish them.

Its made me want to turn my Twitter posts into something more.  I want to try and make people think, to realise that they too can make a difference to others.  We all stumble at times, when you are strong, help those who aren't.

Maybe 'Time to talk'  should be 'Time to listen'

What if you don't want to talk?

I feel compelled to write, as it's been a couple of weeks since my last post.  But to be honest I really don't know what I want to say. 

Do I talk about the two sessions I've had with a counsellor? Given the waiting list for this, in my first session I found myself struggling to recall why I had been referred.  Which aspect of my upside down life was I there to talk through and was it still relevant? The second session I threw caution to the wind and dragged us back over 20 years.  I sobbed as I recalled a 20 year old girl settling for the adulterous older man thrown out by his wife, because she felt she must "do the honourable thing".  The honourable thing lasted about 12 years.

And where is this man now?  The father of my children?  Cosy in his home, where he does not have to consider a sick child in his daily or even weekly routine.  Am I bitter?  You're damn right I am.

Do I have a moan about my lack of self control over the things I put in my mouth, which are allowing my ample frame to ever increase? The chocolate, the alcohol, anything that might give me a moment of pleasure, anything that might make me feel something other than dead inside.

Do I tell you that Emily will be leaving the unit at the end of the month?  Should I explain how she will start to build up her return to school by adding 1 lesson extra each week, but on different days?  I understand why it is being done this way, but all I can think about is how I facilitate this and still get time to go to work.

Maybe I should tell you that the closer we get to her discharge, the more anxious Emily becomes and the more I worry.  Every time she leans on me I feel the weight is too much to bear.

Shall I explain how I want to shut myself away or that I crave sunshine on my face? I want to get drunk and dance, I want to set off on a journey, I want to do many things, none of them here.  I want to forget all this crap and give my open sores a chance to scab over before the next onslaught.

There is a big mental health campaign at the moment, "Time to talk"  What if you don't want to talk?

How far?

Today I sat in a shopping centre crying. The reason for the tears was not sadness but pain, pain in my heart, pain caused by memories tugging at me .

Emily had asked me to take her for school stationery supplies and inbetween shopping we'd stopped for lunch.  As we chatted she asked me if I thought she had made progress with her illness.

I said 'yes, of course' straight away, but then her words sent me back in time. My mind began to dig deeper into my memories.

Sat across from her I looked into her eyes and said, "You have no idea how far you have come.  When I think back it scares me" and it did, really scared me to the point that I could not stop the tears from forming.  Once formed they began to overflow and make their way down my cheeks.  I sensed people noticing me, but I really and honestly didn't care.  Emily reached across the table and took my hand, saying sorry for upsetting me.

I told her it was ok.  It has been a roller-coaster of a journey and we are not at the end.  A year ago we were in a terrible place and, whilst things are far from perfect, they are at least better.

Emily looked at me as though she couldn't comprehend.  She still considered herself to be ill.  I suppose she is, but from where we were, we have come so far.

She looked almost puzzled.  I told her that I had written a diary and that one day  I would share it with her.  Then she would truly see how far she had come.

Thanks for all the snow

I'm sat in a supermarket car park at 8.45am. I've just dropped Emily and her brother at school. Today is the first day that Emily will attend form. She's then going to one lesson and then I'm taking her back to the unit.
School have, against normal policy, agreed to move Emily from her old form into her brothers. It means she has him for support and she also knows a few others from her junior school.  Even so, this morning she was showing classic anxiety symptoms.

When the form change was first suggested I spoke to my son. He was ok about it and understood. Yesterday and this morning, however, he has been a typical stroppy sibling. A pound each for sweets hopefully has smoothed, or maybe bribed the way.

Earlier this week, we woke up to a good few inches of snow. I didn't fancy going far in the car. My son walked to the school bus,  (which didn't come, unsurprisingly) grumbling all the way I should imagine.
The big story however came from Emily. She said she'd go by tram on her own to the unit. Not only would this be a complete first, going solo since her illness, but she would also be on with school kids from her old school.

I checked and double checked. She was adamant.

Her journey was slow and there were constant texts between us, but she made it.  I told her I was so proud of her and that she should be really proud of herself.
Not only was it a huge achievement at the time, but it has become a resource she can continue to collect dividends from.

As the tears and shakes started in the car park this morning I reminded her of that tram trip and that this was nothing in comparison. She nodded.

As I watched them walk of to school together, something, at times, I thought would never happen again, a voice in my head said "thanks for all the snow"

New information

Dyslexia has been a word I've heard around Emily for a few months. When her teacher at the unit first mentioned it to her in passing, Emily grabbed on to it. She spent a weekend testing herself online. To me it felt like it could be just another thing she'd latched on to. Like she was looking for explanations and this was another potential candidate.

Today I went to the unit to meet with a specialist who has been carrying out a series of tests. I'm told Emily has a strong possibility of being severely dyslexic.

Some of the tests kids should do well and some not so well. Emily follows the correct pattern.

I had previously discounted any possibility of this and so had the rest of the family.  How can someone be high achieving through junior school if they are dyslexic?

It seems the slower pace of early school, and our out of school encouragement to read and write, may have given Emily enough to get on well.  She is, after all, a bright girl.

And then to comprehensive school, suddenly you are expected to work quicker and harder. No wonder the transition hit her so hard, adding bullying to the mix and you have a breakdown waiting to happen. Which as the rest of this blog tells you, is exactly what did happen.

