#Anyways...not only did this take like four hours I was also playing fortnight the whole time while drawing...and

[a-very-tired-raven]

This took me four hours and cost me a finger blister. Enjoy.

[moveslikebuckywrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ellen Degeneres Additional Tags: Crack, Memes, I have no excuses, shenanigans with the "fuck shit up jacket", because of course it is, never thought I'd tag Ellen in a fic Summary:

What happens when a demon decides to use old memes from 2010 and his "fuck shit up jacket" to cause a ruckus in Soho?

This, apparently.

~~~

I have no excuses this is a crackfic that came about from a conversation in the Ineffable Outliers Discord with myself, @apple-duty​, and @cassandrasummer​ xD

~~~

An undetermined Friday, post Armageddon.  Mayfair, London

Anyone walking down the street in Mayfair that night would hear shouting.  Or at least they would, but the walls of the flat knew better than to let any sound out without permission.  If one were to look through the window, one would see an iPhone slam against a concrete wall1.

Crowley had been trying to get a hold of Aziraphale for well past two days, with no answer.  He’d driven by the shop, but the angel had been out both times.  He, of course, did not want to appear like he cared so scoping out the shop more than necessary was completely out of the question2.

He sat in his ostentatious throne seething; how dare Aziraphale avoid him like this.  Two could play it this game, and he could play very demonically if he wanted to.

Crowley stood and went to the closet in his bedroom and pulled out two very specific items.  A black jacket with reflective orange tape and a large, oddly shaped black case.

Yes, two could play at this game.  And if the angel wanted to ignore him, he’d make that task impossible.

---

6:00 AM Saturday morning; the sidewalk outside of A.Z. Fell and Co.  Soho, London

“C’mon, Linda, just pop on back to mine for a bit, yer mum ain’t gonna know!”

“Danny ya absolute toss, I’ll do no such thing!”

The young couple swayed through the near empty streets of Soho, drunk on wine and each other’s company.

“But Linda-“

“Don’t ‘But Linda’ me Danny Williams,” Linda says, pointing a shaky finger in his face with no real bite behind her words, “We ain’t been dating but a fortnight and you ain’t gettin’ me in the bed that easily!”

“But Linda, when I’m with you I can…I can…” Danny grasped for something, anything to say, “I can hear music!”

“Cheek!” she said but looped her arm back in his anyway and leaned against him as they started back down the street.

“Really can, ya know?” Danny said with more than a little bounce in his step, “Really snazzy saxophone music!”

“Danny,” Linda pointed towards a tall ginger man in a utilities uniform, “I think it’s that man in front of old Mr. Fell’s.”

Sure enough, as they got closer, the man was playing on a saxophone.  At six am outside of a bookshop.  This would seem to have no discernable reason, but the great thing about the human brain in the way She made it is that when there is no reason, that’s reason enough.

“Well I dunno why he’s doing it, but for a telephone worker he sure is great at those few bars of whatever that is.”

“Sounds familiar though, don’t it?” Linda said quizzically, “Wonder where I’ve heard it before?”

“Either way, it’s Soho on a weekend, he’s probably just a sloshed as we are.”

“Probably so, now walk me home you old buffoon.”

Danny and Linda strolled off arm in arm and the obvious utility worker kept playing on.

---

8:00 AM Saturday morning; the sidewalk outside of A.Z. Fell and Co.  Soho, London

Bill Waters was a patient man.  An upstanding member of the community.  A lawyer.  He dressed in smart suits and was never seen without his pork pie hat.  He had an image.

They had scoffed when he’d opened his practice in Soho.  They’d laughed.  But now?  Oh, now, he was one of the most respected litigators in London.

He prided himself on his work ethic, his attention to detail, and his meticulous methods.  He prided himself on his patience with his clients, with his family, and with anyone who he met.  The community loved him, his neighbors loved him, his family adored him.

Which is why several people milling around the early morning streets were shocked to see him jumping up and down and yelling at a street performer.

“Sir, I demand in the name of common decency that you stop this at once!” Bill shouted, face turning a rather embarrassing shade one could liken to a tomato plant, “It’s been two bloody hours!3”

If the man from the utilities paid any mind to him, he didn’t let it show.  Just kept playing the same four bars over and over again.

