Giving In

Just popping on here for yet another late night rant, nobody else to talk to as they've all gone and fallen asleep on me! I currently have the worst headache in the history of the world, seriously nobody has ever had a worse one - am waiting for the Nurofen to kick in and desperately doing my best not to think about the Galaxy chocolate which is calmly waiting in the cool stillness of my fridge.

Last time I mentioned Carole the Midget, our therapist/counsellor type person who has been bravely attempting to unravel the Mystery of Darcie. I think I said before that after lots of talking, watching her frantically scribble things down and waiting patiently, Simon and I felt for the first time that we were finally getting somewhere. Carole had contacted Darcie's school who admitted that she has slight oddities, despite being generally normal-ish, this was progress in itself as previously her schools have refused point blank to acknowledge that there's any problem, or back us up in any way, shape or form. Carole seemed to sympathise as much as any professional can, and didn't dismiss us as bad parents or pass us onto someone else. Finally, she said she wanted Darcie to have a full psychological assessment, starting with a Speech and Language assessment, just to check she understands things in the way they're meant. Simon & I duly signed forms for this to go ahead, and then Carole said she would pop over on 17th Jan 9.30am-ish, to have a chat with Darcie in her own environment. We agreed to this, as Carole has only really met her a couple of times and we realised she may want to get to know her a bit better in order to gain a bit of insight into the situation.

So, yesterday was The Day, and Darcie was, predictably, angry and worried about the meeting with Carole. I can see why she was a bit apprehensive, I think I would have been too, but as always Darcie's way of dealing with fear (and any other emotion) is to scream, screech, accuse and insult us, mainly me. I trudged off to school with Harvey in the absolutely torrential rain (actually secretly feeling rather smug at sporting brand new spotty wellies, thus avoiding the soaking-jeans-clinging-to-legs syndrome) deposited him in his classroom and raced back home to dry off a bit and dash around madly doing some last minute tidying before Carole turned up.

We settled Darcie and Carole in the front room with drinks (I planned on presenting her with a plate of freshly baked cakes, but as always I'm chronically disorganised and couldn't even spare the time to buy some dubious cakes from Lidl) and subtly slipped off to the kitchen. Simon and I sat at the table initially glancing at a Jamie Oliver recipe book, desperately trying to create the impression that we plan and cook exciting meals each and every night, just in case Carole wandered in. I even positioned myself strategically in front of the washing mountain, but she made no attempt to leave the front room. Finally Simon and I gave up with the cook book (I must be one of the only women in the world who doesn't find Jamie Oliver remotely attractive, and words like Pukka, Saucy and Cheeky littered through the book just wind me up, admittedly he's a good chef though and seems like a good bloke) and decided to scoff crisps and play noughts and crosses using rude symbols rather than the traditional ones. Darcie and Carole were clearly getting on well, and we heard constant chat plus occasional chuckles; when Simon bravely ventured back into the front room after an hour or so, Carole scowled at him and made it clear that he wasn't welcome, so he scuttled back into the kitchen to admire my immature scribblings.

Finally Darcie appeared, and summoned us back into the front room. Obediently Simon & I followed, and Carole informed us we could sit down on our own sofa, which was generous of her. Straight away she said she'd enjoyed talking to Darcie, which is fair enough - Darcie can be very engaging and good company when she wants to be. Then came the bombshell. Carole announced that they'd come up with a plan, and said something along the lines of "now, school are very concerned as Darcie is supposed to be reading for ten minutes every night, and she simply isn't doing it. She says she doesn't want to read to Claire, so we've decided that she doesn't have to. Claire, you must leave the room and let Darcie read to Simon every night." This doesn't sound like a big deal, but for months we've been locked in a battle about reading. Darcie doesn't want to read to me, for reasons unknown (she insists that I'm determined to murder her rather than simply listening to her reading) and frequently screams at me to go away as she can't see why I need to be involved at all. Of course, I understand that sometimes she might prefer to read to Simon, and sometimes that will work out better for us all, but I bet most children in her year read to their mums most of the time. I genuinely can't see why she can't just read her book to me, but she refuses to nine out of ten times, hence the battle. Recently I've been giving in and letting Darcie read to both Simon & I, sitting between us on the sofa, just so she makes some progress with reading, and I think thats a fair compromise. Along with many other things, Simon and I previously described the reading/homework problems to Carole, and she agreed that Darcie shouldn't get her own way, and she should do as I ask and read to me.

