They said I should write a book

When my 11 year old was going mad, the day she tried to burn herself and kept turning the stove on as the facilitator held her back but she kept aiming for the switch and turning those terrifying flames on, I contacted the Dept of Social Development and told them I am a single mother with no support and need my girl to enter temporary safety care. I had thought about this for a month. I felt like such a terrible mother. But then I also had the experience of the adoptive mother who told me they ended up putting one of their two adopted sons in an institution due to his aggression-thriving while they visit and reassuring him that they will never abandon him but will also never him back home again. Where is such an institution in Cape Town? How expensive is it?

I couldn’t handle it anymore. Having to always intervene and unable to muzzle her when she bullied her little sister. Reducing her sister to tears…My living in fear all the time and facilitator also scared. She was unpredictable and dangerous. We couldn’t keep her here. Maybe if she was an only child, someone would have managed. But she’s not.

It has been almost a week of bliss now. No worrying about being followed and objects being stolen from my room. No creepy fear when she suddenly is right behind me silently following me into the bedroom that no longer felt like my sanctuary, No having to wait to chop food to cook till she’s not in the house. And even when I did manage to finish slicing and dicing while she played outside, she still looked for the dirty knife and found it and cut herself after it had been in the wash, waiting to be cleaned. I have less stress now. Less anxiety. She’d even searched my apron pocket to look for the keys she’s seen me using to lock her out, her creepy “Why are you locking your room?” making me feel scared. Why not? I always have locked it since the stealing began. The question should have been, “Why does it matter to you?”

The other two miss her but also say they are so happy without her. They play peacefully now and she’s not there to boss them around. Yesterday was sad. I am so used to them constantly coming to ask for stationery, cardboard, paper, punch, scissors on and on all day long, that I expected the same yesterday. No ability to relax my mind and body.

But nothing happened. No child came asking for anything. I even went to go ask if they were ok! We (friend, facilitator and I) have always known my girl bullied and bossed the little sister, but I didn’t realise how she dictated what they’d do as much as she does. I always assumed the poor girl she sent to come and ask for this and that wanted them too. I always thought she wanted to cut or colour or sew, until yesterday when she asked for none of the craft books, apps or material. She was happy playing with her Lego creations and pretending with her brother that their toys were Israelite soldiers going to war.

I knew my little one was being used as always coming to ask even though it was for the benefit of the bigger sister. And my heart broke the day I asked, “You can tell me the truth. I won’t tell your sister I know, but did you really want to come ask or did she send you?”

With a sob she said, “I don’t want her to know I told you…” That was answer enough.

Not even healthy Tashreeq can be everywhere at once. How much more I who should be nowhere at all except in bed? Not standing and writing school lesson plans, not bending to laminate posters and not teaching nor supervising an aggressive child who makes everyone miserable when she’s miserable. It was so bad that even if the other two didn’t want whatever I denied her, she would become so loudly disappointed that they’d also end up miserable too. She can change their mood. And that’s horrible.

The DSD social workers came to the house two days later. Our girl was now in the normal hospital after having tried and tried to bash my son with various weapons. They told me there’s no foster parent with training in caring for autistic children, and neither is there a children’s centre trained in autism, let alone likely to take on one with behavioural issues. And even if we tried to put her in the home for the FASD children, the addict children, there would be a long waiting list.

Instead, they told me to go to Court and tell them to get the father to pay to hire an au pair. That wouldn’t help! That was only for my other request for a guardian for psychiatric admission as I’m unable to be admitted with her and stay in hospital with her 24/7 like one psych hospital demands.

I have other children. And the week is showing me how desperately they need me home all the time. Their big brother is just there to sit on his phone. No meds are given, no sleep meds yet it’s way past the time they take them. The worst is no ensuring our chronic constipation baby girl finishes the drink I left her with which has a sachet of the fibre powder. It’s wondering if she got all her drinks faithfully, shed be suffering again.

When I get home from visiting, things are so chaotic, food not given, older ones not having been told to bath, that they sleep an our later than normal. And our minimally talking angel sleeps even at midnight when sleep meds not given in time.

I have to be at home for the majority of the children.

On Friday, the psychiatrist phoned and gave me an update on how long my girl will stay at the clinic, and asked if the clinic social worker had found a place for my girl to live in after she’s discharged.

Validation.

Someone else could see how ‘bad’ she is. But nope, no placement from the social worker and no acknowledgement of the communication I had sent her to prove how disinterested the father is-never responding to any request for him to take her to hospital emergency unit nor to my fears for the little ones- but she’s not acknowledged receipt.

Where will my girl go? What has she been saying to the psychiatrist that makes him very sure that my decision is the right one? How’s he also as sure as I am that the smaller ones don’t deserve a bully in their space?

Scary.

And in the meantime, I kill myself with hospital visits. No friend or relative to visit her so I can save money and stop aggravating my ‘already in a flare body.m’ We are alone. We have no village. 💔

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.

My son’s tablet proudly bears the moniker “Megan.” For too long, he’s been complimenting my hair. Today he made it clear where he was coming from when he asked if I can loc his hair and let it grow.

The pink prams. The girlie name. The hair. The constant praising my clothes. His request to wear his sister’s shoes.

The autistic population makes up a significant proportion of the gender fluid, transgender and non binary population.

He’s coming across as one of them.

I wonder where this will lead to.

