This Has to Be the Worst...

In the past three years, while I've been a proctor parent, things will happen which will cause me to think "this has to be the worst that can possibly happen." Here's my list, in the order that they happened. Kind of interesting the way they build upon each other.
*I find out after a week that one of our girls has an eating disorder. I am supposed to stand outside the bathroom door and ask her to count the entire time she is in there. I do not feel equipped to deal with this.
*One of our girls ran away, after having sneakily used my phone to call questionable boyfriend. I stay up all night worrying that he will show up at my house. Paul is, of course, out of town.
* Two weeks before graduation, one of our girls dissapears. I'm frantic, thinking she's been kidnapped (she was really good at pretending to be someone she wasn't) I drive to and from the bus stop, all over, looking for her. Turns out she'd picked up some guy at the mall and gone home with him. Paul is out of town again.
*One of our girls miscarries. I pick her up from school and determine this. We cry together in the ER. Paul was home for this one. He stayed with the kids.
* One of our girls shouts "You don't care about me. You do this for the money! I trusted you! You turned me in for smoking and I trusted you!"
*Another runaway.
*Boyfriend and one of our girls are kissing in the driveway while the police lights are flashing behind them. Paul dealt with this one.
*Runaway and I'm secretly okay with it, because she has been driving me up the wall, and she didn't need me the way most of the others do. She had a family to go to. I sit down with Andrew and Madelyn and say "She ran away. You know our policy on runaways. Once that trust is gone, they can't come back." Madelyn says "But, Mommy, we're trying to be like Jesus! Jesus gives us lots of chances. Jesus would give her another chance." Paul is gone again. We give her another chance.
* She turns herself in. I have to call the police and wait with her for three hours until they show up.
*I get this weird feeling about one of our girls, newly placed with us. I feel uncomfortable with her being around Andrew. She seeks him out. She plays nintendo with him. I fight with myself for awhile, thinking she's just mentally nine, that's why... Eventually, though, I have to make the call to send her away.
*While on respite, two girls sneak out of the basement window. The police come to my house at 2 am, knocking on my door, to return them. What on earth do I do with them now? I am told by my program to take away their shoes. One of the girls has spina bifida and wears leg braces under her thigh high boots. I'm loath to take away her cover, since none of the other girls know about her spina bifida. They run away again.
*I accept an emergency placement. She begs to stay. She doesn't want to move. I struggle with guilt and the feeling that she isn't supposed to stay with us. She stays. I find out three months later she'd been sneaking out every night with different boys. They came to my house to pick her up. I ask for her to be moved. On Christmas Eve.
*During that time, her mother comes over weekly to spill her latest divorce drama. I can't get her to leave. She won't take hints. I start hiding from her, turning off the lights, pretending to be asleep.
*One of my girls makes a threat against another girl. She says she will slit her throat. I believe her.
    Okay, these are just the most extreme things that have happened. And each time, I learn, I grow. I am miserable. I hate it. I move on. Here's the latest, saddest thing.
    Trisha has been resistent to therapy. She doesn't like it. She says she doesn't want to relive anything. It's past. She's okay now, unless she thinks about all of that stuff. We've gone the rounds with therapists. She's been through two. At court this last time she told the judge that she didn't need therapy. She told us she wasn't going to go. I told her that I'd talk to her therapist. I'd tell him her concerns and ask him what his plans were for her. I did. I had a long meeting with him and the program director. We talked about how best to help Trisha. The program director was annoyed that she'd constantly gotten away with ignoring rules. She wanted us to impose all the rules on her. Not going to work. I bargained my way through that. I told her to pick five things she wanted us to work on. We had to pick battles with Trisha. We couldn't attack all at once. Dimple piercings had to go. She had to get a job. She wasn't supposed to have a phone without a job. She wasn't supposed to have a laptop, or access to the internet. The list went on. I compromised. I felt pretty proud of myself at my compromising abilities. Pride goeth before a fall. I negotiated down to I'd tell her that she could have her phone if she attended therapy. If she didn't attend therapy, she'd lose her phone until she did. Feeling pretty good about myself, I brought this up with Trisha. She flipped out. She started banging her arms on the dashboard, swearing, threatening to throw her phone at my head, break the window. She ended up threatening me. She said "What's it going to take for you to understand that I'm crazy? Am I going to have to hurt you or your family before you realize?" At that point, she insisted I drop her off. I did. And that, sadly, is the last I've heard from her. Nine months she's lived with us. I've worked hard for this girl. I love her. Things can't get any worse that this, right?