Recently, I experienced something that no one ever wants to add to their list of "yup..that happened to me". A teen confessed to be contemplating suicide...in writing and in words. I'd been worried about this teen for some time and others had expressed concerns as well. I know this young woman well as she'd come to the library that I was the Director of at least 2-3x/wk when school was in session and 5 days/wk when off for the summer, holidays and break. She's worked by my side as a volunteer and could basically run the place as she was that involved. I counted on her to pitch in when needed and knew that she's always lend a hand when asked.
     Her home life, well...let's just say it sucks. Six kids, welfare parents and a mentality that handouts are the way to go. This young lady, let's call her "Andrea", had something that her three other older siblings didn't have ~ smarts. When she applied herself she got good grades and the word "college" came out of her mouth on more than one occasion. She loved to write and would share her journal w/myself and my co-worker as well as a work-study student that we had for not nearly long enough. I'm not really sure when the change in her whole being started, but it was after basketball season stopped, so it must have been about the first of the year. Her personal hygiene became deplorable, her choice of clothing went from "so-so" to rag pile/laundry pile "been on the floor for days" and her attitude was suddenly uncooperative, borderline difficult and even surly. Her grades (when she shared them) went into the toilet. She no longer shared her journal and the child w/the smile and laugh increasingly became more and more depressed and quick to anger.
     The early part of March, I contacted her mother about another matter (lack of hygiene of the oldest brother) and expressed my concerns for Andrea. Her mom's response was that since Andrea started going to church, she was trying to decide if she wanted to become a Christian and her friends from school (she really doesn't have any/many) were telling her that she wasn't "Christian material". That was her (the mother's) reasoning for the attitude change. I listened to her lame reasoning knowing that there was more to the story.
     On several different occasions I tried to get Andrea to talk to me and tell me what was going on. All that I could elicit were shrugs and a blank stare. One evening, the weather was nasty w/freezing rain. Andrea was there w/a lightweight windbreaker heading out the door as I was returning from running another child home.
I asked if she wanted a ride and she said "sure". After we had gotten into the car, I turned to her and asked her what was wrong. I told her that I was here for her and that whatever she told me, I'd keep confident and that I would do anything to help her IF she wanted me to. I told her that I'd keep and make her safe. Suddenly, tears started tracking slowly down her face. I held out my arms and pulled her close and just hugged her. As I pulled back, I started asking questions: "is someone hurting you?" ~Shrug~ "Is someone hurting you at school?" ~Shrug~ "Is someone hurting you at church?" ~Shrug~ "Is someone hurting you at home?" The tears got heavier and her shoulders drooped even further. I told her that I could make her safe, but she'd have to tell me what was happening and by whom. My cell then rang and it was her mother asking where Andrea was. I told her that I was leaving the library and heading to the house which was a block away. As I drove, I reiterated that I COULD do something but she'd (Andrea) would have to help me help her. I pulled into the driveway and Andrea just sat there. It was probably 3-4 minutes before she opened the passenger side door. Her entire demeanor was one of "I don't want to leave the safety of the car and, please, don't make me go into that house." Helplessly I watched as she trudged through the freezing rain to the back porch and disappeared from my sight.
     Pulling out of that driveway was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I wanted nothing more than to burst through that back door, gather up ALL six children and take them to safety. But I knew that could not happen...at least not now. My phone rang just as I was parking back at the library and it was the mother questioning as to why Andrea had been crying. I told her that as we were talking, she became upset and offered no other explanation.
     MY feeling of helplessness was so heavy; I can't imagine what Andrea's load felt like. But I knew that I needed to find out more and that I was in way over my head on this one. I'd need the advice of someone else; someone who was in the field of working w/kids that were in situations such as Andrea's. Fortunately, a friend of mine fit that bill and she knew Andrea as well, so it would be just a matter of expressing my concerns and asking for guidance as to what to do.
     Who'd know that the next couple of weeks would be fraught with more challenges and drama than any librarian should have to deal with. But that is exactly what was coming up and was I unprepared.