No one is coming to our rescue.
Our social worker is a chocolate teapot who’s broken record repertoire of ‘no funding’and ‘nothing they can do’ is wearing embarrassingly thin.
CAMHS are merely a suicide hotline for young people, funding only the very extreme cases that can no longer continue being ignored and are pushed to make a permanent solution to what could be a temporary problem with the right support.
Help. Such an empty word. Full of pity. Such a shame.
Being a parent of a child with special needs means to continually rip your heart open and remain functional. To continue to breathe with minimal oxygen. To struggle beyond the realms of coping. To walk through firey battles and live in a perpetual state of weariness.
No one is coming to rescue us.
You scream from a burning building, frightened for your sanity and for those little people you’ve made along with your unicorn child. Unique in their needs. So very different from the Rose-tinted parenting life you’d imagined.
Put your own oxygen mask first, they say. But what of the children? How can you bear to watch their panicked eyes when they silently scream for air? No. You take yours off and give it to them because THEY ARE the very air you breathe. You learn to live with the snatches of air while they sleep. And you never dare to sleep because the dreams you have are the best you’ll ever have compared to living.
You struggle for long days, weeks, months. Years go by. You finally dig deep into your pride-filled pockets and pull them inside out.
Help us. Please.
You close your burning eyes and listen for sirens. You wait. Days. Weeks. Months go by. How long do you wait for someone, something to save you? Save your child from suffering? Save your family unit from combustion? How long would you wait?
Wait for tests.
Wait for a diagnosis.
Wait for funding.
Wait for eligibility.
Wait for maturity.
Wait in line.
Wait, cradling your children.
Wait to have that shower.
Wait in for telephone appointments.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
Until that day you realise. No one is coming. No one. Nothing is out there. Nothing in the void will save you.
So. You fall. You don’t wait for a safety net. You fall. You breathe peacefully. You fall. Endlessly. Because on that day you broke, you finally understood that the quest for help would come from inside of you. It was there all along.
A diamond is made from from high temperatures, pressures and depths.
We are diamonds. We are precious. Our children need us like the air they breathe. We will adapt.