In spite of the long trail of evidence of mental illness that she created by writings and drawings, her parent(s?) turned a blind eye.
When a teenager of mine apparently needed a behavioral adjustment, I discovered a diary left open in clear view in the family room. It was a cry for help, and I helped myself to reading it for understanding of what was bothering my pride and joy—and took corrective action. There were loud complaints, whining and eyerolling; but I held on and reeled in that fish. That individual is now grown, well-employed, respected, married, a parent, and a believer.
Nice!