Times are tough this week. L has lost a kilogram. In a week when I was away. Because she always does. Even though I try hard not to blame myself, those are the facts. I go away, I stop pursuing her eating and the weight comes off. In family therapy, the therapist seems to think I am some controlling obsessive. I am just trying to make my daughter well again by getting her to eat, to change her eating patterns, to be strong enough to recover. On Monday, l has dental surgery, five teeth will be removed, followed by braces. Exams are coming up. Life is not getting easier.
I don’t blame myself. But I feel so, so sad. There aren’t words that describe the sense of loss I feel at my utterly beloved daughter slipping away like this. I hold her, but it feels as if anorexia is filling her up inside and I am only holding her shell. I feel grief, hopelessness and despair. I feel the way L feels – defeated. But most of all I feel betrayed – because it hurts so much that my love for her isn’t enough. Love is supposed to be the strongest force in the world. I know this. I’ve read Harry Potter. Surely a million songwriters can’t be wrong. If I could harness the anger which is squashed flat under the misery I would find out where that bastard Paul McCartney lives, hammer down the door and scream, “you said All We Need Is Love, and you were bloody wrong, you effing idiot”. When I think L is getting her life back again, Ed steps in and steals her back, sucking out any happiness she has found, like a Dementor. And without a Patronus, to drive him away, I am powerless. A good mum, possibly a great mum. But a powerless one right now.
*if you haven’t read any Harry Potter, some of that might last paragraph might not make sense.