Catch-22

Case manager, care coordinator, recovery coach–whatever you call them, my kid has been through probably three a year since she was twelve. Turns out when you starve mental health funding (and schools, THANKS ARIZONA STATE LEGISLATURE) people don’t stick around in hard jobs made harder by pathetic pay.

Anyway. A couple of case managers ago, I had the distinct impression that the woman was of the opinion that the only thing wrong with my kid was how her mom (that’d be me) wouldn’t get out of the way.

It was super annoying, because she decided that not only with no evidence, but with a ton of evidence to the contrary.

Anyway. I couldn’t do anything to change her mind, because when I backed out of the picture, she would call the child and the child wouldn’t answer. She’d leave a message, and the child would delete it unheard. Lather, rinse, repeat. Meanwhile she’s going to school maybe once a week, hanging out with some really troubled and getting-into-trouble kids, driving me up the wall–you know, the things teens with mental health issues do when they’re not getting the help they need. Then I’d step in and make an appointment and take the kid to the appointment and she’d tell her case manager everything was “fine” and I’d get that look from the case manager and around we’d go again…but after promising she was in for the long haul, that case manager bailed and we got another one. I never did get to meet that one…or the one after him, though we have an appointment next week. If he lasts that long.

You ever notice how, when there’s a shooting, some people are yelling that it’s not a gun problem, it’s a mental health problem? Ever notice how those same people never EVER do a thing about the lack of mental health care?

I’m just venting tonight. I’m so angry. As long as I fully support and care for and monitor my nearly-20yo, she’ll be (mostly) okay. (I mean, she is a 9th-grade dropout who sleeps all day, will only eat junk food, and smokes cigarettes she finds on the ground, but…okay.) But if I step back, so that the people whose job it is to help her can see she actually needs help? She’ll destroy her life, my life, probably my house, maybe my job…the only way would be to step all the way back. To put her out of my house (and then move) and I’m not going to do that. She’d land on the street. She’d probably end up dead. If she didn’t, by the time anyone got around to helping her she’d be in so much worse shape than she ever has to be, a lot more mixed up in bad things, a lot less trusting…

Why is this the way we do things? Why do people–children–have to be shattered before they can get help? If they get help? (I’ve been noticing that recently, after a few years of very few homeless people on street corners, many corners on my commute are sprouting people in desperate need of a hand.)

Anyway. Arghle barghle, this is shitty, blah blah blah. My kid is safe (mostly, presumably, knock on wood) because I can keep her that way. She’s not getting better, she’s not getting anywhere, but she’s safe, and maybe somehow at some point things will get better and she’ll be able to do more than just exist.

For now, I’ll be grateful for what we have. There are so many on the streets who don’t seem to have even one person who can take care of them. I’m glad I can be here for my kid.