I don’t miss him

On Wednesday, I had to call an ambulance. My girl had been getting worse and worse. Jumping around on roofs isn’t exactly normal. The rage that has always given her strength to do things she can’t undo when back to herself has been frightening. The damage I’ve had to fix has been expensive and exhausting.

And it gets worse. She rages and tries to harm herself, or succeeds and then after the rage, is a terrible sorrow. A profound and heavy sadness that breaks our hearts-the facilitator and I. When my son would ask him why his sister acts this way, it broke my heart to hear him explain that that’s not her norm, she can’t help it.

The very fact that she’s not herself is what makes it more scary when she isn’t herself. She becomes unpredictable. And so we live with a ticking bomb that might detonate at any time, for any reason or none, and cause any kind of damage. Is it a pipe bomb? A nuclear bomb? Whatever kind it is, it causes harm. And this is besides the constant sniping at her poor siblings and constant irritation with them when they’ve done nothing to deserve her ire.

On Tuesday, she had attacked the TV, she had grated her fingers again till they bled-in front of my little ones.💔She’d almost set herself on fire. Going from the oven she’d put her hand in, that facilitator turned off surreptitiously, to the gas stove which kept going alight every time she would flick the switch. Poor facilitator had to wrestle with her. And meanwhile, I was on the phone with a doctor who ended up not being helpful, so I couldn’t help in any material way, I couldn’t call anyone to take her away.

Not that they’d have come.

We were told by the psychologist to call the police and ask them to come de escalate her when she’s in a self harming mood. But the following day, Wednesday, when she was not self harming but trying to attack her brother with weapons, the police refused to come.

The ambulance call centre wanted reassurance she’d not attack them. They aren’t allowed to come if the patient is an active threat to them. But by the time they got here, they almost left her. She was in the sad zone.

They didn’t see what we’d seen.

I’m trying to upload the video but it’s not working. It says I’ve used up too much space with previous videos on here…She’d made mean comments while I was hanging washing. When I came in, the atmosphere between the children had become tense and I wished so much that I’d not had to hang. You need someone with my girl all the time to try head off any negative comments.

We put that fire out.

Everyone was calm when she suddenly came holding the rod you use to move blinds from open to close. She tried to attack her little brother. I got them to hide in a wardrobe while I searched for the bedroom key I always have to take with me as she enters my room and steals and it’s where the knives are hidden. But they were noisy and she found them so they came out running and screaming and that’s when I called the police.

That weapon was taken from her, we ran in and I found the key, and then locked him and talking twin in the bedroom while I phoned for the ambulance. The previous day, when the doctor had called, she’d seemed menacing when I was on the phone. After her fire attempts she’d come and then asked, “Who are you talking to!??” I was scared she’d rip the phone from my hand and then we’d be dead.

She took a broom and after removing the brush part, used the handle as a weapon. But she couldn’t get in.

I wanted her gone. But there are no special needs (for just the autism and ADHD aspects) foster parents and no children’s homes for special needs children. Add the raging, and we have less than zero options.

So, off to normal hospital she went because for weeks we’d been unable to find a psychiatric unit for her age. They mostly take teens.

At hospital, as the doctors had realised and as the social worker realised (who I’d asked for), seeing the father is a big trigger for my girl. They asked if they can meet and ask him to not come for visits.

The paediatrician changed her antipsychotic. But it clearly doesn’t help MUCH…

I had called her in for lunch and she got mad yesterday. I discharged us on Friday night because the people in the ward next to us were driving her bananas and I didn’t want to leave her while her agitation was building. I’ve been sleeping at home and visiting during the day. I’d get home at night and the poor children haven’t been given their evening meds, the house is a mess and I have a terribly bad AS flare which stops me trying to tidy up.

So much for autistics needing routine. My poor children are stuck with a situation that is not ok. A situation that can become dangerous at any time.

I hope the psych unit she will hopefully going to will keep her for as long as possible. And that it will take her as soon as possible. We have nobody to create a diversion for her. Nobody to add extra ‘happy’ feelings for her. And that just makes me want to cry. If there was an adult to watch her, I’d have more time to rest and work from bed.

I can’t believe we are where I have asked for my child to be removed.

He had terrible, ‘worse than the norm’ nights for a month now so please excuse the typos. I’m praying I can sleep again before a twin wakes me. Bye!

ETA- this morning she got angry. Very angry. Went to get planks. Why? Because I started picking up all the dirty clothes from her floor. The underwear, the wet leggings…All the things I’m sure the agency people, and which I KNOW the attempting workers, don’t like.

This job needs someone like Vi. She even volunteered at a home for disabled adults. Shes dealt with catheters and hygiene needs. She isn’t phased by clothing that has been wet. And no, my girl refuses to wear pull ups and hates the alarm when it rings for her to go use the loo. (Can’t solve anything because she becomes enraged by everything.)

But doing all the bending to pick their toys up that are strewn all over the house, and tidy their bedrooms means a third of the reason for a domestic worker is gone. So I’m paying for more than I’m getting. All to keep SOME sort of help.

It’s depressing. Depressing knowing that my girl being gone would solve MANY problems.💔SHE makes the worst mess. She is the one who costs me the most in clothing because she gets sleeves stuck to her tops and unable to be used thanks to slime. She stains bedding and pyjamas and skirts with large splotches of ink. A bit of all my burdens would disappear if she went into foster care. The most recent helper would have stayed if she’d not seen her as she built up to a rage.

And that’s what is so frustrating. I don’t want an easy life. I want a safe one where the children are safe and I can try take care of my health and have more time for school work and prep instead of damage control and repairing what shouldn’t even be broken in the first place.

There was a lady at church who offered her daughters when my back starting getting bad. But I knew the ex had a wondering eye so I said no. Now that he’s gone, I wish she was still here. I’d accept any one coming to help me tidy up like my bestie does when she can come over.

And that brings me my one solace. I worried that I would miss the tiny bit of contribution he made when living in this house. My friend worried I’d regret it and start thinking I need him. Except… The feeling of aloneness is exactly the same as when the ex was here. He didn’t help anyway. Instead I resented that he did not. Even in the evenings after the children had gone to bed without him ensuring they take their bowls away yet he’d been sitting in the same lounge with them as he worked on his laptop or played on his phone, he’d walk over used cups the children had left and sit with his feet right next to dirty bowls and go to sleep after having walked over those. Not even seeing my bending to pick things right in front of him made him feel shame. Of course, he was incapable of empathy so I wouldn’t expect THAT.