“I will call your superiors!  What are you even supposed to be doing?!”

The man just continued with his smooth beats and rhythmic dancing.  Was it dancing?  Could barely call it that in the first place.  Like something out of a bad 1970’s instructional video.

Bill continued to yell; the man continued to ignore it.

This just wouldn’t do, Bill resolved to phone the utilities company at once.  He threw his hat down in frustration and stormed back across the street to his offices.

---

10:00 AM Saturday morning; the sidewalk outside of A.Z. Fell and Co.  Soho, London

“D’you think he lost some kind of bet?”

“Dunno…sounds familiar though, doesn’t it?”

“Ain’t this that shit from Eurovision like ten years ago?  The saxophone guy?”

Nathan, Alice, and Jude were gathered around the strange man with the saxophone.  They’d already tossed some money in his hat and were waiting for him to get around to taking requests.  They were also by far not the only ones in the crowd.

“It is!” Alice said pulling up YouTube on her phone, “It’s the Epic Sax Guy music!”

“Christ that meme is older than dirt,” Jude said grimacing, “Why you reckon he’s doing this?”

“Maybe Mr. Fell pissed him off,” Nathan said, laughing, “He’s pissed off enough people around here with those weird hours.”

“Dad said he’s been at it since six this morning,” Alice (last name of Waters) said, “That’s four hours ago!  That’s insane!”

“We oughta put it up somewhere, do a live stream or something.  See how long he goes!”

“You know, Nathan, maybe we should,” Jude said, pulling out his cell phone, “Hell, I don’t have anywhere to be.”

The saxophone man played on.

---

11:00 AM Saturday morning; the news offices of the BBC

“Christ, William, it must be a slow day if this is what you’re giving me.” Margaret, producer for the BBC Weekend News said angrily into the phone receiver, “You really expect me to send reporters out to video a street performer in Soho?  As if they aren’t a dime a dozen?”

She listened to the murmuring on the other end of the line, “Five hours?  The whole time?  And he’s dressed like what?  A utilities worker?  What do you mean Twitter?”

Margaret pulled out her phone and opened the app, clicking through to the trending page.  Sure enough, there at number one: #UtilitySaxMan.

“Well, it is a slow day.  Fine, send someone, just try to find me something real to put on the air by tonight, yes?  I can’t just be putting Twitter fluff on the air!”

Margret slammed the phone back on the receiver and shook her head.  What was the news world coming to these days?  She blamed the millennials.

---

11:30 AM London time (3:30 AM California time).  The Montecito home of Ellen DeGeneres

“I’m just saying we need this guy on the show.  You know how much the audience loves an internet celebrity.  Yes, that’s why I called you, because you’re in London.”

To the dismay of her wife who just wanted to sleep, Ellen was on the phone at 3:30 in the morning with one of the show’s associates in England.  Once she got the idea to have someone on her show, there really wasn’t much anyone could do to stop her.

“So, no one knows who this guy is?  He just showed up with a saxophone and started playing? Well that won’t stop us.  Just go down there and talk to him when he stops playing.  I just need him on my show, he’s trending like crazy, the memes are ridiculous!”

“I should probably go, but don’t let me down!  This guy is insane, he should be a star!”

She hung up as Portia throws a pillow at her.

---

1:00 PM Saturday morning; the sidewalk outside of A.Z. Fell and Co.  Soho, London

“Play Single Ladies!” A voice from the gathered crowd shouted.

“Shut up, he’s not taking requests!” Jude shouted back at them.

“What are you, his agent?”

“I might be after this is over, you don’t know that!” Jude hissed from behind his phone, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

The livestream was an immediate hit.  He’s been inundated with new followers and reaction memes4. Even the BBC was here, along with several people in strange getups.  He’d gotten three direct tweets from Ellen DeGeneres already, though he couldn’t answer.  Not while the livestream was going.

This dude was insane.  He never stopped; he was like a damn machine.  Just kept playing and dancing (badly) and playing.  He ignored everyone around him, ignored that his hat was now full past capacity of spare change and 1£ notes.

It was like he was on a mission, though what that mission could be was anyone’s guess.