So, when I was told that I am no longer permitted to be in the same room as Darcie, and effectively I will have no part in her homework from now on, I was stunned. All I could think was that she is now getting exactly what she wants; me excluded, and not knowing what she's doing - how is it fair that I try and help her, try and compromise, yet at the end of the day she and Carole decide behind my back that I'm not allowed in the room while she's doing reading, etc.? Granted, Darcie will make good progress, but it just seems like we're giving her exactly what she wants. For no real reason, I'm sent away, and she realises its worked out exactly her way. Written down, it sounds even more petty, and at the end of the day it's just reading/homework and it doesn't matter who does it with her. But for me, it's the principle of the thing - for no real reason, I'm now cut out of the whole reading loop, and no longer have permission to even know what book my child is reading. I was shocked, and Carole said "what's wrong, you look upset?" clearly not getting that she'd told Darcie "so, you don't want to read to your mum? OK then, we'll force her out of the room, and do it exactly as you want Darcie." I could have cried, but I'm not one for sobbing in front of people I hardly know. I murmured something about it being great that Darcie would make progress, which it is, and fortunately didn't cause a scene. Carole then informed me that I'm allowed to spend 10 minutes drawing with Darcie each evening. OK, I get it - it's about gradually working on our relationship with her, and improving things, and having quality time is always a good idea. Darcie has time alone with Simon while I'm playing in the bedroom with Harvey, then while he's asleep I have quality time with her while Simon does something else. Good plan, but I don't like the way it was all arranged behind our backs, Carole offered Darcie the choice of baking or drawing with me each evening without consulting me first. Darcie wanted drawing, so drawing it is, despite me being dreadful at it. I actually do quite like mucking around with felt tips though, and as I said, I get what it's about - the drawing part doesn't matter, it's the quality time that counts. "It's OK Darcie," Carole soothed "it's okay, you don't have to draw with Mum for more than 10 minutes, try and get through it." clearly I'm some kind of serial killer who can't be trusted with my own child for more than ten little minutes, after that time my medication starts to wear off and I might just produce a knife and stab her to death.

Carole said how impressed she is with Darcie, how "Switched on" our child is and how she has no real problems. Yes, Darcie is bright in many ways, and she's smart and very astute. It's lovely to receive compliments about our daughter, but what annoyed us is how much Carole's attitude has changed now. She seems determined to give Darcie her own way as much as possible, like the whole reading thing, regardless of what we feel. She muttered about not doing the speech and language assessment now, her whole opinion seems to have altered after chatting to Darcie for an hour. It's hurtful that we felt we finally had someone on our side, and we can feel that slipping away.....Carole clearly thinks that we ignore Darcie and just bother with Harvey (she made several references to this) hence the spending quality time with her, which admittedly will only be a good thing. We now get the impression that she feels Darcie's behaviour is simply down to the fact that she doesn't get enough attention and if we spend a bit more time with her, and let her have everything her own way then she'll miraculously stop acting the way she does and we'll all live happily ever after. All the stuff about Aspergers traits, OCD, the comments made by school, all that's been forgotten now and the blame is being laid well and truly at our door.

