Running alone in the dark

 J is in a bad way. 

A few weeks ago, she had a text argument with her Dad. This was relating to the laptop he had given to S and refused to let her keep. He made the mistake of bringing J up as part of his argument with S, so J confronted him over WhatsApp. As I'm sure my readers can imagine, he didn't respond well to this. He slung some names and accusations at her, then blocked her. This 40-something year old man blocked his own 15 year old daughter from whom he had been almost totally estranged, and who has known mental health needs. This certainly didn't fit into the picture he had drawn of himself for court; the poor devastated father who couldn't see his child.

J found this quite funny actually; or at least that was her first reaction. Over the next couple of weeks, she stewed over it. This also coincided with the Easter holidays, so her school-related anxiety escalated in conjunction with her anger at him. The night before the return to school, she was the worst she has ever been. I was asleep, and she didn't wake me. My darling, wounded daughter didn't want to disturb me to tell me that she was intending to take an overdose of whatever medications she could find at home. Unfortunately, I'm always well prepared with over the counter medications, so she had collected a decent/lethal sized cache of paracetamol. Thankfully, luckily, mercifully, she was in contact with her boyfriend at this time. He didn't wake his Mum either; instead he ran. This poor teenage boy literally ran from the next town along, a distance of around 2 miles at almost midnight, in the dark. He kept her safe where I hadn't, and I can never repay my gratitude to him (but believe me, I'm trying). I woke the next morning to a lot of text messages; from J, from her boyfriend, and from his Mum. 

Obviously, she didn't go to school that day. She was... empty. Vacant. She showed no expression or emotion whatsoever, which was extremely unlike her. I was absolutely terrified. She admitted that she still felt like she wanted to die. Christ, it's painful for me just to type that. My 15 year old feisty, amazing, wonderful daughter told me that she no longer wanted to be alive. I'm tearful now just remembering the conversation. I called the GP who was going to arrange for the CAMHS crisis team to contact us urgently. We waited, me not bearing to even leave J alone, but it was taking too long. I took her to A&E.

The crisis worker from CAMHS came and spoke to her. They discussed various options for keeping her safe; waking me up being number 1 on the list. They advised her to call NHS 111 and talked about apps she could use to help calm and ground her. Then they prepared to discharge her. This is when she disclosed to me that she had felt that way around a week before. She had called NHS 111, who had left her waiting. They arranged for a call back, but by then she had cried herself to sleep. She cautiously admitted that she wouldn't call them if she felt that way again. She also confessed that she didn't think she would wake me either. So I turned round and went back to the crisis worker and I told him what she had just told me. They decided the safest option was to admit her to the paediatric ward.

J and I spent the night in the hospital. I was given a little fold down bed that was horrifically uncomfortable. A nurse was stationed outside her room with the door ajar the entire time we were there. I hope I didn't fart in my sleep! We spent the evening eating junk food and watching TV together. J was discharged with an ongoing care plan the next day; one which included ways to ensure her boyfriend won't be running alone in the dark to protect her. I also removed and hid all of the medication in the house.

I went to work a few days later, leaving J with a friend of mine. I couldn't concentrate and I worried constantly. I rushed through my patients so I could hurry home to J. I had been terrified to sleep, fretting that she wouldn't wake me. I was so stressed that my muscles ached from tension, and my brain was fuzzy from sleep deprivation. I realised that I wouldn't be any use to my colleagues and my patients, and least of all to J. I knew she especially wouldn't wake me if I had work the next day. I spoke to my GP who signed me off work for a month. The thought was deeply uncomfortable to me; I hate to let people down and I've always used work as my therapeutic escape. How on earth would I cope being home for a whole month? Would my team be able to manage my caseload? I had to do though, for J. She needs me to keep her safe, and that means being available for her at all times until she is more stable. My colleagues have picked up the slack without complaint, and while my patients don't know the reasons why I'm not at work, they have been understanding. 

J is now taking antidepressants. They take a few weeks to work, so they haven't made a change yet; except that knowing she is likely to start feeling better soon is giving her hope. Knowing that CAMHS and her school are now taking her mental health seriously is giving her security and faith. I've been able to use this time to fight for her; speaking to the school, meeting with teachers, taking her to CAMHS, contacting supporting agencies, dropping her off and picking her up from school when it's been too much for her just to walk. She isn't back at full-time school yet, she's only managing about 2-3 lessons a day, but it's better than zero lessons. Evenings and nights are when she feels the worst, so I've spent a lot of nights sitting with her, just watching TV. It's the only way she feels safe, so we've covered a lot of movies this month (hit me up with any teen-friendly recommendations!). She usually doesn't want to talk, she just wants company. CAMHS put her psychological therapies temporarily on hold, because she is just too low to engage with them. 

In the first week or so after her hospital admission, I was determined to keep her busy and distracted. I offered walks in the sunshine, long drives to see the scenery, painting, jigsaws, massage, cooking/baking, gardening, dancing... anything I could think of. She declined them all. It took a good friend to make me stop pestering J, by reminding me that maybe all she needs right now is to rest and just be. Now if she can't get out of bed, I'll go lie down with her. If she wants to watch TV, I'll sit with her and bring out the popcorn. If she wants a bath, I'm running it with my nicest products, and if she wants something special for dinner, I'm finding a recipe, buying the ingredients, and cooking it. She's gradually wanting to do more, and we're working on a 'diamond painting' together currently (totally addictive by the way, look into it). I'm getting her interested in causes she feels strongly about, and she's starting to show her creative and zany side more. 

My month off ends very soon, but I conveniently have a week of annual leave booked (although I can't remember what I booked it for - was I hoping for a holiday??) so I've got a grace period before I have to review J's needs.

Throughout all of this, her father has remained almost silent. He's sent a couple of text messages, although nothing that's even in the same ocean as deep and meaningful. On my suggestion, he sent her a gift. He sent a small mood diary that would have actually been quite thoughtful had the gift receipt showed that he bought it himself rather than through his/my company. Of course J noticed this and it rather invalidated the sentiment of the gift. She hasn't touched a pen to the diary as I knew she wouldn't - she sees it as homework, which she hates. CAMHS tried for months to get her to keep a journal, but she is just not the type to write down her feelings. I know this because I know her and because I've been supporting her for a long time. I sent C a list of suggestions for gifts she would actually appreciate and use, but in response I got a message saying he wouldn't be 'bullied' into buying gifts. He hasn't offered any other kind of support for either of us, and I think I would die of shock if he did, so maybe that's for the best.

In the meantime, we wait. We wait for the antidepressants to start working. We wait for the autism assessment. We wait for her mood to lift up enough to resume psychological therapies. J is no longer running alone in the dark, she has several hands helping to guide her way out. It's frankly a disgrace that the hand that should be firmly grasped by her father is being held by a teenage boy, who was prepared to risk himself (and his mum's wrath!) to keep her from killing herself.