As I listened to the specialist I realised I struggled with similar things. I'm told it can be hereditary, so now I wonder about my son, who, to be honest, has always struggled with school work.

So, here we are. There is no point in looking back. I have new information and I intend to use it to make things better.

A visit to the past

Once again reading Twitter has got me thinking, well actually remembering rather than thinking.  I was lead to a page on bullying.co.uk's site.  It gives some really good advice on what to do if your child says they are being bullied by a teacher.  Think it doesn't happen? I'm afraid it does.

For me it was over 30 years ago, but I can still remember all the details and I wonder about the damage it may have inflicted on my relationship with my parents and the way I behave today.

It was junior school, I guess I was around 9 or 10.  I was always a pretty solitary child, at home I loved to read.  I had a favourite book, which was all about history, and I would spend hours in my bedroom absorbing information, dates and names.

One day at school, the teacher, Mrs V asked if anyone knew the date of a particular event in history.  As luck would have it, I'd read about the very event the evening before.  My hand shot up, how pleased the teacher would be that I could answer!

'Yes?' she asked me.  I gave my reply and waited for the praise.  It didn't come.  Instead her facial features sharpened. 'Don't be ridiculous, you can't possibly know that, no one does!' she snorted.
I could feel a cold wave wash over me.  'I read it in my history book' I quietly replied, hoping to recover the situation. Instead 'No one knows the date, so you can't either' was the curt reply and the classroom erupted into laughter, laughter at me. 

The next day, I went to school with my history book and attempted to share it with Mrs V.  I think that was when her real hatred of me began.  I just wanted to show that I wasn't a liar, I wanted to be vindicated, I wanted to make it all ok again.  Interestingly, as an adult I still have this compulsion, I don't think it will ever leave me.  I hate it when people judge without having the full facts.  I hate it when people are unfair and do not consider the impact their actions have on others.

From that day Mrs V began her bullying.  Of course, I didn't understand that as a child, as far as I was concerned she just didn't like me and was mean to me.

The days that followed took a similar path, we would do work and then have to take it to Mrs V's desk. All lined up waiting for our praise.  My work was neat and I always tried my best. I was shy and quiet child, I did as I was told.  I put my neat book down on the teachers desk, confident in the knowledge that I had done a good piece of work.  Mrs V did not agree.  She hardly looked at my work before shouting 'Rubbish, do it again!' As she tore the page out of my book, I felt light headed.  I could feel my bowels wanting to release, my heart thumped in my chest and I felt dizzy.  Within seconds the tears started to well in my eyes and it took no time at all for them to flow freely.  Mrs V assumed she hadn't yet done enough and as she handed back my book she followed up with a loud 'oh look at the cry baby everyone'  The sound of cruel childish laughter once again filled the room.  Humiliation complete.

As I walked home that lunch time I was still sobbing.  My Dad shouted at me for crying and when I tried to explain what had happened my Mum told me, 'Don't be silly teachers don't do that, now stop crying'

Weeks went by.  Mrs V continued to 'make an example of me' in front of the class and my parents assumed I was making it up.  Everyday I took up my work and everyday Mrs V tore it out.

It was a chance meeting which brought my misery to an end.  My Mum bumped into one of my classmates Mum's in the street.  The other Mum remarked on my terrible treatment, 'isn't it awful what Mrs V does to your daughter' kind of conversation.

I'm not sure my Mum has ever forgiven herself for not believing me and not doing anything about it.  Once she realised I'd been telling the truth she wasted no time in going up to school and getting it sorted.

For me I think the full impact of these events may never be known.  The teacher was one thing, but the lack of support at home, was quite something else.


A counsellor once asked me what I would say to that little girl if I could walk back into that classroom.  I wouldn't say anything, I would hold her tight and cover her ears, I would take her out and I would take care of her.


A visit to the past can very often be painful but it can also shine a light on the present.

Fragmenting

Today, I waited at reception to collect Emily from the unit. I should have known all was not well when a nurse met me instead.

Emily was very upset on the ward and was insisting she wasn't going to school. The nurse took me to a room on the ward and brought Emily in. She was shaking and tear stained. I'm ashamed to say my first thought was, 'oh for goodness sake, it's only an hour!' but I knew I couldn't. The nurse left us alone while she tried to find a therapist.

Emily continued to shake, cry and chew at her clothing. I began speaking to her, asking what was wrong.  All she could tell me was that she couln't go, she'd do it next week instead.
As we spoke I could feel something rising in me. I recognised it as rage, but borne of frustration, not hate. I wanted to run away, I could see no answer, no path for us to take. To me right there, my mind told me that if she couldn't do this, then all was lost.

I fought with my inner voice and began to speak again.
I told her there were no expectations on her other than to be in the classroom.
I told her she was protected, the teacher knew the situation and the bullies went to another school. I told her she would feel proud of herself for going.
I told her I would be waiting like last week.
I told her to shut out all those negative voices in her head, to reach inside and grab hold of those hidden strengths, that I knew she had, and to tell herself she could do it and she had her tangle and time out card if it got too much.

I guess something I said must have worked, as I'm now sat at school while she is in her lesson.

The hour is not yet up, but I'm keeping everything crossed. As I reflect I realised something. In that room earlier today, we were both fragmenting, blowing everything up out of recognition, but we also started to put the pieces back together.

Maybe we will both always 'fragment' but if we can begin to understand that it leads to rebuilding, it might make the road a little less rocky