I am struggling this week. And I am struggling to understand why I am struggling. But I have decided to stop thinking about that. I just haven’t got a cubic cm of struggle space left in my head.
This week I cannot cope. With the broken promises. With the endless list of things that have ordered but not arrived for Boo. With the things that have arrived broken or unusable. With the lies people tell you.
Come to think of the number of times I have had to confront every single one of these things this week alone, then maybe I can’t cope because it would be unreasonable to do.
Some weeks I get frustrated by everything but manage to shrug it off. This week I just can’t. I am more tired than I thought it was possible to feel. I feel in a stupour. I can’t remember the simplest things like whether I have eaten or been to the toilet in the past four hours. I know this isn’t normal. I feel semi-conscious. I am worried about myself. For my children if I get ill.
I feel like I’m breaking.
This week already, I have already had four meetings about Boo. Four. In three days. The first was with yet another of the nice, well-meaning people whom our local authority shuffles around (she has been in post for 8 weeks on maternity cover and is moving to another position again next week). Just as I was beginning to like her. She was appalled by some of things that have been said to me in the past week about Boo’s transfer to EHCP and possibilities for schooling. I kept my cool throughout the meeting, but was pointed and forceful. I worried I was being too forceful.
I felt the need to apologise (goodness knows why: I was polite, even toned, didn’t raise my voice). The words came out before I even realised what I was going to say: ‘You must dread meetings with me. I’m sorry. I have to stay angry in situations like this. If I didn’t, I would just break down and I made a decision a few months ago after a meeting in which it looked like I was going to lose Boo’s nursery place and my job and home that I wouldn’t allow myself to be that person in front of professionals any more’.
She looked so sad. She told me I was not alone. That she cared. That she could see we were being treated shabbily. I’m sure she does feel and think those things. But it won’t help us. She will be gone next week. Moved to another job within the service.
My words hit me hard and took me by surprise. I hadn’t realised how hard I had been trying to keep it together for the past few months. No wonder I am struggling so much at the moment.
I hadn’t realised either just how much I want to find an emotional middle ground I have long-since lost. The ground between frustration (not with Boo, not with cerebral palsy but with the systems and services that dictate his quality of life much more than CP does) and utter sadness. There has to be a place between anger and tears. I need to find it badly. I just don’t know where to look right now.