Lately, my family has been trying to cope with a problem that had no name until yesterday. I’ve had repeated, exhausting conflicts with persuading my daughter to go to school. To her, every cold and discomfort has grown to proportions epic enough to warrant a day home. Yesterday I finally had to propose a choice to her: she could go to school or we could visit the ER to investigate the source of her immobility. Really, when these episodes happen, it is like she makes herself as steady as a massive boulder, unmoved by any plea until she overcomes that inertia.
So we visited the ER. In all honesty, I was worried that she was letting everything fall apart because she had lost interest in living. She writes a lot, but she keeps her thoughts cloaked in secrecy, even to the point of creating screen names in non-western languages. I spied one of these aliases and found a blog where she had written: “I’m going to kill myself.”
I looked at the date. She had written that declaration months ago. How could I have missed the tremors of that earthquake that struck in the bedroom across the hall from mine? It’s one of those moments when you must accept that if psychic perception exists, it is unreliable at best.
When the ER staff interviewed us, I confronted Eileen with my knowledge of this writing. They helped us get to the bottom of our problem: Eileen is being bullied in the cafeteria at her high school.
The hospital gave me a list of signs of bullying: attendance problems, slipping grades, insulting oneself, etc. The only signs she didn’t have were missing items and injuries.
The abuse is verbal in nature. When Eileen walks by these boys, they announce that she has no friends and is overweight. She won’t disclose any further details.
For years I’ve feared for what could happen to my child whenever I’m not around. Why? Because Eileen does not tell the story of her life to me. Sometimes she tells her stories under the cloak of anonymity online. My daughter has autism. Her variant of it strongly disinclines her to tell the good or bad of her days.
Her patterns of communication and perception did not have a name until she was in 8th grade. That was when we had a diagnosis of autism. She makes eye contact with few people. Her speech and phrasing, when she does choose to talk, is markedly different from her peers. She can’t remember a time she couldn’t read. She can read and sing in two languages, English and Japanese.
Long story short, she’s had a hard time finding common ground with her classmates. Only a precious few students have taken the time to break through her walls. I thank God for them.
I struggle with knowing what to do next. I have contacted the school to request a change in her lunch setting. I don’t know these boys’ names.
If I could talk to them, I would tell them to stop this madness. Changing Eileen is about as possible as stopping a mile-long train barrelling toward you with your bare hands. Maybe once upon a time each of you fellows dared to be different, and you were forced back into the herd by bullies in or out of school. Whatever your reason for picking on my daughter, you should know that the only result will be hurt.
While she does not share your values, she still has feelings. She doesn’t care what is in style, what team won, who’s dating whom, or who drank how much liquor on Saturday night. She still feels loneliness, and you do nothing but wound her when you remind her of that.
No matter what you say, it is just not possible that she is going to come to school transformed into a skinny girl who wears clothes that please you. She will never pay you compliments on all of your victories large and small. Leave her be. She has the right to an education free of harassment.
My daughter doesn’t want her peers to know that she has autism. Maybe it’s time to disclose that. Maybe there would be some kindness and understanding. Aside from their comments about her weight, which are ridiculous in their own way, they really are harassing her because of her disability. Their comments aren’t much better than making fun of someone for needing a wheelchair.
I admire Eileen for what she has endured growing up. Think back on your school days. There have been entire school years where no one has called my child on the phone, texted her, or invited her to a party. How long could you have survived this?
She is the strongest person I know.