Now, I don't want to come across as nasty about my child, or being desperate to get her diagnosed with something she doesn't have. However, Darcie isn't right, this is much more serious than just us not giving her quite enough attention and making more fuss about her brother. She constantly accuses me of things I haven't done or said, I'm certain she hears voices, she thinks people are mouthing things to her, she detests me and wants to drive me out of my own home, she has already made plans to kill me. A little while ago, Darcie said, quite calmly, "I'll murder you one day you know. I'll get up in the middle of the night, go for a wee, grab a knife and stab you while you're asleep. I've got it all planned." It was chilling. Okay, she's a 9 year old, she hesitates before she crosses a road by herself, she isn't going to attack me. Yet. But one day, my 9 year old will be a 15 year old, and the plan she's been formulating for years might just turn into reality. Fuelled by jealousy, hatred, anger, with a large helping of teenage hormones, will Darcie just grab that knife one night and go for it? Will the child I put on this planet stab me? I suppose I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed that doesn't happen, or even if it does than finally we'll be taken seriously. Someone might just say "You know, Darcie's just murdered her mother. Perhaps there is something wrong with her after all."

I wanted to scream at Carole yesterday, tell her again about all the crazy stuff Darcie does and says, and ask her why just giving into her and letting her control us is best. I feel like we were floating in the middle of the sea, and finally grabbed hold of a raft, only to have it snatched away from us again. Someone's chuckling and saying "ha ha, you didn't really think you were actually doing to get some help did you? No way!" It's so horribly unfair. Now we're back to the world of sticker charts and rewarding Darcie if she doesn't accuse me of suffocating her for a whole day. That's it, I reckon Carole is going to come over a few more times, persuade us to let Darcie call all the shots, we have to do everything she says, which is basically isolating me. I know there's only so much The Midget can do, she hasn't got a magic wand to make it all better, and in her own way she's trying, but the way her opinion has suddenly altered bugs me.

Almost every day, I blame myself. I hate living in a bubble of guilt, self hatred, wondering if all this is my fault. I didn't plan on getting pregnant with Darcie, not at that stage in my life, no way. I so nearly had an abortion, did she sense something even then? Can a foetus feel unwanted? Every time someone says something nice about me, I think no, I'm not nice, because if I was my daughter would like me. I can't be kind, I can't be a good person, because I have someone who hates me, so I must be a bad person. I've said horrible, terrible things to my child which I can't ever take back. Sometimes I honestly feel, deep down, that I was just given the wrong child, I wasn't supposed to be Darcie's mum. It's like how some people are born into the wrong body, they're born a man when they know they should have been a woman, some kind of mix-up.

And then there's my Harvey. He's a menace at times, he's always been high maintenance and I know all his faults. But, I've never doubted that I was meant to be his mum. Harvey is what keeps me going, he's living proof that I can be a good mother. Of course I get angry with him, but we bounce back from that; he doesn't resent me, or want to exclude me from my own home and family. This morning before school, Harvey kissed me again and again and said "I'm leaving you lots of kisses so you can taste me all day, because I know how much you're going to miss me." He doesn't doubt that I love him, Darcie accuses me constantly of hating her. Harvey wants to be with me, he needs me less now he's older, but I'm fairly sure he'll always want me in his life. One of the things I love most about my son is how he always makes me feel good about myself, he shows me how motherhood should be.

Must go and sort the bloody uniforms out, at least everything is clean tonight, hope so anyway!

My family and other animals

My first entry in 2011! I can't believe how long its been since I last wrote here, I've had lots to say but as always not enough time to plonk my (not small) bottom on the rather wonky computer chair and write it all down. I should be asleep right now but my brain is full of stuff which needs to be emptied, slightly like a bursting dustbin - you need to tip out all the rubbish before you can close the lid! Oh yes and there's the small issue of me not actually being able to go to bed until my daughters school skirt, crop top and polo shirt have finished drying in the tumble drier, once again I'm in the middle of a Uniform Crisis. Harvey has no socks clean (in my defence it's the first time ever this has happened) and it's too late now to wash any, he'll just have to wear a pair of his casual ones and I'll spend all day working myself up into a frenzy and imagining all kinds of crazy scenarios where someone spies the stripey socks and teases my son mercilessly every day for the rest of his school life.

