Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

The beginning of this week has been so bad that it has almost descended into farce.  How many families visit A&E not once but twice in the space of two days, with two different children?  Julie's brother broke his arm on Monday, and perhaps this little trip to A&E reminded Julie that it had been almost a week since she had paid them a visit on her own account. So the next day I was back in there with Julie.  At least I knew where the car park was the second time.

Needless to say, a visit to A&E with a broken arm is a great deal more fun than a visit with a self-harmer.  It was almost an exercise in compare and contrast.  This difference was absolutely not the fault of the staff in A&E: they were fantastic both times, no one said anything adverse to my daughter or treated her any differently from the way they had treated my son the day before.  In both cases they were kind, attentive and very careful. I'm afraid the difference in mood was entirely supplied by us.  It was easy to tease my son about breaking his arm (partly because he had managed to do it by falling out of bed while texting), but it was much harder to get a smile out of my daughter.  I did try (nothing ventured, nothing gained) but the second visit was not a bundle of laughs.

Nevertheless, I am feeling reasonably optimistic, and this is as much a surprise to me as to anyone else.  My factory default setting is probably pessimistic, but in the long run this is, quite frankly, a rubbish survival mechnism.  If life is turning out rather grim, and there is no alternative but to soldier on with it, despairing fixes nothing while sapping your will to continue.  How I used to despise those who looked on the bright side of life - the Pollyanna's of this world - but these days I have grown out of my cynicism.  I can hardly ignore the disasters as they happen, but there is no point imagining anything worse than has already happened.  There is no time for the luxury of worry or regret - and even anger rarely comes out these days. Perhaps I will save up all my negative emotions to savour in my old age, like very ripe cheeses.  (I do feel sorry for the nursing home I end up in one day!)

So while I am sorry for what has happened, and am looking forward to quieter weeks ahead (eventually, please), I am glad to say that the self-harm is no worse than it has been. Julie has not (yet) done herself really serious injury, even though she is taking great risks.  I am still hanging on to my job (just), and her school is still valiantly trying with her education.  While you're still breathing, there is hope.