So I decided to have a go at writing a book and I never used to understand that thing when writers say a character didn’t act like they expected but it just happened and it turns out one of my main characters is a totally different person to who I thought he was and I’m so psyched about it I can’t get to sleep and it’s like 2.15 in the morning…. Eeeeee!!
Clackmannanshire know where it’s at!!!
Between HIMYM and True Blood, I’m starting to think it’s a contractual obligation to make the final series of a show as cringe-worthy as humanly possible…..
I was recently failed on my probation year as a teacher and after telling me I had failed, my headteacher offered that I could take my anger out on her. In the spirit of professionalism, I declined. Apparently there’s still a lot of anger bubbling around under the surface which I feel I need to vent somehow…
I lost my virginity at the age of 8 to a family friend.
By 14, I was in an emotionally, sexually and verbally abusive relationship. He raped me in front of his friends once “for a laugh”. The first time I got up the courage to leave him, he force fed me ecstacy and locked me in a garage overnight. I imagine a pitch black, cold and lonely garage is scary enough but when you’re chewing your own face off and creatures are crawling out of the walls to get you, it’s fucking terrifying. By the time I braved trying to leave him again I had so little respect or love for myself that he knew hurting me wouldn’t have any effect, so he made me watch while he burned his little sister’s arms with cigarettes. He punched his own mother in the face once because she stood up for me in an argument. He walked the ten miles from his house to my parent’s house once just to prove he would be willing to sneak out there one night and set the place on fire whilst my family slept. Finally, when he began turning up at school to shout threats through classroom windows about how he would slowly murder me, cut off my limbs and leave them strewn across a ditch, the police got involved. Measures were put in place for my safety, but I refused to receive emotional support because the wounds were far too fresh.
Amazingly I sat my exams and was accepted to university. I moved away from home, met new people and made new friends - a near miracle considering my excruciating lack of self confidence.
I vowed never to end up in a relationship like that one again, and although I avoided nasty men I replaced them with toxic friendships which left me psychologically exhausted. After the third midnight flit from yet another cruel and controlling flatmate, I sat down in a heap on the ground and cried so hard I psychically felt something inside of me snap and dissolve into nothingness. The nothingness consumed me for nearly two years. I was terrified of going to sleep because sleep taking over my body felt like life ebbing away from me and I was sure I was dying and would never wake up again. Waking up felt like digging my way out of treacle to gasp for air at the surface, only to discover the air was stale and musty and hurt my lungs.
I began to self harm and finally - FINALLY - it felt like I had emotions again. I would laugh manically as the blood appeared in the white outlines of my knife marks, because my poor brain was so addled it confused fear and pain and disgust with hilarity. My legs ached and stung and itched so much as the scars healed that it felt like physical feelings had all but replaced emotional ones, and that was enough for me because at least I was feeling something.
People associate self harm with teenage girls and suicide and I lost friends because they couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact it was the only way for a 22 year old with a Masters Degree to feel alive. I stopped finally, I began to read books again and sew things, losing myself in literature and creativity for the first time in a long time. I still felt fragile, I still didn’t trust myself not to hurt and hate myself. But I was slowly learning to live without that part of me which has snapped off and disappeared. I began to feel strong. I was conquering this! I was one of those people who had been through something awful and was coming out the other side stronger than before. But each day is still an uphill struggle. It amazes me sometimes I even get out of bed. But I do it because I love the children in my class so much it hurts. I have a passion for my job, for helping others, for making sure they feel loved and supported and protected because I know first hand what a scary world it can be out there.
I gave 110% and it still wasn’t enough. I was angry when I started this post but the more I think and the more I type, I realise that I am once again just exhausted. I feel like I have no fight left and all I really want to say to you is leave me be to nurse my wounds and start the journey of growing strong all over again. Maybe this time I’ll truly find my feet and have the strength to fight this battle for the last time.