I’m tired of forms that promise help and deliver silence.
Of making the same calls to the same numbers, leaving voicemails with my voice cracking from exhaustion, begging someone — anyone — to just do something.
I’m tired of repeating my child’s trauma like it’s a punchline to a joke nobody finds funny. Tired of referrals that go nowhere. Of being told, “That program’s full.” “They don’t qualify.” “Try again next month.”
How many next months do I have left to gamble with my child’s future?
I’ve become a full-time caseworker, therapist, advocate, warrior, and complete sacrificial lamb. And I’m doing it with a cracked phone, a drained bank account, and an overflowing calendar held together with desperation and duct tape.
Every email I send is laced with hope and ends in disappointment. Every intake meeting feels like a confession booth where I spill my soul for someone to nod and type… and ultimately vanish.
They say help exists. WHERE!!!????
They say we’re not alone. But where are they when I’m screaming into the silence while my son unravels and no one shows up?
I’m tired of paperwork ping-pong. Of being bounced between systems designed to stall instead of save. Of gatekeepers with clipboards and checklists deciding if my children deserve a lifeline.
This isn’t just red tape — it’s blood-soaked rope I’m climbing with my bare hands.
I don’t want pity. I want action. I want resources that don’t vanish when the ink dries. I want systems that see us. That move. That matter. THAT SAVE
Because while they push papers, I’m trying to save lives. And I refuse to let them drown us in their broken bureaucracy.
If my words spoke to your heart, you can help support our journey:
Letters From the Edge 