When I found out the ex had cheated again and gone back to the slore, I laughed at ‘how married’ I still was, despite him not acting or living as a man that’s married. A Takealot guy flirted with me and I walked out thinking, “Really!? Why would I consider you? I’m MARRIED!”

Then I thought, “How silly are YOU, that your mind is on being a faithful wife while his is on turning faithful wives into unfaithful ones while himself being unfaithful? He doesn’t deserve the loyalty you still give! Dummy!”

I looked at myself here and thought, “It’s true! I do have a nice smile! The homeless lady who said that I brightened her day was right! Maybe I really did! But she was still extreme in yelling for others to turn and look at me!”🙈😆

I have noticed more lingering looks and smiles with delivery men when I smile at them, and it made me realise I’d stopped making eye contact with males as I greeted them and took my parcel. But now suddenly, my brain feels free. Smiling had started to feel like flirting yet I never received any from the ex. Seeing return smiles reminded that if I wanted to, I could get a man and get to know him and REALLY Aflirt! If I wanted to, and if there was a good unmarried man available, there’d be nothing wrong with us communicating because there’s no man I owe loyalty to. I could ‘interview’ men like my friend did.

I could -theoretically -communicate with a man who will say kind words and beam a smile at me instead of him smiling only at strangers and no smile for me-like the ex.

And just the knowledge that I am now free to choose singleness, or not, is liberating. Making eye contact deliberately and seeing the return smile makes me feel good. I can make strangers smile.

I am not broken. He didn’t smile at me because he was the broken one. It was never me.🥹

Before my marriage ended, I had tried frozen meals so that I had less time on my feet breaking my hip back. I’d just add vegetables on the side, protein depending on if the meal had one or not, and just warm the meal up so there’d be less competition between teaching and cooking.

The children, all the children who can tell, enjoyed the meals. Chickpea fritters, lentil stew…But my ex, knowing full well why I had ordered the meals, said he hated them. He said none of them were delicious.

Is this the same abuse as when he said the rheumatologist is crazy to tell me to retire from teaching due to my evil Ankylosing spondylitis?

All I can tell you is that I didn’t order anymore. Instead, cooked everything from scratch despite the extra pain and debilitation it caused. All because I was pleasing a cheating man. If only I’d known! Then his preferences wouldn’t have mattered.

But yep, no more frozen prepared meals.

Until the week he left the house.

I ordered the meals even before I’d gone to court for the actual divorce.

The problem is, when you’ve got the meal, you’re meant to eat it. I’ve shared how I eat late at night but this time, when I was tidying the kitchen the morning after I had heated this meal, as I was speeding around as much as possible so I could go and record the Bible story before the children got back for school time, I found the meal.

Oops. “I was meant to have eaten this yesterday!” But even when I woke up the next morning, I didn’t even notice I’d not eaten. Nor had I taken half my chronic medication in some days.

They aren’t playing when they say special needs children are hard work. I pray for a miracle. For no more tummy troubles for my non speaker. For no more behaviours that make me want to put my 11 year old in foster care till her mind stops being dangerous and bullying. For no more AS pain and exhaustion. For money to send them to private special schools.

I need help and mercy. I need miracles. I need to remember to eat. A knew the day would come that I’d forget completely. This week brought the day.

And tonight I burnt my food. It was meant to bake for 12 minutes but it burnt at six minutes. So much for THAT! And you know why the food burnt?

I was busy emailing all the doctors and telling them my girl had gone berserk and giving me only ten Ativans last week to calm her isn’t helping as we’ve already used four and when she’s already in a foul mood she refuses to take the tablet. She had short circuited the lights when she inserted a forgotten knife into the switch and burnt the knife and switch and made sparks fly.😱

As I sat in the dark, I felt defeated. It’s getting worse.

(I got my firstborn to remove the switch but the top is basically soldered into the wall and refused to budge. He didn’t know what to do. He just knew that whatever she’d done had killed all the lights. And the twins hated the dark.

I told him to turn the DV board off for lights and earth leakage and then boom, the lights were back on. But what will happen next and when? She had pulled a camera down, took the cable and tied it around her neck, angry that I hadn’t given her “string” to end her life. This is no life. Not for her and not for us.)

Wow.

I am so alone.

I am in so much physical pain. Tired. Fatigued.

I haven’t had even 5 minutes of peace and silence. No break. No rest. It’s 15:04 and I haven’t even taken my morning meds. I am tired and sad.

My dear non speaker kept me up till after 4am which is when she eventually slept. I feel haggard and broken. Truly broken.

If it wasn’t for Flydah’s already having worried about me and how I’ll survive the day, I’d truly feel forsaken and .. alone. I need a hug. The hug that sits with you in your sorrow. That hears and sympathises. That holds because no words can be found.

Even as I type, the tears flow down my face.

I can’t do this.

And you don’t even know the half of it.

Let’s just say it would be safest if my 11 year old was institutionalised. But she’s not. Instead I’m trying to contain her, when she’s even worse than normal, and hope when she erupts it won’t be with blood all over her hands after cutting herself with a knife stolen from my crafts, I hope it won’t be with stomping on the roof…I don’t have the energy to do this.

And I’m in a flare. Slowly but surely, my body has been giving in. Mirrors the dangerous chaos I’m enveloped in.

I long to be able to write the sunny posts I used to churn out in 2009. But things have changed dramatically. This is a dark and lonely blog.

I am so sorry. I am empty. I still don’t pray for myself, only for others.

This was a very boring post again! Sorry!