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My saving grace came when, unknown to me, my CAMHS worker approached her boss for advice, all her techniques to force a ‘school refuser’ to attend having failed. He thought for a while and then turned to her and said ‘Perhaps we need to consider the possibility that it isn’t that she won’t go to school, but that in actual fact she can’t.’ The simple reason none of the tried and tested methods to deal with a ‘school refuser’ hadn’t worked were because of one simple but apparently easy to overlook fact: I was not a school refuser.

Once this was established there was a large meeting with a variety of professionals and my mother, who to her credit was incredibly polite and patient, given that until the professionals themselves had eventually come to decide that I was unable to attend school she was being continually cast as a soft and easily manipulated mother, when in fact she had tried both tough and caring tactics to get me into school and had realised first, as a mother, the truth of the matter; the difference between won’t and can’t.

Discussions began with the educational welfare officer as to what would be the best course of action from here. To all it was finally crystal clear that I could not continue at this particular high school, the question now remained, where else would I go? Another school across town which had a good reputation for supporting special needs was suggested, but eventually this was shot down as we realised it wasn’t necessarily my school that was the problem (although at times it certainly didn’t help itself), but instead all schools.

When we arrived home my mother and father discussed the matter at length, while I, heady with relief retired to my room, changing out of my uniform into jeans and a T-shirt with a sigh. My grandmother who resided in Devon called and she was filled in on the predicament. With her usual incredible generosity she offered to help pay for me to attend a smaller, less threatening private school if that was what was needed. Again, this option was discussed but ultimately discarded, as if I did fail to attend at a private school it would be a colossal waste of money.

Eventually an old idea vaguely touched upon during the previous year was raised. The nearest Pupil Referral Unit, which catered for students who for whatever reason were unable to attend school. We were initially concerned as to whether I would be placed with students who had been excluded from their schools, which was not the end of the spectrum of none-attendees that I belonged to, however upon finding out that the Unit was divided over two sites, one for those who were expelled and struggled with issues such as violent and anti-social behaviour, and another for those who suffered from school phobia, had had to leave due to pregnancy, and so on.

After much debate it was decided that this would be the best course of action, and after a place was secured I ceased my education at Lyde High School. On the last day I was shocked at the amount my fellow students appeared to care about my leaving. I hadn’t thought I had made that much of an impact, apart from to occasionally provide gossip. I was presented with a large card organised by Shirley with message after message from my friends and classmates, full of in-jokes (such as a fake address to lesbian porn site) that I had forgotten, good luck for the future and regret that I had to leave. Despite the difficulties I had experienced at Lyde I left with a warm heart towards my fellow students. Sometimes all that is needed to warm you through is for someone to care.