…and the saga continues

It’s hard to believe it has been over a month since my last post about my daughter.  At times it feels like an eternity.  As an update to dealing with health insurance and the healthcare industry; after my daughter was released from in-patient treatment she had an appointment scheduled for her first group therapy session.  I was not thrilled to find out it was the same healthcare facility where she had a very bad experience with a child psychiatrist.  I raised my concerns with her social worker and was assured it was the best option available.  Okay.

The sessions were to be a few times a week and last for about 5 hours.  The first scheduled day happened to fall on a Friday.  She was to be there by 10AM and would leave around 3PM.  This just so happened to be the Friday that my husband and I were heading to the apartment my daughter had while attending photography school.  On the day my daughter came home back in March she brought some things along, but was not mentally ready to clean the place out.  I made arrangements for my mom, her grandmother, to drop her off at the therapy session and I would pick her up.  My daughter agreed to this.  As my husband and I are in the midst of cleaning the apartment, which is about 2 hours away, my phone starts blowing up with messages from my daughter.  She’s not going to therapy, she can’t, she can’t get out of bed, she can’t make herself get dressed, she doesn’t want to do it, she’s not going to do it.  FUCKING AWESOME!  I began with messaging her back telling her she had to, needed to, etc.  Got to the point I called her, she is hysterical crying that she can’t do it.  My dilemma – I’m 2 hours away, no one is home with her, she just got released from in-patient therapy a few days ago, she has a history of self-harming, suicidal thoughts….hmmmm, what do I do???????  With my husband glaring at me, I calmly tell her that she will have to call the therapy place, cancel her appointment and reschedule the appointment as soon as possible and I would talk to her when we get home.

Now, the apartment.  I was a mess thinking about what we were going to find when we unlocked her apartment door.  From the way the rental agency acted the place was trashed, would need to be repainted, etc.  Apparently, they just wanted her out and I can’t blame them for that.  When we opened the door things really were not that bad.  Yes, it wasn’t white glove test clean – but it certainly wasn’t trashed.  I started in the bathroom, my husband started in the kitchenette area and we kinda met in the middle.  Things were going really well, moving quickly and what not.  And then I started cleaning the bathroom sink.  (As a reminder, weed had become a very close friend of my daughter’s while away at school.)  I’m cleaning the vanity and sink and the water is not going down the drain.  I’m playing with the drain plug, doing all I can to get this moving.  No luck.  I call out to my husband that he needs to go to Walmart and get a plunger, a snake thingy or Drain-O.  His response “like hell I’m spending anymore money on this place.”  I had to agree with him.  Since he is a very handy guy, he went to work on the sink drain.  I continue my cleaning of the bedroom/TV area.  At some point my hubby starts screaming for a towel.  I’m thinking great – he broke something, we will have to pay a plumber thousands of dollars….nope, he took the trap out which seemed to the be problem.  Here is a helpful hint to all who use those little cigar wrap thingies when assembling a blunt – DO NOT put the leftover tobacco stuff down the drain because it will clog.  Just a little FYI from me to you.  I may not have gotten the terminology correct – but you know what I mean.  Anyway, we continue on our way and are done in about an hour and half.  I had a sense of satisfaction when I opened the cabinet below the kitchen sink and saw the large brown Ball jar that the chlamydia boy gave my daughter for Christmas – cause I threw the bitch in the trash.  Take that chlamydia boy!  HA HA HA

The drive home from the apartment was long.  I had no idea what to expect when I walked in the house.  I was in communication with my girl throughout the drive, but until you actually see that they are safe- the mind can go to so many wonderful places! She was in her bed, she seemed distant and was defensive.  That is my indication that she smoked weed before we got home.  That just makes talking to her so much more difficult.  The eye rolls, the attitude – AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.  I made her call the therapy place to reschedule, which she did.  She asked if I would take her and drop her off and I agreed to do that.

Now, during this time she was talking the life coach person.  My daughter described her as “life changing”.  Great, awesome, fanfuckingtastic!  She said she felt as if she was learning how to control her anxiety with new ideas and meditation.  Again, I am all in.

