A young girl came into our clinic with her social worker. We were not told very much about her, we only knew her first name and she was found wondering around a beach alone. She was quiet and conversation didn't move much past 'how are we doing today?'. After a little bit of prising from her social worker and myself, she opened up about how she had been couped up in a basement, without decent food, water or a bed of any description. She said her mother just threw a tin of meat down the stairs and, every so often, left some water or some expired milk at the top. The basement she was 'living' in was constantly flooded, the floor was soaked and she was freezing cold every night and the 'toilet' was a small stand-up cupboard. To 'stay warm' she'd wrap herself in soggy printer paper and curl up in the corner. She said that she never saw/spoke to her mother and if she waited for her at the top of the stairs, she'd get hurt and fall down. The last thing she remembered at that house was shivering in her corner, falling asleep and then waking up in an actual bed, in a children's hospital, surrounded by police, nurses and her new social workers. She remembered nothing about her life before, how/where she was found, wondering around a beach or how she'd even escaped. She was malnourished, dehydrated, had sores all over, had a fractured wrist, was anaemic along with various other deficiencies. This was handed over to a much more experienced therapist than me, though last I heard was that she was moving in with some foster parents for a little while.

While telling me this story, she sounded so defeated and let down. How in the world someone could neglect their child in such a way is beyond my understanding and while I'm decent at separating my personal/work life, I couldn't bring myself to return for three days. I cried just typing this out, hence why it's taken me an hour and why I can't write any more of this out. I need a drink.