A Tough Test

Warning: this post discusses suicidal behaviour and may contain triggers for self-harm.

We have had a hard week.  Although Julie enjoyed her work experience very much, it was stressful, and she had less contact with the hospital.  In the middle of the week she suddenly took an overdose of paracetamol; the next day she self-harmed and needed stitches; the next day she took another overdose.

I will be completely honest, and admit that you do think some pretty hard thoughts about your loved one when they behave like this.  Why are they behaving like this?  What do they think they are doing?  Woken up at three in the morning, trying to work out which end of a sock to put my foot into, uncomfortably aware that the main road to the hospital was flooded, Joe and I both thought quite a few unkind thoughts.

Thought them, but didn't say them.  You learn by experience. Instinct tells you to lash out - it's the same instinct that makes you smack the toddler who runs into the road.  You are afraid for what might have happened, fear makes you angry, you want them to understand that they must not do it again.  But you learn by experience: Julie knows what is risky, even if her teenage brain doesn't calculate risk the way an adult brain does.  Attacking her doesn't make the calculation come out right, but brings in new, unhelpful terms. If you are angry, then next time she might not tell you straight away.  Next time she might wait too long, not get the activated charcoal in time, finally damage herself.

The first overdose was relatively easy to cope with, as a family - its the second which is harder.  It's not just that it shows such a steely determination to succeed.  The first time it was easy to get hold of paracetamol, but the second time we were all on alert: we had locked them away and it needed real subterfuge, and real deceit, to access them. This duplicity hurts, undermines our trust in her.  It is hard to cope with that loss of trust, the recognition that you have to play the gaoler to your own daughter, if you want to keep her alive.  It is hard to cope, but in the end you always do: nothing they can do actually changes the fact that you love them, whatever you say to yourself in the middle of an episode.

She has to stay in hospital tonight to have treatment to ensure there is no damage to her liver. The treatment isn't pleasant: she has been sick, and is now bored.  You can probably imagine what I thought when she complained of boredom!  Tomorrow we are taking her back to her usual hospital for a stay which we hope will be quite short, where she can be safe while Joe and I recover our equanimity.

Where does this all fit into the story of slow but steady recovery?  Does this setback mean that we are back to square one?  Only time will tell.  I continue to hope, of course, that it will just prove to be a blip on the graph.  One day this will stop, one way or another.