The day for the therapy appointment arrives.  I take off work.  It is a very quite 20 minute drive to the place.  I sensed a definite attitude, but more of a she was scared and nervous and couldn’t believe I was making her do this kind of attitude.  We walk in, follow at the signs through a maze of hallways to the out-patient therapy registration.  We walk up to the little reception area and a very pleasant lady asks what we are there for.  I tell her.  She looks at my daughter and asks for her name.  My daughter didn’t hear her through the bulletproof surround the lady was behind.  I answer, which annoys the lovely lady even more.  She clacks away on her computer and tells me she doesn’t have any appointments for my daughter.  I tell her it was made and confirmed.  She gets my daughter’s date of birth and clacks away some more.  Asks a few more questions, who set it up, why was it set up, etc.  I am giving her all the information.  Meanwhile, my daughter is shrinking farther and farther away, tears in the eyes, ready to bolt out the nearest door.  The lady insists there are no appointments scheduled for her, but we can sit in the waiting room for the first come first serve therapy and they might get to her today.  WOW – no, that’s not going to happen.  We leave and drive home.  My girl goes immediately to her room and I sit on the sofa to try and figure out why the fuck this shit keeps happening.  Why are these doors continually slammed in her face?????????

About an hour after we are home my cell phone rings.  I don’t know the number, so I don’t answer.  I get a notification that I have a voicemail.  I listen.  Well, how surprised am I to find it is Emily from the therapy place asking why my daughter missed her appointment.  A very snooty Emily at that.  I am fairly certain my blood pressure rose so quickly I passed out for a few seconds.  I tried calling back and received Emily’s voicemail.  I let a message asking Emily to call me back and the numbers where I would be available.  Emily called me back the following day while I was at work.   Emily starts the conversation asking why my daughter didn’t show up.  I explain to her we did show up and were told there was not an appointment scheduled for my daughter.  She asked where we were, I gave her the address where we were and how we followed the signs to the out-patient therapy registration and were then greeted by a very rude person.  She wanted to know the name of the person, I don’t fucking know Emily. She asked me to describe the room, describe the pictures on the wall, describe the color of the paint on the wall.  WHAT?  I don’t know, I was trying to keep my daughter from breaking down and fleeing!  I actually did say that to her.  To which, Emily said that the program didn’t sound right for my daughter if she was that anxious.  Excuse me?  A social worker set this up for my daughter while she was in-patient.  Unless, Emily, you have a degree to diagnose people, please shut up.  Emily also tried to tell me we were probably at the wrong place but had no response when I asked her if there were multiple locations to register why wouldn’t the lovely person behind the bulletproof walls tell us that?  Couldn’t she use the company phone and maybe call another department to see if we were scheduled somewhere else?  Emily told me she would look into the matter and get back to me by the end of the day.  That didn’t happen, she got back to me two days later.  She left a voicemail on my cell phone ( I don’t get reception on my cell at work, which I told Emily during our last conversation).  She told me she had an appointment for my daughter with a therapist who agreed to “fit her in to his very busy schedule”.  That is actually what she said.  Not the group therapy she was supposed to attend, that she actually liked and got some “stuff” out of, but some random therapist that “fit her in”.  I never called her back.  I know that was wrong and immature, but my gut feeling was my girl was not going to get the help she needed and it would push her away even more.

I stared the process of trying to find a female therapist type person that is credible for my daughter to meet with.  It was proven difficult and I am on wait lists for appointments.  Again, wow.

March turned into April.  My girl stopped talking to her life coach, without my knowledge.  I got a text one day that she didn’t “show up” for their video session or whatever you call it.  I asked her why.  Her answer – I don’t want to.  My answer – you need to, you aren’t in any therapy and you need an outlet.  Her answer – but she (the life coach) told me she doesn’t think I have depression or anxiety.  She thinks I just don’t have the right coping skills and she doesn’t think I need to be on meds.  I can handle it, mom.  So, we had the ongoing argument about her talking to someone.  She is willing to go back to therapy, that is when and if I can get her in somewhere.  Why is this so difficult?  

I was cautiously optimistic that just maybe the stress from school was gone, there was a distance between chlamydia boy, she seemed to be vested in the world around her.  Maybe she was learning to cope better.

NOPE!  I was wrong.  So very wrong.  I thought we beyond the lies and the bullshit she puts me through. 