I remember reading the Gerald Durrell book "My Family and other animals" during my first year of senior school, of course never imagining that approximately twenty years later I'd use it for the title of a blog entry. This was the innocent time before the internet even existed in my life; the idea even of owning a mobile phone was so incredible it almost ranked with flying to the moon. I never dreamed that one day, in another life, I'd sit in bed using a laptop computer, and that my children would play with a stack of my discarded mobile phones before rejecting them because they don't have cameras built in or play tunes. It was the era of "Eldorado" the highly criticised show which I secretly still watch clips of on YouTube occasionally and quite enjoy. Jason Donovan was still just about clinging onto his hunk status, and everyone was scrawling NKOTB (New Kids on the block) on their school bags. Of course nobody knows what the future holds, what lurks just around the corner, that's the exciting and terrifying thing about life, the main thing probably. I had no idea what lay in store for me, how the world around me and my life would change over the next two decades.

I often look at my kids, usually when they're asleep as there are less arguments that way, and think how incredible it is that their whole lives are ahead of them. Neither of them have done some of the simplest things, the things most people take for granted, like catching a bus by themselves, food shopping by themselves, ordering food in a restaurant by themselves. They have so much to experience, to enjoy, so many new things to learn and discover. But then comes the big thing, which is that in Darcie's case, her life's spoiled. Logically it can't be, but sometimes I see a flash of the adult she'll become and it terrifies me. So much of her childhood has been spoiled already, and I believe that in many ways your childhood is the most significant part of your life, the framework, the springboard and then everything else just follows. Darcie is clearly so deeply unhappy; she spends so much of her life in tears, screaming, battling with jealousy, resentment and anger, terrified by emotions which she can't understand or control much of the time. She thinks she's stupid, fat and ugly; and I know I make her feel worthless sometimes when I reach the end of my tether and say horrible things which I can't believe are coming out of my mouth. I don't want my daughter to feel worthless, and sometimes I imagine Darcie starting her adult life deeply depressed, and things spiralling out of control. She could turn to alcohol, drugs, get involved with the wrong people, end up in an abusive relationship because she feels that's all she's worthy of. Most parents have these concerns, but I'm so scared that she'll go from being an unhappy child into an unhappy adult, and her unstable behaviour will lead to disaster.

I'm sitting here tonight feeling very AAARRRGGGHHH and maybe like the best thing would be for me to go and drink a bottle of bleach or something - don't worry I'm not really going to do that, mainly because I don't think suicide/damaging myself is a good plan and also because we haven't got any bleach. Thinking about it, I'm certain I bought a bottle very recently and am now feeling slightly concerned about what's happened to it. Most likely I tipped the lot down the toilet in a late night half asleep random cleaning frenzy, but there's always that slight chance that one of the kids has poured it over some hidden area of carpet, or that I gave them a drink of Domestos rather than squash one tea time and they were too polite to say anything.

So I'm not going to kill myself, but this situation with Darcie has got to improve. My wish for 2011 was that we'd get her sorted out, and the main reason I want things to get better is so that she can be a happier little girl who grows into a happy adult. Sometimes I'll look at Darcie and think how beautiful she is, how grown up she is, and just sometimes she'll be okay with me and just for a little while we get a taster of how things could be, how they should be. Usually when she comes out of school she glares at me, immediately on the defensive and snarls "WHAT?" when I smile at her, like some hormonal teenager. A few days ago I saw Darcie coming across the playground just before she noticed me; she was smiling and chatting with her friend Amber, laughing about something and I tried to freeze those few seconds in my mind as proof that sometimes she can be normal. She just looked so happy, so relaxed and just like she should be.

