I’m freestyling again here, something I find myself doing when I’m in crisis mode.

Without going into too much detail, instead of moving on from the horrible incident that occurred over christmas the people involved have now contacted my university to try and get me in trouble.

 

I’m sitting here in my hotel room; with the outside light in the car park spilling over the carpet of my room as the curtains do not seem to shut.

This is largely down to the fact I ripped the curtain rail out of it’s hinges and broke it when I was asleep. The joy of night terrors never ceases to amaze me with their creativity when it comes to finding new ways of making life that bit trickier for yours truly.

Let’s hope the diazepam works tonight. Don’t fancy going down to reception and admitting that I’ve pooed in the corridor or something.

Thank god I have people like Dani and my family. They are helping me find the help I need for something I have not been treated for even once during my whole career as a brain injured.

When I was making a statement in the police station, the sergeant brushed past me to take his seat. I instantly clocked the odour that came from his jacket, and I was warped back four years where I smelled the same scent (mixed with the smell of very poor body hygiene) on the paramedic’s jacket in Mexico. Not sure if this was the same guy who had resuscitated me or wiped my arse in hospital, but the principal is the same.

Some of you may be thinking, “Oh get on with your life. It was four years ago. We know it was hard – just be grateful!’

And I am. 

But when you are transported back in time in your mind; but you are in public and must act as thought nothing is the matter time and time again, it kind of gets to you. Makes you go a bit mad I reckon, which would explain a hell of a lot.

I never realised until recently just how bad my PTSD is. It is unresolved, and I’ve tried to bury it. I never realised just how much courage it takes for me to walk into an unfamiliar hospital. Or how scary red jelly is (they fed this to me in critical care in the UK). Or how Spanish accents transports me into a zone where my body is on constant red terror alert.

I hate chaos. This is largely down to my injury, but another part of this is down to how I remember all the medics around me in Mexico being so chaotic running around trying to help keep me alive.

Spending 17 hours strapped down to a stretcher on a leer jet was not a good day out for me. Burning up from sepsis is the reason I panic when I start to get so warm now. If I start getting warm; I get all claustrophobic, this is undoubtedly because my brain likens that to being back on that plane burning alive with my head only centimetres from the ceiling of the aircraft.

I know I go on about it, but it’s like I’m living in hell, constant torment with everything. I try to laugh it off daily, thats my coping mechanism. But thanks to Dani; I have realised that now may be the time to get professional help and work through it all again, despite how terrifying and horrifying that sounds to me.

I said to someone today that If I was hit by a car, I would have been gutted about this years ago. But now it would be a release, an end to this nightmare. 

These false allegations are threatening to ruin my chances of becoming a nurse (again) which I know is not helping. But these memories come back to me on days that I’m relatively content (not happy. I have not experienced happiness in four years. I mean, come on).

I did nothing wrong on the night of that incident over christmas. I didn’t nothing wrong (that I know of) on my ‘honeymoon’. Maybe the two are inextricably linked and I don’t even realise it.

I remember all the shit after I was hurt. But I want to remember throwing my arms round Dani and telling her it would be fine, as the wheel on the minibus burst and we started to veer off the highway. At least it would give a tiny morsel of meaning to my wonderful life now.  I wonder if you all give Dani enough credit for what she went through out there. Waking up upside down in a minibus with her husband half dead and having severe seizures was not included in the holiday brochure.

I’ve been beaten up; threatened, had a knife put to my throat, lost my old self and lost a marriage. There’s more, but anymore would be overdoing it. And I’m not the only one struggling out there. I’m the lucky one. When all is said and done, what will be will be. Life is out of our control. I draw your attention to the subtitle of this blog, ‘the only control we have over life is whether we are going to hustle hard or not’.

That’s all I can do. These things keep happening to me, I’m not sure why. I don’t care WHY anymore. I only care about showing Reese that you DO have the choice of Hustling Hard. To keep going. One foot forward, keep striving. Despite everything. If what you believe in is strong enough, don’t stop. Life may stop it if it’s in a mood with you, but YOU can carry on regardless.

I hope you will read this one day Reesey. As you are probably aware by now, I’m far from perfect. You’re probably wondering why daddy always needed to lie down, why I was quiet at your birthday parties with so many people and so much happy noise around. You’re probably wondering why I always hold my head, or why I’m always sitting or lying down in the dark. I’m sure you’ve noticed my snappiness and blunt manner, I’m sure it has pissed you off on many occasions too.

I’ll be the first to admit all that. 

But know this; no matter where you are when you’re reading this you are the reason I’m still here. I get out of bed for you, I’m doing all this with you on my shoulder. I fear nothing or no one because I believe in fighting for what’s right for us. At first I was fighting for how much I loved nursing and how good I was at it, but not anymore.

We can’t ever let life, evil or nob heads get in the way of anything.

I’m telling you, you’re the reason I’m still going. I feel nothing for life, just anger and sadness. But you are somehow keeping me alive, so good job with that. I’m also telling you that 100% categorically I will never fucking stop because you’re on my shoulder 24/7.

Just don’t ever choose a dick head for a boyfriend, that would be too much for me.