“Young man, have you any idea who this fellow is?” one of the men, this one wearing a monocle, asked him.

“Nah, can’t say that I do,” said Jude, “I mean, he hangs out at Mr. Fell’s shop a lot, seems to know him.  Dunno why he’s doing this though.”

“Did you hear that?” the man in the suit said to another, this one with a two-tone wig, “He knows the bookshop owner!  That’s our in!”

---

3:00 PM Saturday morning; the sidewalk outside of A.Z. Fell and Co.  Soho, London

“It is clearly a performance showing the prevalence of man over the subjugation of the corporate world!  He celebrates his union job by playing this jubilant music!” said the man in the two-tone wig.

“I beg to differ; it is quite certainly a cry at the unjust conditions faced by workers!” said the man with a monocle.

These two had exactly three things in common:  They were art critics, they were insufferable, and they had been arguing about this for the better part of two hours.

“How can you be so daft?  The rawness and realness and power of this performance can only be described as euphoric!”

“Ah but you fail to take into account the monotony and the repetitive action!  This man is in a prison of his own creation!  A brilliant metaphor for the world under capitalism!”

The two men continued arguing and were approached by a man in a tan coat that was about one hundred and fifty years out of date.

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” the man said, “But could you possibly tell me what all of the commotion is outside of my bookshop?”

“Oh, my goodness, you must be Mr. Fell!  And you haven’t heard?!” shouted the first critic, acting as though he might faint, “The art world is completely a buzz!”

“It would seem, my friend, that the next great performance artist of our times has taken up residence outside your bookshop!  Please, please introduce us to him!”

Mr. Fell looked confused as he tore away from the art critics and through the crowd.  Past the young man with the camera, past the BBC News van, and past some Americans speaking very loudly into their cell phones.

“Crowley, what on Earth are you doing?”

The saxophone music stops abruptly.  All eyes turn and focus on Mr. Fell.

“Oh, hello Angel…” the saxophone man stammers, “Just..uh…”

Before anyone can say anything, Mr. Fell storms forward and grabs the saxophone man by the arm, ushering him into the bookshop, behind a sign that clearly says “CLOSED”.

The crowd disperses, first the news van, then the passerby, then the art critics and the Americans.  Jude stands there for a moment wondering what just happened.

He soon forgets why he was there in the first place, and if Twitter held any clues for him, they’re long gone now.  Later, he'd look in his book-bag and find it full of loose change and 1£ notes.

Just an ordinary Saturday in Soho.

---

3:15 PM Saturday afternoon; inside A.Z. Fell and Co.  Soho, London

“Would you care to explain, dear,” Aziraphale says as he unpacks his leather satchel, “just why you’re playing saxophone on my front stoop?  And the news vans?  And the art critics.  You know how much I hate art critics!”

“You wouldn’t answer your phone,” Crowley says sulking on his favorite couch, “Got mad.”

“And did you conveniently forget dinner last week when I told you I’d be in Munich for a book auction for a few days?” Aziraphale shoots him a pointed look, “or were you just not listening in the first place?”

“Ngk.”

“I see,” the angel says, turning back to his books in a huff, “and how long were you out there?”

Crowley mumbled.

"Didn't quite catch that."

"I said ten hours," Crowley snapped, "Doing very demonic things, ruining everyone's weekend.  Can take the demon out of hell but not hell out of the demon and all that." He crossed his arms over his chest and sulked lower into the couch than should be possible.

Aziraphale smiled to himself as he put away his new books, “Yes of course, my dear.  Is that why you brought out the 'mess stuff up' jacket?Brightening everyone’s day with a bit of music, giving the BBC something to talk about?  Such a demonic level of happiness out in the street today.”

“I-well-well,you-I-“ Crowley stammered, jumping up to stalk behind the angel to prove his point, “I made an old bloke with a pork pie hat have a fit, right in the middle of the street!”

Aziraphale sighed, Crowley was never quite as smooth as he pretended to be, and the angel saw right through him.

“My dear you are quite ridiculous, next time just come with me then you won’t feel the need for this nonsense.”

