A few days later, she started writing on her bedroom walls, “punish” repeated all over it. I scolded her and tried explaining the wrongness of her actions to her, like any mother would do. She simply apologized, or rather gave me what I wanted to hear, and shrugged it off. I realized the medicine probably wasn’t working and met with Dr. Delio soon after for her followup. I knew he couldn’t be of much help as I knew that mental illness is extremely arbitrary, so I thought the best thing to do at this point was to pretend that everything was fine to him. I knew I’d have to deal with her completely by myself from now on. I stopped giving her the medicine.
Months passed. She started to bring bunches of bird feathers home, which I’m sure were plucked, and gluing them to her wall. She burned down half of the neighbour’s fence, for which I had to pay for in full to restore, and excused to the neighbours as a barbecuing accident. I found her small collection of pornography, straight and lesbian, which I immediately disposed of. She brought home a dead cat, which she claims to have “found.”
She was still just 7, and my heart was in absolute agony. I didn’t want to get the cops, anymore therapists or anyone else involved as I was still convinced that I could handle it myself. So I kept her antics a secret and covered them up the best I could. But her deviance continued and got to a point where I would find out about something ungodly she had done every other day. Since her expulsion from her first school, I had no choice but but stay with her and started working with whatever little energy I had from home, which, I guess, was one of the advantages of being an accountant. But I was running out of solutions that I so desperately needed, that we so desperately needed. I felt absolutely exhausted, and the days started feeling like they were passing by more and more slowly, like torture.