Disclaimer. I did not write this blog, it was submitted anonymously to me after a callout on Twitter a couple of days ago. I do know all the events referenced are real.
This is not a post to dish dirt. There is also no big point at the end, I’m afraid, just a way to relieve my own worries and weight.
It has taken a hell of a long time to accept that, for the best part of three years, I have been very unwell. It has taken just as long to accept that I’ve been struggling with a mental health problem in all of that time. Writing it onto paper, several times over, has been the most cathartic experience I have been able to find – hence this post. Some of you will work out who I am, and that is okay. Speak to me if you know, that’s entirely cool, but there is a safety net which comes with anonymity which I feel will let me truly self reflect.
Over the past two years, I feel I’ve seen it all – Family illness, family tragedy, loss, financial issues, being drawn (thankfully unsuccessfully) to drink, fractures in my relationship and the overwhelming feeling that I am a bit of a failure. It would be obvious, I feel, that these all impacted on my ability to do the job I love, and so the spiral continued. The issue for me came from being home alone all day. My partner goes to work for hours on end, while I tidy and then… nothing. All of my friends on Twitter are working, my family are working or live far away, PlayStation bores you after too many hours and there are only so many attempts of “Hotel California” on the guitar that you can do in a day. I had a go at whiskey, but couldn’t take to it. I’m immensely thankful for that – especially to my partner and friends on here that gave me a monumental shove in the right direction. I’ve cried – lots – at how miserable everything has been. I’ve been angry… at everything… ever. I’ve been emotionless, for hours on end in bed, staring at the ceiling waiting for my partner to get home.
But most of all, I’ve been incredibly lonely. I personally turned to writing a novel. One day it will be published, I’m sure. One day I’ll get past chapter three. There is a level of peace that I can get from writing, whether it be a blog post or a story. The opportunity to write about an alternative situation to your own, or to feel that you are adding to educational debate with what you write, have both proven useful. The latter in particular has helped enormously. I
t can be easy to feel like a fraud on EduTwitter when you are no longer working in the classroom. I’ve certainly felt that way, and told others so. You only need to look at the way consultants are sometimes spoken of to realise that EduTwitter isn’t the welcoming utopia some would make it out to be. But there is goodness here, when we want to show it.
So why write it this week?
Easy. I’ve ironed my shirts, cleaned my waistcoats, taken my suits to the cleaners and spoken to Moss Bros about my shoes. I’ve bought the polish, I’ve checked my DBS, I’ve updated my details. I’ve topped up the car, given her a clean and readied my CDs for the trip. I start back to work on Monday.