Crowley shoved his hands back in his pockets, trying to look aloof and failing, “I mean…I guess.  Could use a vacation.  Plenty of demonic wiles to get up to outside the country.  Gotta keep you out of trouble...of course.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, clasping his hands together, “There we go then, problem solved!”

If the angel knew it was an excuse on the demon’s part to spend more time with him, he didn’t say.  Nor did he mind in the slightest.

-----

1 – The iPhone, of course, knew better than to break.  Just who’s apartment do you think we’re dealing with here, hmm?

2 – Least of all because he was scared of a certain angel picking up on a certain demon’s propensity to be what the kids referred to as a stage five clinger.

3 – In Bill Waters’ defense, he’d been late at the office the previous night working on a particularly challenging case.  He’d been so exhausted, when the saxophone started up at around 6 am he’d thought himself hallucinating.

4 – Some choice memes that were shared on twitter:

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

Got a weird one for you: Downton Abbey AU. Only Aaron comes from new money and Robert’s an ambitious valet.

I didn’t quite get the ambitious part in, but I hope it’s ok anyway :)

The kitchen is a hive of activity when Robert comes back down from serving lunch. It’s always the same when there’s a party, everything having to be just so and if it’s not then Mr Foster is quick to get it put right.

He supposes there are worse places to work. He hears tales all the time. The house is in the middle of fucking nowhere though and one day off a fortnight doesn’t exactly give him any time for anything.

He’d done alright, a farmer’s son, expected to do no more than work the land with his Dad, take over when he couldn’t do it anymore. Robert didn’t want that, didn’t particularly want to be a footman either for all that, but it was a good enough job.

“Robert, there’s a cup of tea here for you.” 

He pulled the chair out and sat down, taking the weight off his feet for the first time since breakfast and took the china cup from Rachel the housemaid, with a smile. He wasn’t daft, he knew she had a crush on him, they all did, and yes maybe he used it to his advantage when he wanted to get out of a job, but he also wasn’t daft enough to get involved and risk his job. The risk of having to go back home in disgrace was too much for that.

“Did Miss Chrissie come down for breakfast?” He looks over at the housekeeper, Mrs Walker. She was alright really, a bit of nag. She was a gossip though and pressed them every mealtime for tidbits from upstairs.

“No. The old man wasn’t very happy about it either. Should make the party all the more interesting.”

“Nobody asked for your opinion Robert!” He scrambles to his feet as the voice of the butler echoes around the room. Typical, it was always him who was caught. “Did you clean that silver yet?”

“I was just…” He gestured to the cup of tea going cold on the table.

“Just nothing, get to it!”

He huffs but there’s no point arguing so he slopes off into the room off the hallway where the silver was kept. At least he could sit down while he did it, they’d be on their feet all night with the party. 

He’s been there an hour and is almost finished when Mr Foster comes in, checking over his work with a critical eye. Robert was good at his job though so he wouldn’t find a mistake, never did, which is why he got away with the things he did sometimes.

“There’s just been a call upstairs. Mr Dingle will be joining the guests this evening. I presume you can look after him as you have before?”

“Yes Mr Foster, of course.” He hides his surprise, had thought he’d never see him again after the last time.

“Hmm, well, he’s arriving on the four o’clock train.” He nods and when the man has left he sits back down, cleaning things abandoned. 

Aaron Dingle, the name that’s been at the corner of Robert’s mind for months now. He’d first been invited to Home Farm a few months before, the gossip was that he’d been asked in the hope that he would use his money to help the failing estate.

The gossip in the kitchen had been immense, partly scorn at the family asking some ‘new money’ incomer for help, partly curiosity at this self made man. Every time he’d come back from attending to him he’d been interrogated for information.

He was intrigued by the younger man with his bright blue eyes and dark hair, a sense of vulnerability about him. He’d walked into the hallway confidently enough, but Robert wasn’t fooled, he’d tried to be something he’s not too many times not to see the slight twitch around his eye, the hesitation at dinner when he reached for the wrong fork. It’s endearing almost.

He’d been quiet, listening to everything, all the bluster from the other guests, the boasting that went on even though most of them had known each other for years. Robert could barely refrain from rolling his eyes most evenings but not when he was a guest.