There is one girl who she still occasionally chats with from high school.  The girl is local, a nice kid.  I know they smoked weed together in high school.  My daughter asked a to hang out with her friend and stay at her house.  I voiced my concern about the weed.  I was told the friend doesn’t do that anymore.  Okay.   She stayed overnight on a Monday into Tuesday.  Just so happened that I contracted some bizarre viral infection that caused a coating of ulcers down my throat and I left work early that Tuesday for a doctor appointment.  I’m at home waiting for my appointment time and I had messaged my girl asking when she was coming home.  This was maybe 11AM.  She said that the two were getting a late breakfast.  Okay.  Sounds legit.  That is until my cell phone rings about an hour later and it’s my daughter.  I answer and she is crying.  She was in an accident.  After finding out that she wasn’t hurt, she told me she lied to me and was actually with chlamydia boy and the crash happened in the area he lives, which is about 45 minutes away.  The crash was not her fault, a lady in a big Mercedes blew through a yield sign and basically t-boned my daughter’s car on the driver’s side.  

Now, this is where I think I shut down.  Maybe because my body was already battling a strange viral infection, maybe because of the last month that was pure hell, maybe because the last eight years have been hell.  I told her she needed to deal with it. I would call dad and let her know where to have the car towed to.  While sitting at home my biggest fear was the cops would get to the scene, smell the aroma of weed from her car, search her car, take her for a blood test to see if she was driving while impaired.  I could feel the bile rising in my throat as each second ticked by.  I have the unfortunate knowledge of how that process works – cause I work in a police department (just as the office manager, not an officer).  My girl continued to keep me updated on what was happening and told me she was driving the car home.  RANT:  the cop that investigated the crash let my 18 year old drive 45 minutes home in a car that’s side air bags deployed, the driver’s door could not open (she had to enter and exit the car from the passenger side) and the roll bars popped.  The car was a convertible and when impact occurred, it was that hard the car was lifted off the ground, which caused the roll bar to pop.  That is not safe, no matter if it was my kid or a 50 year old man!   End rant.  I looked at the positive side that she was at least not arrested and was on her way home.  We had her drop the car off at a dealership and my husband picked her up and brought her home. 

It was a quite day.  I think she was expecting a lot of yelling and screaming.  I asked how many times she lie to us and went to chlamydia boy.  She said one other time.  I will assume that means at least three other times if not more.  Here is the bonus.  Chlamydia boy was with her when the crash happened.  She told me she was driving him to pay off some fines and stuff he had.  I knew he had a record.  I did a check on him – but only what anyone else can find.  It was all public information.  The charges were for harassment and possession of a controlled substance.  Cause, ya know, he is really turning his life around……  As she was calling me and telling the details of what was happening at the crash scene I asked how chlamydia boy was getting home, did she now have to drive him home, etc.  No, the officer was going to take him home.  Okay, that happens all the time.  This is where things get interesting.  For some reason chlamydia boy tells the cop he has a joint in his pocket.  I can only assume the officer offered him the ride but still ran the kid and found he hadn’t paid his fines and costs and he was in violation of his probation by having the joint.  Chlamydia boy was taken to jail, well at least an in-take area of jail.  My girl found this out after she was home and someone messaged her to let her know.  I just couldn’t be sympathetic because I could’t understand why she wants a person like this in her life.  Of course, chlamydia boy was released after paying his fines and costs.  The jails are just to crowded to keep a little shit like that.

April is soon turning to May and she has done little to help herself.  I was promised she would contact the life coach and start talking to her again.  That didn’t happen.  I was told she is applying for jobs.  That hasn’t happened.  I was told she is going to clean her room and do her wash.  That hasn’t happened.  Sigh.  Do I kick the 18 year old out of my house and let her fail even more miserably?  I just don’t have the right answer.  I have pressure from almost every member of my family that knows what has been happening with my girl.  I know very well that I am fucking up in every way possible.  But I also know I don’t want her to be dead.  My mind can’t help but remember all the stories from work.  A few weeks ago a mom called because her daughter left the house and was texting her mom saying goodbye, and how she couldn’t keep going.  It was awful.  The cellphone of the girl was pinged for three hours, until the car the girl was driving was finally seen and the girl was in it.  Last week a local woman hung herself in her house while her husband and kids were there.  The woman was known to have “issues”.  I guess I need a new job.  

Will she get a job, get into therapy, start taking her meds again, get chlamydia boy out of her life, finish her photography program’s final project so she can get her certificate?  I just don’t know.  I do know I am tired.  I do know there are days I feel crazy.  There are days that I want to stay in bed all day, days were I want out, days where I don’t want to keep taking care of everyone.  But that’s what being a mom is about, right?

 

Author: howdoilifeweb

Late 40's, wife, mom, daughter, sister, friend.

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