Show me the way to go home...
We all want the best for our children. We want them to be happy, contented, safe and secure. We do our utmost to prevent them sliding down the slippery slope of no return, the mere thought of which drills a sense of fear deep into our souls.
My daughter E did not have the best of parenting in her life, perhaps you could argue. From the age of 6 weeks old she was looked after by her father, as I was a qualified nurse and could earn more - a practical sensible decision. I did have guilt feelings over this at the time, as I lived in a small minded town back then, where it was not the done thing for a woman to have a career. My husband and I had no issues with him being at home. His relationship with E at that time was incredibly close and she still dotes on her father. It was in the early years of our marriage, that I realised that alcohol however, was the main passion in his life. It was not unusual for him to have a house full of drinking buddies, with crates of Fosters or the cheapest deadliest cider opened and empty cans everywhere. I got used to stepping over them on the way in, cleaning up and spending lonely nights as he slept it off. It was usual for E to have alcohol around her, and still now she finds it comical if anyone has one drink "socially".
My husbands explanation for this is that it was how he was brought up, so what was the problem. Unfortunately E also saw the downside of this unsocial drinking. It was common to see her Dad so drunk he fell in the bath, slurred his words, vomiting, and him sinking deeper into despair by adding a few drugs to the cocktail mix and becoming so depressed that he had an ongoing affair, his first and last heroin dabbling overdose and slashed his wrists the next day. (His explanation, not mine).
Perhaps you are wondering why a relatively sane girl like me tolerated this behaviour, along with the threat of violence, physical abuse at times but far worse the treatment of my daughter. Why did I finish an 8-8 shift to walk home past the pub to see my beautiful daughters face through a pub window and pick her up to take her home. The answer is I eventually came to my senses you could say. I am not asking you to have sympathy, but just see things from another facet of the crystal. I believed that I had to be a good wife, that maybe it was my fault, believing the negative words he called me, also quite scared of what he could potentially do. Above all, I knew the love E had for her father, and that it would break her heart to leave him at the age of 4. We, in time got our own house, a mortgage, but with it the drinking became worse. My husband was often too drunk to pick E up from primary school, so got a taxi there and back, or that she was looked after by my mother. The final straw came when I came home to find E playing out at the back of our house on the adjoining lane. It was snowing outside and he was comatose on the sofa, surrounded by the usual cans with the front door wide open. Again, he saw nothing wrong with this, and E screamed that she hated me when I made her come inside. She was 5.
When I did take her far away to the other end of the country, the relief of getting out of this situation was immense, but E continued to hate me and blamed me for her having no contact with her father. In essence, I never stopped her seeing her father. I had been separated from my own for 25 years and knew that pain only too well. What I did do, was try and ensure that the court understood the situation fully - that her Dad was an alcoholic, and occasional drug abuser, that there was a danger of her being surrounded with unknown men at the age of 5. She did see her father at a contact centre for a few visits, until he decided he had better things to fill his life with.
E was seen by many psychologists in her young life. They painstakingly tried to unravel the many knots of her mind. She did have a kind of behavioural disorder. I have lost track of the times that I have relayed our life story and how we came to be here. I had to harden myself to the tutting and comments made when E would have her outbursts and manic episodes. My skin got used to the constant biting, punching and deep scratches that E would administer when she didn't get her own way. She had become used to a 6 pack of crisps being given to her by her father for the day, whilst he entertained his friends. Trying to ration this now and reason with her, was futile and I was just the bad parent for constantly saying no. I just wanted the professionals to help my daughter, to recognise she had a condition and not blame me. I was accused of just wanting a label for my daughter. I tried to explain I was a registered nurse and knew she was mentally ill and needed help. E always had no sense of danger, would hurtle herself into a road in a forward roll, or dash off miles ahead with a manic banshee shriek and cackle. She had issues at every single school she has ever attended, through bullying other children to being bullied herself, but mainly disrupting classes and bad behaviour.
Her main school in London began with the usual parents joy, first "big" uniform, snapshot on the doorstep, the way you get yourself in a right state, and they just wander off, all nonchalant stylee.
It was in these first few weeks however that I had a phone call to say she was missing. Missing? What did they mean? Kidnapped? No, she had been enticed out by an older friend and spent the day in a disused house with step ladders to different crumbling floors where adults also frequented to drink or take drugs. She was now 11. This was not the last time she went there. It became a daily occurrence for me to take her to school and for her to walk out of the back entrance. The school had no jurisdiction they said, to stop her leaving. The new "big" uniform, soon faded, dirtied by a new lifestyle, torn by climbing, dusty from sitting on unknown floors. There were periods when she settled for short periods, but this would then break down again. I knew she was smoking, but never smelt alcohol on her. The school knew smoking went on, and she and her "friend" were acquiring money from Arthur Daley deals and buying them in school uniform from the local shop. The headmaster joked how she was quite the entrepreneur. I politely pointed out that I in no way found this situation funny.
At home I tried everything with E. We continued to see psychologists, had reward schemes, forfeits. She rewarded me by stealing from me, damaging property in the house, constant voicing that she hated me and hoped I died, laughing in my face.
Trying to get her away for a new start, I moved to the coast. A far better school with one to one mentors, but she grew worse. One day I confronted her over stealing and she took a knife to me, threatening to hurt me. She was now 13. The physical strength of E is unbelievable when she was in one of these rages, it scared me. The look in her eyes as she showed no emotion and became violent, was chilling.