He’s by the door when he arrives, waiting, Mr Foster opposite with the family and he watches as they’re all over him before he can even get in the door. The whole household knows that money is tight, that the master had made bad investments and was now clinging on to anything he could to get them back on his feet, not helped by both his daughters refusing to change their extravagant lifestyles. 

When he steps forward to take his hat and coat he can only see amusement in his eyes, not that anger or coldness he’d expected, and he remembers a conversation they’d had on his second visit.

“Am I the only one who gets this treatment? The fancy dinners, people running around after me.” Robert had hesitated, he wasn’t stupid enough to talk against his boss but then Aaron had smirked at him. “I’m not going to tell on you.”

“The rumour downstairs, is the money is running out.”

“Aren’t you worried about your job?”

“I can get another.” He holds the dinner jacket out for him to slip his arms into, brushing his hands across the shoulders, getting it just right.

“Confident. I like that.” 

It had gone on like that for the rest of the visit, Robert knew they were flirting, knew it probably wasn’t the wisest idea, but he couldn’t help it, there was just something about him. When he’d left Robert had been disappointed not knowing whether he’d see him again.

How they didn’t get caught that next time he’ll never know. He’d thrown caution to the wind, sure he wasn’t imagining it, and kissed him, sure that he’d be out on his ear the next morning. He wasn’t though because Aaron had kissed him back.

It had carried on, stolen kisses behind closed doors until he’d had to leave again and Robert had to go back to waiting until he was invited back again. The old man was nothing if not predictable and Aaron was back two weekends later.

“Are you giving him the money then?” Confidence boosted by laying in Aaron’s arms in bed he asks because he doesn’t want this to end.

“He thinks I am. Thinks if he throws me enough dinners, offers me enough scotch that I’ll do whatever he wants.”

“People don’t say no to him.”

“I’m not people.” He sighs and sits himself upright against the headboard, fingers finding their way through Robert’s hair. It’s nice, he could stay here forever. “I got where I am with hard work, by learning who to trust. I’m not going to be blinded by expensive dinners. Do you really want to talk about your employer while you’re in bed with me?”

“Nice to know if I’m still going to have a job, that’s all.” He looks over at the clock on the mantle, he should be getting back to his own bed, needing to be up in just under three hours. He was lucky he had a room to himself otherwise he’d be in trouble.

“Last time I was here you weren’t bothered. What happened to that confidence?” He shrugs because that’s not the reason he asked. What he really wants to know is whether Aaron’s coming back, but he won’t let himself ask and seem needy. “Do you think I should help him?”

“I don’t know anything about all that. I’m just a footman.”

“A footman who no doubt overhears things, knows what’s going on.”

“Is that why I’m here?” He feels his cheeks flush, he’d thought Aaron felt something.

“You know why you’re here. I don’t play games Robert and if that’s what you think I’m doing then you can leave.”

He'd left after that, things awkward between them the following day, and he’d thought that would be it, that he’d never see him again, and now here he was again. 

“Hello again, Robert.”

“Mr Dingle. I’ll take your luggage to your usual room.” He doesn’t look back as he heads up the stairs, knows he’s following, doesn’t say anything until the door closes behind them and then Aaron’s pushing him up against the wall.

“I missed you.” He’s inches from him and Robert feels like he can’t breathe and he can’t help but frown. “What?”

“S’pose I thought you’d be done with me now. You’re back to tell Mr White yes aren’t you?” That was what he’d heard at breakfast, the man crowing about it. “You don’t need me anymore.”

He wasn’t stupid, Aaron might’ve told him it wasn’t but he was sure he just wanted information. Everyone knew footmen and butlers heard everything, knew everything. 

“No, I’m telling him I won’t be investing. I’m only here because I wanted to see you. I can’t stop thinking about you, and when they invited me I debated leaving things as they were, that maybe it was for the best, but I couldn’t.” He can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, that he would come back here just for him. He might put on a front of confidence and cockiness but deep down insecurity ruled his thoughts. “I wanted to see you.”

“What’s the point? You’ll be gone tomorrow.” He wasn’t going to be invited back. Mr White was notorious for holding grudges. “I won’t see you again.”

“You could always come and work for me.”

“But...”

