The Long Road

Today’s contemplations were with all the shit that’s going on around my life just now, was it worth all the hassles, bust ups, loss of friends and most importantly the loss of access to my son? When I arrived at that junction signposted “Keep Silent” go left, and “Open Up” go right, I decided after much deliberation that I couldn’t carry on the way I’d been living, so turned right. That road was a one way street, there is no turning back.
At the time I had a full time job and needed to take time off for appointments, treatment sessions, and sick leave, so it wasn’t long before I was referred to the works Occupational Health advisors. The reports from them soon circulated around my bosses, and it didn’t take long for most people to find out. I was then treated with kid gloves, people unsure what to ask me, or too afraid to approach me, the stress of this situation and people’s reactions was the catalyst for me leaving my job. I then moved onto my gardening business, working for myself in a stress free environment. Friends and family soon became aware of my diagnosis, and after some worrying times my treatment started to show signs of progression. Part of my treatment was to flush my mind daily of anything that was troubling me, thus removing uncertainty from a restless mind, and hopefully allowing me some relaxing sleep. I chose to do my writing on my tablet, in a secure logbook, this was then edited for publication on my blog. Everything goes in my offline book, and only a general summary went to my public blog. The blog then announces a new entry with a link posted to Twitter, and emails to followers. A lot of followers were either sufferers themselves, or family members looking for similarities, information or knowledge on PTSD.


Now my catalyst trauma was Lockerbie, guaranteed to be in the news every year, covered during the Lybian uprising, the bombers illness or any time the press felt the need. The same went for the Falkland Islands, any mention of certain people, or sabre rattling from Argentina would get our press reeling out the same historic footage. Just after Christmas, 2 Para, Stephen Hood committed suicide. This was blamed on the constant reeling of the same footage, and the statements coming out of Argentina from their government. I was intrigued by this turn of events and blogged about it, along with some of the research I had done, which involved me visiting sites on suicide. Where personal events went from here I’m unsure, but the next thing I know I had a visit at midnight from 2 police officers who thoroughly searched my house from top to bottom, unsure of what they were physically looking for, but felt like a terrorist suspect. Thankfully they were content, and advised they’d come round to ensure my safety after receiving information I was committing suicide, which I had apparently posted on Twitter. After allowing them to fully read my blog they left happy in the knowledge it was a misunderstanding, but better to be safe than sorry. I’ve since found out that a friend read my blog and was so worried and concerned for my safety, as they felt this was so important, and not to be confused with the gossiping between a group of fish wives, their action was to send a message to someone else on Facebook, rather than text or phone. Of the 3 friends involved in this gossip, shit stirring group, all had my mobile number, all had access to a vehicle and all knew my address, but no one called or came round. I’m not sure what was the most shocking, the police on your doorstep unexpected at midnight, or the fact you’d just been badly let down by friends, one of which was supposedly my best friend.
After that incident, I received a solicitors letter advising I’m not being allowed access with my son, because I have ptsd, and he is apparently in danger if he’s with me because I mentioned suicide in a blog posting.

My Friends Tree (like a family tree)


The flowers are true friends that have stood by me, the others are on there somewhere but no longer noticeable.

Having spoken to my therapist today I advised I was contemplating and processing my decision at that sign posted junction, had I taken the other route, kept silent, and bottled my demons, would all this stigma and discrimination not be here? Well probably not, but I’d have been in a worse mental and physical condition, trudging through life day by day, instead of being much happier in myself, on my road to recovery, and receiving beneficial treatment. I’ve lost a good job, lightened my load of friends, but gained a better occupation, and found true friends, so in a way it was like shedding old baggage, allowing me to breath more freely.
If I was stood at that junction again, with the knowledge I have now, I would take the same route all over again. I can’t control the actions of others, but I do believe in karma, and things will fall into place and those you love will still be there for you, and you for them.

If your stood at that junction now, and are reading this, then follow my path, don’t bottle things up any longer, good luck.

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