It was a Monday holiday for something or other, so Calliope was home with Cooper and Clio and me. She was doing her usual grumbling about everything being all wrong when Cooper got in her way. She picked him up by his wrists and threw him down on the tile floor.
I screamed at her that she cannot hurt the little ones and told her to go to her room. She was going there anyway, so she kept on to her room. I held Cooper and checked on him, cuddled with him, then called the County Mental Health Crisis number recommended by the Dr. we see every Friday. We were told that if Calliope was hurting herself or others or threatening to do harm, they could come in to take Calliope to their facility for evaluation. I explained what went on and got lip from the guy on the phone. She's 11-you're bigger-just handle it.
As is her norm, she kept opening the door, shouting things at us, coming down the hall to yell at us, and I went down the hall to yell at her. Yes, my intention was to yell. She had just done something that could have really hurt one of my babies, and I was mad.
So, I yelled and told her she cannot hurt the babies. She is not allowed to come out of her room again. I was aggressive with her for sure, and, in better circumstances, I wouldn't have been. It wasn't right. But after calling everyone that is supposed to help and getting nothing, I had to handle it the best way I could.
Calling the police and mental health people and getting passed off and told by each to call the other, I was frustrated and had no one to help me. The police finally came out, and the idiot officer didn't even look at Cooper, just went down the hall to talk with Calliope. She told her story (yes, it's all stories with her), and did her manipulation, and the officer left.
Shortly, we got a call from the Child Welfare Services, and we had a visit with them, too. They seemed to listen to me about my daughter's disability and illness, and were amazed that I'd called everyone everywhere and gotten nothing to help her. At least some understanding and sympathy was coming from these people, even if they had no help to offer. But they saw that the officer's recommendation to take all three kids out of the home and jail me as a child abuser was way off base, ridiculous really. In any other house, Calliope might not have even survived to age 11.
So, it's all the same, only I've had to waste time on Services Affirming Family Empowerment (SAFE) meetings about our family. Every month, for at least an hour, I have to make arrangements for babysitting for the little ones and sit in a meeting about how fucked up my kid is. There are no services, no affirmation, no family, no empowerment; it is not helpful. It does get expensive because one of Calliope's Dr.s goes, too. But, she keeps the school from lying and running me around which is their norm.
This week is another SAFE meeting, and I'm going to ask what the point is. Because I really don't see that it's helping at all.