“I mean it. You don’t have to work for me but it’d be easier that way, wouldn’t it?” He shakes his head because this isn’t real, it can’t be. “I don’t mean as my footman, Robert. I mean in my company, I can teach you everything.”

“I don’t...”

“Just think about it. You’re better than this Robert, I know you are. I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon and I’d like you to come with me, but if you don’t want to I understand. There’ll be a ticket waiting at the station for you if you want.”

They don’t mention it again, he helps him get ready for dinner in silence, the only hint of anything are his lingering hands, the glances into Aaron’s eyes. Even when he leaves, gets into the car for the journey to the station, Robert stands there, impassive.

It’s only when he opens the door to the carriage and sees Aaron sitting there, chin resting on his hand, gazing out of the window, that he speaks.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

[austindailyglobe-blog]

Teen Charged £14 For Tv Cord She Attempted Suicide With By Care Unit

A mother has released shocking pictures of the scars and injuries she claims her anorexic daughter has sustained because of a catalog of failures at a mental health unit.

Kelly Wilthew alleges staff has allowed 17-year-old Faith to repeatedly bang her head against a wall for hours on end in a non-padded room.

She also claims they have failed to prevent her accessing razor blades – allowing her to ‘rip herself to shreds’.

The 36-year-old said Newberry Centre, an inpatient service at West Lane Hospital in Middlesborough, even charged the teenager £14 for a TV cord after she used it to try to kill herself.

The vulnerable youngster was placed on 24-hour observation after her suicide attempt, but her mother argues this was only for a month. She was then left alone at night for the next 10 weeks despite her ‘daily’ attempts to take her own life.

Mrs. Wilthew claims Faith managed to get hold of a razor blade when she was previously at the Evergreen Centre – which is next door to the Newberry Centre – and is run by the same trust.

Both centers have a non-blade, sharp-free policy. Faith was rushed to hospital after the bleeding from her leg could not be stemmed.

The teenager has been sectioned for the last four years and is force-fed through a tube up to four times a day and even refuses water.

Mrs. Wilthew said she is not receiving any medication or therapy and is now campaigning for her to be transferred to a more appropriate unit ‘before it’s too late’.

Approximately 1.25 million people in the UK have an eating disorder, according to the charity Beat. Research suggests the number of patients in England being sectioned in recent years has risen at an ‘alarming rate’.

Kelly Wilthew has released shocking pictures of her daughter Faith’s scars and injuries

She says West Lane Hospital Newberry Centre failed to prevent her accessing blades

Her family say at the facility she has been allowed to ‘rip herself to shreds’

The mother-of-four claims staff will not pad her room to prevent damage when she bangs her head and for months would not restrain her. Faith has also found material to use as a ligature around her neck

Mrs. Wilthew said: ‘Faith tells me, “I just want to die mum.”

‘I have begged for better care and support for her. When are they going to do something? When it’s too late and she’s dead?’

‘It’s horrendous to watch your child go through this. I can’t put into words the fear I feel inside.

‘I can’t sleep, I’m on anti-depressants and I wake up in a panic that something’s happened to her every day. It’s extremely distressing for her three younger sisters too.’

A spokesperson for Tees, Esk, and Wear Valleys NHS Foundation Trust, which runs Newberry Centre and Evergreen Centre, said it would be inappropriate to comment on individual cases but said it takes the safety of patients very seriously.

‘Faith was 13 when her eating disorder began’

Mrs. Wilthew, from Ushaw Moor in County Durham, describes Faith as a ‘clever kid’ who was excelling academically, having won a scholarship with a top girls’ school and also did well at gymnastics, singing and performing.

Her daughter was 13 years old when she began showing signs of having an eating disorder.

Mrs Wilthew is pictured with Faith (right) and one of her other three daughters

Faith has been sectioned for the past four years and is force-fed through a tube up to four times a day and even refuses water

‘I noticed she would only eat a bit, and then she would just play with her food,’ explained Mrs. Wilthew.

‘Then she became withdrawn and spent a lot of time in her room instead of socializing with her family like she normally would.’

‘She’s even got the blade out of a pencil sharpener’

Following her diagnosis of anorexia nervosa, Mrs. Wilthew says she has faced an uphill battle to get proper support – waiting 18 months for a bed in an eating disorder unit. When she did get a place, it was in Edinburgh, hundreds of miles away from the family home.