The missing episodes got worse also, and I got used to calling the police to say she had not come home from school again. It made no difference if you turned up to pick her up as she rarely was at school, just escaped after an hour or so. I knew many policemen on first name terms as they patiently sat on the sofa, taking yet another photo of E to help find her and an account of the latest escapade. My Westie no longer barked when they knocked on the door for the 5th time that week. They sympathised, soothed, assured me it was a phase, that she would grow out of it, that I wasn't a bad parent. Equally though, they pointed out that they had no jurisdiction either over the situation, even when she stole a souvenir bottle of Ouzo from the house and sat with her friends drinking in the park. They did in time say they would no longer go looking for her, as they couldn't keep wasting resources. Most times they had found her, although she did resist being brought home. I tried my best to get social workers involved, drink counsellors who tested E and gave her rewards for not drinking. It wasn't until much more recently that E has told me she had steadily been drinking since the age of 11, and it was normal for her. She accused me of being snobby and posh for seeing fault with it. I was raised on some of the renowned Council estates in Yorkshire by my Mum alone, and do not see myself as posh, only wanting to get a career for myself. I was lucky not to have alcohol issues in my family, but my Mum did have serious mental health issues.
The worst night of my life so far was when E did not come home at the age of 12. She was missing the whole night. I hope you never have to go through that, but I seriously thought she was in a gutter somewhere. It was a winters night and I remember sitting up the whole night chilled to the bone in fear. It turned out that she had got drunk and stayed at a friends house whose parents had supplied the drink. The next day she was returned by the police in a surly manner and resisted the police with violence. As she slept it off, I remember breaking down finally and the police saying that she had said I was not a bad parent and that I was pretty cool actually. I could simply not understand why she was doing this to herself. It was as if she had a finger permanently on a self destruct button.
The next low point was when she called me (missing again). This time she sobbed down the phone telling me she was not worthy of living and wanted to kill herself. She had taken an 11 year old boy from school out on an escapade with her and he had got so poisoned with alcohol he had collapsed and spent the night in A/E having his stomach pumped and nearly died. I begged her to come home and we would talk and help her through this. Eventually she did and for one of the first times in her life showed emotion and sobbed for an hour. I naively thought this would be a turning point. However the next night E went missing and ended up with another girl in a lock up garage with 3 older guys. Thankfully nothing happened, thanks be to God.
Again, the social workers told me it was because she wanted to see her father, that it was a normal teenager thing to do. I pointed out she was 12! Also that it was her father who refused to see her, despite my attempts.
I did after much deliberation and a 7 day repetition of missing episodes take her to the social workers office, demanding they take her into care to help her. Have you any idea what that took as Es mother to bring myself to do this?
Was I met with help? I was told I would be arrested for neglect if I left her there and walked away. At this point I begged them to help me and more importantly her, as she had an undiagnosed disorder fueled by alcohol and needed help.
As always, E had the upper hand, by escaping the office and going missing. I rested my case.
After this she continued to go missing, and the social workers were quite happy for her to stay in a house of a friend where the parents drank regularly and allowed their underage children to. E went shop lifting and I took her to many chain supermarkets requesting they arrest her and ban her from the shop and see how accessible the drink is to under age children. Again, they sympathised but said they could not do that.
Things came to a head when she came home drunk at the age of 13 and threatened me again. I called the police myself. They arrived and again said they could do nothing, until she swore at me. The police woman saw red and picked E up with a single hand and placed her against the wall, her legs dangling, saying she was arresting her for potential breach of the peace.
I can remember standing in the police station another time terrified of the unknown process as she had been caught shop lifting and bragged about it. Instead of a cell, the police relented and kept her in a holding room with me. The shame burned on my face as she was finger printed, yet looking at her she merely shrugged her shoulders, smirked saying it was cool.
I was beginning to wonder where this was going to end. As always, E made her own choice. She had gone on a holiday to her fathers as agreed by social workers. I had paid for her to go. She rang me and said she wanted to live with her father permanently and that she was not coming home.
Her father smugly said he would keep her safe and she would come to no harm.
E had always put her father on a pedestal, and I know she always will. What did I do? Drag her back? What would have been the point. I told her I had only ever tried to do the best for her, and that it was not my job as a parent to make her unhappy. My own mother did not agree with me and stated I should have made her return.
E was now 15. I knew I had to let go. I had done my utmost to show her a different way, take her on holiday, encourage her to read, get an education, take pride in herself.
In the end we all know the consequences of our actions and we have to take responsibility for them. I am a mother, a nurse, but I am not a qualified psychologist and that is what she needed. But not just any one. The one who flatly told me the only way she would ever function in life was to be locked up for a period of time on treatment. But this never happened, she simply slipped through the system. She never fitted a text book definition, but then what is "normal behaviour".
I don't blame anyone for this, I merely wished at that time there had been better education for professionals and schools and parents in how to deal with these problem kids. We dump them in different areas, we lock them away. But does anyone really understand why they do what they do?
In truth I do blame myself. I will never forgive myself for not getting her away sooner. I will never know if this would have made any difference whatsoever. As we all know in hindsight we would all do things differently sometimes, but as parents we can only do what we think is best at the time.
What is she doing now?...
She stayed with her father, the episodes continued and in fact got worse.
She is now 20, has been in violent relationships and is now still in one and pregnant.
What can we do as a parent?...
Simply be there to pick up the pieces.
All I would ask is, don't judge anyone in this situation and that they are not bad children and we are not bad parents. There needs to be continued support and help for anyone in this scenario. I know that in Es case that the following is true
"You will always find me singing this song"......
Thanks to a Twitter chat with @craig_caerdydd about this subject for the inspiration for this blog, and thank-you all for reading
x
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