Sometimes things have to reach shitstorm level before improving. Rock bottom? No where but up. I feel your pain. Both yours and your daughter’s. For us, rock bottom was when I learned that my son had been smoking meth. We experienced an agonizing year, but here we all are on the best end. I can’t remember if I’ve pointed you to this before or not, but if not, here is a very brief chronicle of our very hard year: Waiting for Dylan. It is extremely abbreviated inasmuch as I wrote it for one of CROSSING GENRES writing prompts, then fucked up the unpublished submission requirement by editing and then inadvertently publishing it. Go figure. Not the point. The point is that the original draft verged on 2000 words, and I had to edit it down to 1000 for submission. It was hell. But a damn good exercise in both writing and recall. Most of all in recall. Whenever you and your daughter cross my radar, I recall myself and my son. It gets better. You’ll both grow.
Much love to you both.