Then in January 2015, Faith was moved closer to The Evergreen Centre and in February the next year, she was taken to A&E after she had managed to cut herself behind her knee.

‘Staff found her in her room and couldn’t stop the bleeding and she had to be rushed to a hospital where the vein had to be cauterized,’ explained Mrs. Wilthew.

In March 2016 she was transferred to the Newberry Centre to see if they could help her.

It was here Mrs. Wilthew says her daughter’s mental health took a major turn for the worse.

‘She started severely self-harming and what concerns me is how she again got hold of razor blades in a supposedly sharp-free unit.

‘She’s even got the blade out of a pencil sharpener and harmed herself.

‘She’s been found numerous times by staff with a ligature around her neck.

‘They just then leave whatever material she’s used such as a phone cord in her room and she does it again.

Her mother describes Faith as a ‘clever kid’ who was excelling academically before she became ill

Mrs Wilthew says Faith’s illness has a devastating impact on the whole family

‘She was left to bang her head against a hard wall over and over. Her care plan said staff should ask her to stop banging her head and for months they wouldn’t restrain her.

‘The plan says staff should refrain from communicating with her or offer her any warmth or empathy until she stops banging her head.

‘It’s like they’re punishing her for her illness. They treat her like she has a choice to behave like this but it’s something she’s not in control of.’

Mrs. Wilthew also claims staff left her daughter overnight with a broken arm without pain medication before she took her herself to A&E the next day.

She says she had hurt herself falling over at the unit’s gym which she does not feel her daughter should have access to.

She’s ‘lost in the system’

Mrs. Wilthew said Faith has been self-harming almost on a daily basis now for the past few months.

Yet she claims the first time she was given anti-depressants was in August last year – despite having been in institutions for four years – but they were soon stopped.

‘In my opinion, they were working. The ward staff said they were too. But a consultant, against my wishes, decided to take her off them and she got worse.’

Mrs. Wilthew says Faith has been sedated but this has now been removed from her care plan which she objects to as she feels this is necessary to keep her safe when she is distressed.

She said she had some cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and dialectical behavior therapy (DBT) in the Edinburgh unit, but has had none since.

‘I feel that the staff just say “ok, she’s nor engaging” and don’t keep trying. Nothing is ever going to get better unless she gets this help.’

Faith has been diagnosed with emotionally unstable personality disorder, which her mother disagrees with

Mrs. Wilthew explained that after ‘begging’ the staff for months, they have just a fortnight ago agreed to add in her care plan that she should now be restrained if she begins to bang her head. She is still pushing for staff to engage with her when she becomes distressed like this.

Faith has now gained weight from the feeding regime but is still not a healthy weight according to Mrs. Wilthew who claims staff is not monitoring this properly.

‘How can you expect a child to recover living like this?’

The teen has been diagnosed with emotionally unstable personality disorder, which her mother disagrees with.

Her mother said: ‘I considered if she had a personality disorder but I strongly feel she is being misdiagnosed.

‘In my opinion, she has severe anorexia nervosa and her self-harming is a symptom of being lost in the system, institutionalized and not getting the right treatment for her eating disorder.

‘How can you expect a child to recover living like this? Is she having no formal therapy or education? She’s just being left to deteriorate.

‘She will be 18 in August and have to leave Newberry anyway. We don’t know where she will go.’

Elizabeth Moody, director of nursing and governance at Tees, Esk and Wear Valleys NHS Foundation Trust said: ‘We take the safety of the people in our care very seriously and we have a duty of care to safeguard them and maintain their confidentiality. Therefore it wouldn’t be appropriate to comment on a particular patient’s case.

‘However, we’re aware the patient’s family are unhappy with the care and treatment we’re providing and have been meeting with them to try and resolve this.

‘We’re sorry to hear they still have concerns and we would ask them to please get back in touch with us if they wish to discuss anything further.’

You can follow the family’s campaign updates on a blog here.

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Teen Charged £14 For Tv Cord She Attempted Suicide With By Care Unit was originally published on Austin Daily Globe