The good thing is that after years of struggling to get someone to listen to us, our friendly counsellor psychologist type person, Carole Law, has come into our lives. She's based in Falcon house which is a fairly new and really funky little building on the grounds of St James Hospital, not far from the university campus where I lived for a year in another life when I was eighteen, young and (fairly) innocent. Falcon House is for children and young adults with mental health issues, and Darcie has had a few Art Therapy sessions there. We weren't sure about the art therapy from the beginning, although Cliff, the guy who worked with Darcie seemed nice in a quirky, eccentric kind of way. Simon and I have spent far too long debating whether Cliff is gay, the jury's still out and I guess it doesn't matter either way although I have a hunch.....maybe we should both attempt to seduce him, see which one of us he veers towards and then rest in peace? Cliff's sexual orientation has no relevance to the art therapy, but perhaps he's sensed how strange we really are and that we're a family to be avoided, as he's declared he doesn't think it's the way to go. After discussing several possibilities, Carole (the midget, I can't understand how someone so tiny can survive; I know I'm a horrible person for thinking these things about other people and deserve to perish in hell) is veering towards Aspergers, possibly OCD with reference to the "what on earth is up with Darcie?" dilemma. She does have Aspergers traits, but Carole has warned us that we're very unlikely to ever get a formal diagnosis, probably the nearest we'll get to one is being told she has traits of Aspergers or something else, or is on the spectrum. We've spent hours with her talking about our families, histories, everything under the sun basically, and for a while Attachment Disorder was on the table. This seems to be when a child forms the wrong kind of relationship with a main carer, and some of the symptoms fit Darcie very well. However, it normally occurs when the mother rejects the child completely and sends it to live with someone else, which obviously hasn't happened in our case (god knows I've been sorely tempted to send her to live with someone else though, and threaten her with it regularly) I felt like I was being accused of not caring for Darcie properly when she was a baby, or something similar, although Carole never said anything like that - I'm sure I had Post natal depression when she was tiny which is one of the main triggers of this Attachment disorder. However as I said, Carole now thinks that it's more likely that Darcie is on the Aspergers spectrum, after hearing us ranting on about her behaviour and all the issues we have.

It's apparently a conundrum and nobody knows what the hell to do basically. I don't know whether to be impressed or worried that proper professionals are stumped; Carole has contacted Darcie's school who confirm that she doesn't have outbursts there although they are apparently noticing oddities about her. Darcie has never believed that she's truly a child, and her teacher apparently told Carole that sometimes Darcie can't understand why the rules apply to her as well as the other children, and seems detached from the rest of the class. The word "sad" was used way too much, apparently thats the way she comes across at school and her teacher from last year said the same thing to us once. I hate it when people describe my daughter as sad, I hurts me deep inside because it confirms I am basically a terrible mother. I know what it's like to feel sad and I don't want Darcie feeling like that.

I feel that with Carole, someone is finally listening to us, although I'm certain she thinks Simon and I are stark raving mad. Darcie has to go through a full psychological assessment, starting with a language and speech assessment. As I understand it, they'll be looking at the way she uses and understands language - one of the key things is that she takes things literally, e.g. if I say we'll go out in a minute, she literally thinks that one minute later we'll go out. Most 9 year olds wouldn't think that way, so it could be a sign of something. I don't know what the language/speech assessment will through up; Darcie's speech has always been good and she has no obvious major problems so it's all a bit confusing really. I don't think that all these assessments will do much good, but it's worth doing......it's a relief knowing that we're getting somewhere but a bugger realising that we're never going to get an official diagnosis.

I promised myself that 2011 would be the year I cope with Darcie better. Carole is giving us some tips and helping us with some strategies to make things better, but it's all so hard. Tonight I ended up having a row with my dad on the phone; he's a miserable sod at times and Darcie was nattering away to my mum for too long according to him. In truth she'd been talking for over an hour which is a long time, and was supposed to shout me so my mum could speak to me - in true Darcie style she did her own thing, carried on chatting and it all ended in disaster. Darcie ended up screaming like a toddler, my dad was horrible to me and I didn't speak to my mum at all; I was upset and angry and lost my temper with Darcie as I'm so fed up of her at the moment. It's just such a struggle and nobody really understands, nobody can do anything and everyone gets sick of us moaning. On nights like this I find myself standing next to her bed, watching her while she sleeps and hoping she some little part of her doesn't hate me and realises that I love her.

Anyway, it's off to bed I go, tomorrow's another day........