I was in Stratford upon Avon on Saturday and flicking through Instagram, I see a post from L that sticks a knife into my heart. She describes that she is moving out of our house to live with her dad. It as is if someone is twisting my insides round and round. I realised that her father had told me L was coming over to collect some things while I was out to make her room at his house more comfortable. But “moving out”. This is so final and heartbreaking. I comment on her post and text her, to try and make this stop. The comment is deleted and later she claims I kicked her out.
This was supposed to be a period for us to have quality time together, but this weekend I don’t see her at all. I ask her to come up, but she is at her boyfriend’s house. It transpires she has been there most of the weekend, except for a lunch of jacket potatoes and salad with her dad (no dessert) and it is clear she is restricting. I ask her father and L why he is not supervising meals and am told there is no need to do this and it is no longer anything to do with me.
L and I end up screaming and crying on the phone. I try not to but it is such a deep and physical sense of loss. She has been ripped from me and I can’t get her back. After she admits I haven’t kicked her out, she tells me that the unit advised her to move out and to have no involvement with me at meals or snacks, except agreed quality time between them. A maximum of an hour and a half at the most. Not even time to see a film, once travel to and from the unit is taken into account.
Today I have a meeting with the unit. They agree that her father has failed in his agreed responsibilities but insist he must be given a chance. I would give anything to be given such a chance. They hedge over whether they advised her to move out, but agree they have said it would be best if she stayed with her father. Except, of course, she doesn’t. She stays at her boyfriend’s. His family get to watch TV with her, go shopping, have breakfast together and go out to restaurants. I am not even allowed to see her in this visit to the unit, not even to say hello, even though Monday is an open visiting day. I ask how long this is for and am told, for now, but it is temporary. I ask about L’s weight over the weekend and of course, she lost weight. But they still want to persist. I make it crystal clear that despite having been ill and being ambivalent that I am in no doubt I want to be involved in her care. I refute their claims that this is for my good, as it has completely destroyed the small progress I had made since being signed off work and I now feel in the grip of the worse depression I have ever known. I tell them and I later text L to make clear that I want to see her whenever she wants and will visit when ever. I sit in the car park, crying too hard to drive and hoping against hope that she will text me, asking me to come in. Or even that there might be a glimpse of her at the window. Nothing.
I drive home eventually and get on with clearing J’s room for replastering next week and take K to the shop to choose carpet. These small tasks are comforting in themselves. But I feel broken and as if I will never be well again. It is like bereavement, with no funeral. Anorexia has edged it’s way in and won and I am out. I have changed the words on this blog as for now, there is nothing I can do, or am allowed to do to help L. I need to get better, but this nightmare situation is making everything so much worse.
Update: L asked me to visit this evening, which was such a relief.