To school, or not to school

The girl is thinking about returning to public school, so we made an appointment to meet with the principal of our local high school. We made a plan for easing her back in. We talked about part-time classes, and moving to full-time. We did the paperwork, and made sure her vaccines were current. We were ready.

And then time came to go. We walked into the school together so she could take the placement test for the classes she was going to take. The halls were full of students.
Then she froze. She got almost to the school office. Then she panicked. She went white as a ghost, eyes wide, hyperventilating. I asked her if she needed a minute and she nodded. Then she started to shake. I was talking to her the whole time, but she didn't register what I was saying. She couldn't move. Tears poured down her face, but she didn't seem aware of them.

In the past, I've forced her through situations like this. They never went well. This time I directed her to a seat. I spoke to the woman in the office, and let her know what was going on. We spent about 45 minutes in the lobby, trying to get her panic under control.

In the end we decided to try again another time. Walking out of the school, she did her best to keep from sobbing, but it wasn't easy. She felt like a failure. She was so disappointed in herself.
I told her I was proud of her. She looked at me like I was crazy, but I explained that even though she wasn't entirely successful, she got further than last time. She snorted at me, and I bought her a hot chocolate.
Another bit of progress - we were actually able to talk about it. Not just eye-rolling and shoulder-shrugging. An honest to goodness conversation. She told me that when she gets into a panic like that she can't really process what people are saying to her. She feels like her brain just shuts down. She finds it mortifying.

So she's still a homeschooler. We'll try again, I'm sure. Maybe next time she can do it.
But if she can't, she can't. We'll deal with it when it comes.

Summer

Self harming is an addiction. If you've never experienced it, it might be hard to imagine. But if you have, then you know. 

Cutters, sex addicts, alcoholics - even if you learn to control it, it never totally goes away. 

About two weeks into her summer, she started telling me she wanted to come home. She didn't want me to talk to her dad about it though. She was worried about hurting his feelings. I was concerned, but I try to respect her wishes. 

Sometimes I regret that. 

She came home at the end of the summer with literally dozens of new scars, in two rows down her right arm. Easily fifty new marks. And that's not even counting the ones on her legs. 

When I asked her how old they were, she said two and three weeks. 

I knew she was struggling. I heard it in her voice when she called me. And she called me a lot. Sometimes three or four times a day, even when she was doing stuff. 

The thing is, I did end up telling him that she was struggling. I asked him to make sure she took her meds (which he did). 

But, according to her, he never noticed or mentioned the new cuts. Which means, in her mind anyway, that he still isn't seeing her. 

Several of the times she called me, she told me she just wants to be normal. She thinks her dad would be more present for her if she was. It makes me wonder what he says to her. I worry that he rides her about being normal - or at least about acting normal. 

She's a good, smart, caring person. She happens to have crippling social anxiety. It's part of who she is. We're trying to help her deal with it as best she can, but it's not something she can help. She doesn't choose this. It just is. Making her feel even worse about it is counterproductive. 

My heart breaks when she tells me how much she hates herself, that she wishes she were someone else. That she wishes she were normal. 

My dear, sweet girl - nobody is normal. I hope she understands this, and soon.