Ever feel like it’s getting silly? 

Since my last update things were going better. We got home and I was delighted and so ready for it. 

Then this happened…

I got gastroenteritis and couldn’t hold water down. I ended up in the hospital on a drip. They admitted me for the day and pumped two bags of fluid into me. I was allowed home after 12 hours and returned to work a couple of days later. 

Then two days after my return to work this happened…

It is currently known as the cankle. I walked on it for 6 days, but the swelling won’t go down and it’s really tender and sore. Yesterday I bit the bullet and went back to A&E. I felt stupid being in there for the second time in as many weeks. 

Anyway, the outcome is that it’s not broken (thankfully) but I can’t fit a shoe on it. I am attending school wearing flip flops. The sprain is so bad they reckon it could take weeks to heal. Yuck! The kids I teach keep commenting on the size difference between cankle and ankle. 

I think I might paint my toe nails tonight and give myself a pedicure to improve cankle’s image. 

If my body could stop trying to assassinate me that would be terrific. 

Guilt

The Dutchie’s mum had a right go at me earlier and then cried because I had chosen not to tell my family or them about my illness. She has made me feel like a piece of shit for doing what I needed to get better. 

All this emotional sentimental outpouring is exactly what I didn’t want. I suffer guilt and punish myself enough as it is without all this. 

I really want to get at my feet right now. 

Thank God we are going home tomorrow. 

Observations…

My husband told his mum about my health and the resulting mess/battle to get better.

That’s OK as I have been trying to be more open about my illness. I don’t mind her knowing. 

However, my husband’s mum is not subtle. In fact she can be downright blunt. This is usually meant in kindness and sometimes down to the gaps between English and Dutch but often can be challenging. 

Now is one such time. 

Since hearing about my illness and work situation she has told me that she pities me and keeps bringing up the topic of my health. She is also treating me like an invalid and telling me constantly how much rest I need and to sleep as often as I can and so on. It’s making me full of anxiety so I can’t sleep and feel crappy. My brain is a mile a minute right now. 

Husband keeps asking what’s wrong with me but going super quiet when I tell him. He is fiercely defensive of his mum, which I hate. He never sees her flaws. 

We leave Holland to return to Scotland on Wednesday. I can’t wait to get away from being suffocated with kindness and misguided mercy. 

The aftermath.  

I still have my career. They decided I had been dishonest, but that the dishonesty had been directly linked to my mental health and not linked to personal gain in any way. I have been given a formal reprimand which will be on my record for 6 months. There are no further conditions attached to the reprimand. 

I can finally move on and finish getting better. 

Nearly at the end…

I spoke to the panel yesterday. A member of the press attended.My boss gave her the dirtiest look I have ever seen. I was honest and open and said my bit. 

I feel like they believed me about my illness and recovery. Even the presenting officer for the body had to conceed that I had been very ill and had made a powerful recovery and should be commended for my hard work to get better. 

I find out if I get to keep my job tomorrow, and if I do I go back to work on Thursday. If I don’t then I start job hunting on Thursday. 

On Saturday I am getting a tattoo to mark the end of all this and the next chapter in my story. 

Today has been the hardest day I have ever had. Even if I do get the green light from the panel I don’t know how I will return to work. The media have presented me as some kind of evil villain. I am filled with self-loathing and disgust. 

I want to hurt myself all the time. 

I hate myself and I want to disappear.

Free fall

Two years ago I had a mental breakdown and screwed up my paperwork. On Monday I face a panel for my profession about my screw up which will decide my fate. Today the media got hold of it and put an article out which is now bouncing around social media. 

When I started this blog I said I was rebuilding from the ground up. I did that, and in doing so I found myself again and became better at my job than I have ever been. 

Today I am dropping towards the ground again at frightening speed. Even if the panel decide that I am capable of continuing my reputation is in tatters. 

Nobody tells you how bad your mental health can become. Nobody tells you how much of a mess it can create. 

Nobody tells you how it can ruin your life.
I don’t want to exist right now. 

In a week…

I will be preparing to face a panel to establish if I get to keep my job. Two years – almost to the day – since I made the clerical errors that finally brought my breakdown to light it will all be over one way or another. My colleagues are all behind me and they keep speaking positively about it all. They keep saying that it will all be over; they keep telling me the papers won’t pick up on it; they keep telling me that I won’t lose my career. 
None of us know that. 

My solicitor has told me it hinges on one single statement that I made whilst under pressure and still very ill during my employer hearing a year and a half ago. I said something in the heat of the moment whilst trying to explain actions that can’t be explained, and that pressured, nonsensical sentence could be the end of my career. My solicitor has asked me outright to talk it over with therapist to try to make sense of it. 

I don’t know that I will ever be able to. 

I feel like I have rebuilt myself in the last year and a half only for everything to crash down on me again. I can’t answer the questions they need me to answer. 

Sliding…

I got it all together and things were going well. I am sliding a bit now though. 

A year and a half since the proverbial hit the fan I have a date from the professional body for my hearing panel. They could deem me unfit to do my job even after all this time. I have worked so hard to get better and make things right, but in less than 2 months it could all be taken away.

I am riddled with anxiety. I want to hurt myself but instead I am here blogging to try to get past the urge. I am also resisting the urge to compulsively Google what to do when getting fired for misconduct.

The worst is that since being much better I have been really good at my job and my colleagues want me to  stay. They keep being really flippant about how it will all be fine. But it might not be. 

An on-going saga…

The title says it all. 

I have been working really hard at my job and my mental health. I am still going to my therapist on a weekly basis and taking my meds. My work has been ofa high standard and it’s being noticed. And yet the situation I got myself into STILL hasn’t been resolved one way or the other. 

It is a full year since I went through the disciplinary with my employer. In January it will have been a full year since I returned to work. In March it will be two years since I messed up all my paperwork in the first place  

However, I still haven’t been seen by the panel for my professional body. They have set out the charges against me, and the response from my solicitor needs to be submitted by 15th December (happy effing Christmas) but then I have to wait AGAIN until I am seen by them. 

What the whole thing means is that a year and a half since my breakdown I could still lose my career over the mess it created. 

Most frustrating of all is that I can’t fully move on and focus on my recovery whilst this is taking place and dragging itself out. I am continually suffering bouts of horrendous anxiety and I still hate myself and punish myself (physically and emotionally) regularly because there is no way for me to move on. 

I feel like I am stuck in some awful waiting room where the carpet is worn and the pleather sofa sticks to the backs of my legs and all the chairs squeak.and a pile of dirty kids toys lie on the floor abandoned next to a pile of magazines dated in the months of my breakdown. I am sitting in that waiting room listening to the sobs of self-hate and misery and loss coming from the souls in the next room, knowing that soon it will be my own sobs I hear. I am waiting for the end and I can’t run away or hide. I just sit there waiting like an idiot for something to break.