Anger and the defeated

Why am I up at 12:44 blogging? Well, in the most simple of terms, I had to booby trap Rose's door. Though I guess I am getting a head of myself. Let's take a step back.

On Tuesday, as I was about to head into one of the more career defining meetings of my life, I got a call. It looked like Rose's school so I picked it up.

Only it was a cop who informed me Rose had said I had beat her. Rose was in his custody being interviewed, and they were going to put her in protective custody overnight.

I know I can ramble so I'll just say here and now I did not beat Rose. I was cleared by the police and child protective services. Though really, I have to wonder if there are going to be adult protective services? There aren't now, which is why Rose's door is booby trapped. 

Needless to say, the accusation shook me to my core. Mike, too. I felt sad she was away, I felt angry, and I myself felt victimized. The short story is Rose was refusing to walk to her bus, I put my hands on her shoulders to move her there. She's bigger, and pretty strong, and she struggled and on that chilly day to free herself from my hands. In the struggle, the plastic piece on the end of the glove scratched her cheek.

Honestly, mike and/or I have to repeat this process every other week. But this time, Rose decided she had enough and she reported it at school. The school had to report it, which I understand and am not upset about. And viola, I'm reduced to tears outside a conference room imagining me in prison while also worrying about what going to a shelter will do to Rose. 

The police said Rose's initial description of the event matched mine, but in the course of an hour interview escalated into me throwing her down stairs and punching her. Then her story changed again for the case worker. Kids who come from trauma do have tendency to do this kind of thing. Thankfully, the police and workers seemed sympathetic to the awful spot we were in. No orange is the new black blog for me.

By the middle of Wednesday all abuse accusations were cleared, but rose refused to come home. No matter how much I'm trying to make light of what has happened. This probably bothered me the most. So we let her stay at a shelter in Hastings until today when by law we had to go get her. I'll admit, we were both apprehensive about it.

When we picked her up she was defiant and angry. Physically threatening me over the smallest of requests. Me: "Rose you need to take a shower." Rose: "Fuck you, you can't make me, I'll punch you in the face so hard." Yep. That's my night.

Since this anger and violence is new, we brought her right over to the mental health ward for evaluation. In there she acted as happy as can be. Even recanting the punching story for the doctor. The doctor was an arrogant jerk who proceeded to condescend to us, and who clearly doesn't deal with kids like our daughter much. So she was evaluated as normal and sent home where she continued to throw things and threated me until bed. She also seems incapable of showering or brushing teeth. 

We've taken a huge scary step backward.

So tonight I did try to calm her down by reading a little of The Help, and I bribed her into picking up the stuff she threw by offering her cake. Both tactics worked, however, I am concerned for her and for my safety so now her door is Gerryrigged with rubber bands that will cause a coupleof paint cans to bang into each other if she tries to open the door. it is not so crazy that if we had a fire she couldn't escape but the noise would wake me up if she gets up at night. See the picture below for by Goony-like genius. 

We did ask to have a social worker assigned, and I am hoping she can plot next steps. Living in fear kinda sucks and I'm truly convinced something is happening chemically no matter what that jerky doctor said.