She sat across from me, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She'd been doing that almost continuously throughout the interview. Not long after selecting the chair in the office that was furthest from her parents, she'd pulled up her knees and hugged them as she talked.
I asked her questions. Lots of questions. What do you do for fun...what do you do to make yourself feel better...what do you do when you're mad, angry, or sad?
"Get high."
I asked her who she talked to when she felt like she needed to talk. She said that she used to call her best friend, or her aunt, but then her mother took her phone away, and when she complained, her mother said, "You can talk to me."
Her mother, for the record, disagreed with anything anyone in the room said. The girl said she was closest to her father, mom said, "No, you're not, you're closest to me". When the kid said, "Dad understands me more" and Mom said, "No, I do." Mom always made these assertions loudly, and stridently, frequently interrupted everyone in the room, talked over people, and answered questions were weren't asked of her.
At one point I turned to mom, and said in a gentle, friendly tone, Do you see what you just did there? Just now? I asked your daughter a question, and you answered it.
Mom looked surprised. "I thought you asked me."
Nope, I said, smiling. I said your daughter's name, and looked away from you, to her, and you answered.
Mom was recalcitrant. "Well, I thought you were talking to me," she mumbled. Then she pouted a little.
I asked mom what she thought would help this problem, and she launched into a lengthy description of how bereaved she was when her mother died, 7 years ago. I waited patiently, and then asked the same question again. Same answer. Finally, I said, I'm not really hearing how you think this problem can be solved. Mom finally said that she had learned to solve her problems, so she thought her family should solve theirs the same way.
Later, I told daughter, in private, that her screen was positive for depression. She dabbed at her eyes. "I didn't think I was depressed," she said. I also told her that results of another screening showed that she was in danger of developing a substance abuse disorder, based on her feelings and attitudes. I asked her, You've been crying the entire time you've been in here. Does it surprise you to hear that you were depressed?
"No, I just thought that, you know, I was reacting like we all do--trying to get over living with my insane mother."
I think, based on what I've learned, and the results of your screening, that you would benefit from residential treatment here...just to have a chance to get out of the house, to think, maybe to learn to make good decisions, but I want to know what you think.
"What difference does it make? It's not like I have a choice."
It makes a huge difference, and you do have a choice. In our state, at your age, you have the right to refuse, unless your life is in immediate danger. I recommend it, just for you to have a chance to get away, but we also have a day treatment option, which doesn't involve living here.
She stopped crying for a second, and started at me, astonished. "I get to choose? I never get to choose anything."
Well, you get to choose this.
Mom, for the record, was furious. In the waiting room, she said, "I thought that if I told you to lock her up, you'd do that. Why does she get to choose? I know what's best for my daughter." Daughter lifted her head up, and walked out of the room. She was going to come to day treatment. We'd shook on it. Or banged knuckles, whatever that's called.
Dad looked relieved, and walked out with his daughter, his hand on her shoulder . He didn't really think his daughter needed to be locked up either.
Mom, well, she's still pissed.
I hope she's able to get some help managing that.
,..
