I don’t know if you want me any more. I don’t know if you even care if I am around any more.
I am writing this here because I tried talking to you about it all and you told me that you do still want me, that you still find me attractive… But you won’t put your hands on me. You barely talk to me. We have a nearly sexless marriage. But you watch porn. You watch a lot of porn. You try to hide that you’re watching porn.
I am not skinny and blonde like a porn star. I don’t have fake breasts like a porn star. I am human. I am real. And you won’t put your hands on me unless I pretty much beg. The last two times, months apart, you couldn’t finish.
You told me that it’s about you and not me. I believe you. However, I think it is about how what you want is different to what I am.
I am writing this here because I need to build up the courage to write something similar on paper for you to read. I need you to understand what’s going on in my head and I can’t put it into words well enough to explain it when we talk. You shut down when I try to explain.
You have been amazing through everything that has happened to me. You have been supportive and kind in ways I will never be able to thank you for. But now you don’t want me.
I will always love you and want to be close with you, even now you don’t feel the same.
And Googled myself. I don’t know why I did it. I knew what I was going to find, which was a load of horrible articles about my screw up at work. And I was not wrong.
I don’t know what possessed me, but now I feel sick. A number of papers with no understanding of what happened made me out to be a terrible person. I was publicly destroyed, and they really tried to get the public to hate me.
I guess what I have to remember is that they failed though. I got so ill and made that terrible mess of things almost 3 years ago. The professional body made their final decision about me, supporting me, over a year ago. I am actually doing really well at my job now and I have been given the chance to do some amazing things recently, which is huge for me. A stakeholder in my work mentioned me by name for doing things right just last week.
My anxiety is doing somersaults from seeing those articles though. How could I be so stupid? I guess I just needed to see it for myself…
Just over a week ago I got my daith pierced. I am not new to tattoos and piercings so I kind of thought it would be no biggie.
I got it mainly because I think they look super pretty. However I had also read that there is some suggestion that they can act as a holistic pressure point aid for anxiety, which would be good for me.
I am yet to establish if the anxiety thing is true because the past week of healing has been an absolute bastard. I have been anxious about the daith.
Within about three days the thing was infected and my ear had swelled up so badly I lost my hearing in that ear. I had a constant throb in the cartilage and green/brown gunk leaking out of it.
However instead of panicking about septic ears I kept calm and got out the TCP. It stung like a wasp filled with acid every time I cleaned it, but the method worked. My swelling is almost gone now, the piercing has no gunk in it, I don’t even feel it and the redness has almost disappeared.
Thank crunchy for that.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.