I went in to work today feeling weary. Sorry for myself. Like, sweet Jesus, can the universe not cut me a break?
After about a week of mulling over the girl’s new label, I started to feel okay with it. Like, it is just another convenient descriptor of her, like brown-haired, or creative, or tall. And she was really seeming ok with things, even lightheartedly calling herself an Aspie at one point.
They went off to their dad’s on Friday afternoon, the way it always goes. Routine clockwork. I was settling into a quiet weekend with G, who was working doggedly on the home stretch of report cards. I cooked, puttered, went shopping with an old friend Saturday afternoon. Weekend stuff.
Then, on Sunday afternoon I got a call from xh. The girl had been apprehended by security at the grocery store. She’d lifted some makeup. Could I come and pick up her brother and take him home while he dealt with it?
My head spun. OMFG. SHOPLIFTING?!!??? I quietly freaked out and then raced to the store. Gave the boy the key to the house and told him to go let himself in. There was no way I could not be at the store, with her. Xh wasn’t exactly full of details over the phone. He didn’t know what was going to happen. They were waiting for the police to arrive.
I kept thinking…she is only 13. She has ADHD and Asperger’s. Could this be because of that? Could she have done this on purpose? Was there an impulsivity thing happening? We’ve never known her to steal…not from us, not from anyone else. I was in utter shock. I started to quietly panic. This could really affect her future. Did she even understand what she had done, what this could mean?
I was reeling.
They waited in the little security room at the store, behind an unmarked door. She was scrunched up, her knees tucked close to her chest. She was weeping. I sat next to her and hugged her. Asked her, in a whispering voice, what had happened. She said she’d been intending to ask her dad, who was shopping elsewhere in the store, if he would buy these things. And then she forgot.
She started to weep louder. She said that her dad was furious. She worried that he’d never treat her the same. He just sat in the corner, glaring at nothing in particular.
I tried to make sense of it all.
The one thing I could ascertain was that she was scared out of her skin. I asked her if she understood that what she’d done was wrong, and she said she did. She said she’d never, ever do anything like that again.
I closed my eyes and prayed for that, in silence. I’m still praying.
After about an hour, a police officer showed up. He asked her to explain what had happened. He asked her to explain the consequences of what she’d done. She did.
And fortunately, he let her off with a warning. She was thankful. Very thankful. We all were.
Xh thinks she is going to remember this, and learn from it. I sure fucking hope so. I can’t bear the alternative.
I am so tired. Weary. I said that before, didn’t I?
I look back over the last year and a bit and I can’t believe everything that has happened in my world. Xh nearly got himself killed. His assailant (or who the fuck knows) harassing us, under the safe cloak of an anonymous proxy server (I hate you, internet). My mother’s dementia. My old acquaintances, anxiety and depression, coming back for yet another visit. Asperger’s.
Yes, there have been good things too. My amazing, supportive man, G. A stable (even if the pay sucks) job with benefits. Great, awesome girlfriends.
I just want a little break, universe. A break so that I can heal and deal with these challenges that have fallen my way.
It is almost funny, that I’ve stopped thinking about my mood ever since all this stuff came down with my girl. Oh, my mood is still there. I feel just down. Sad. Weary. Tired. I have stopped checking the calendar to see how many weeks it has been since my meds were increased. Stopped looking for anecdotal evidence online that sure enough, this will do the trick. I go back to the psychiatrist in two weeks. I do my CBT homework. I try to stay on top of the usual things of life. I watch Dexter or Homeland or Breaking Bad in the evenings and I try to get out of my head a bit. It helps.
But when will life feel joyful again? When will I be happy to get out of bed in the morning, rather than grateful at 8 p.m. that the day is coming to an end?