You can probably guess that times are tough. This post might seem a bit bleak, but writing it will help me get rid of some anger and hurt. Yesterday was a hard day. After the windscreen incident, battling with Sky over their third failed attempt to install broadband, I had to be up at half past five for a thirteen hour day at work. I ran an assessment centre, which means relentless smiling positivity through the entire day. The lack of sleep at present makes me hazy and dizzy and I thought a migraine attack was imminent,which thankfully was avoided. Once I got home, L was out at The Boyfriend’s. I texted her about CAMHS and she said it was hard. I asked about weight. She said her therapist would call me. I asked again. She lost weight. Despite the determined breakfasts and evening meals, she still lost.
I have made contact with The Boyfriend’s Mother. She tells me what L has had for meals and how she ensures it is enough. She makes energy fuelled shakes. But I suspect she doesn’t really believe me. When I tell her L is really ill, she says, “Is she? She seems so happy and bright when she is here.” She relates how L eats without any problem when she is at their house. I sense a satisfaction about this from her. She suggests she adopts L and feeds her up for me. I ask whether she visits the bathroom after meals as she purges. There is a silence. “Really?” “Yes, really,”.
So, last night I felt desperate to speak to L, and raw and exhausted. At 10 she texts to ask if she is allowed to stay at The Boyfriend’s.. I flatly refuse, saying we need to talk. She pleads by text. She tells me how much she loves me. And she tells me TBM is cooking a cooked ‘brekkie’ in the morning.
Brekkie?! What is this? It sounds like a fun, laughter filled place where young people sit laughing in sunlit rooms sipping orange juice and feasting. It doesn’t sound like the clusterfuck of misery that passes as a morning meal in this house. I lose it. I text back saying how bloody marvellous it is that The Boyfriend’s family see Stepford L, eating perfectly, chatting happily and how they must think I am the one with mental health issues. How L just needs fattening up for Christmas and if she just had a proper family, with a mother at home and some really nice food she’d be fine. I am really hurt, angry and most of all, bereft. I feel as if I have lost L, how she is nothing more than a series of text messages sent to placate me. I want so much to make her better but it is like gathering mist. C and I are living through hell, along with K, while L’s father ignores the issue, And responds to any request for help as if it is an attack on his integrity and makes passive aggressive comments to the effect of “If you hadn’t left me ten years ago this wouldn’t have happened”. C and I seem like co-workers in an inpatient facility. Words like brekkie are a foreign country, a place we hope to visit one day, but know we can’t afford it. At present it feels as if Ed has turned the world against us and the walls are closing in on us rather than Ed.
L wins. She stays for brekkie. I am too tired. But sleep doesn’t happen. I lie awake, oppressed by hopelessness with a sense of the inevitability of losing this fight. Of losing L altogether.