Losing all the things…4

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Howdy! I thought I’d try that out as a salutation but, you know, I’m not at all sure – I doubt I’ll be using it again, and as they (who?) say, you live and learn.

Okay then. I hope you’re settled? Got a cup of tea? Glass of wine? Is the sun yet over the yardarm? Remember, it’s always six pm somewhere. Right. Ready?

The more switched on reader will have gathered that I’m delaying. Employing delay tactics. Well done you! Spot on. Because I’m not sure how to write about this one. Relapse #4 as I’ve christened it. Why, you may ask? The answer to that question is neither obvious nor simple. Until very recently, before starting this blog and organising my thoughts, I was classing it more as relapse #2(c) Because I didn’t want to believe it’d been as bad as it had. Oh living and learning. It’s just always happening, innit? Anyway. I digress.

Let’s go back to the first day of a new school year. It’s 2013 and D and I worked together; he was actually my line manager – together, we were an unstoppable English teaching force! Or something. I didn’t want to go back, didn’t feel at all okay enough, but D thought I should at least give it try, find out for sure.

It was terrible.

The first day in September’s always a training day. I burst into tears in the corridor on the way to the staffroom, I remember.  But I pulled myself together and managed to sit through the first couple of hours of boring boring talk. But during the first break, I totally fell apart. It’s funny, well not funny at all but, when I first started feeling MSodd, I always felt that I was somehow holding myself together. As if I were standing on a windy beach trying to keep hold of a load of kites, to stop them flying away. It was a bit like that clumsy simile. Someone made the mistake of being nice to me (I know!) and that was that. And during this particular relapse, even the way I cried was affected. It became some awful, animalistic howl. And I couldn’t stop it.

There was a lot of crying over the next few months*.

My fabulous brother, A, picked me up and took my home.

I didn’t go back until January.

*I think it’s important to say here that a lot of the crying wasn’t necessarily to do with how I was feeling – MS can affect the part of your brain that causes emotional reactions, as well as physical movements and sensory functions. At times I found myself laughing uncontrollably, which is particularly rubbish when you’re trying to convey more serious thoughts and feelings. Although D believes that he’s a huge comedic talent, so maybe I shouldn’t blame everything on MS.

Anyhow. I remember getting home, sitting in the warm September sun, and thinking that I’d be back at work in a couple of weeks. At this point, my memories aren’t fully formed, they’re more like Polaroid snaps – or Instagrams for younger readers (it actually hurts to type things like that, but no, I must avoid perpetuating negative age-related stereotypes!).

Right. This is quite a lengthy post and my laptop’s playing up a bit so I’m going to ‘leave you wanting more’. 

Maybe have another cup of tea/open another bottle of wine – providing the whole yardarm/position of the sun is A-OK. 

Fin. 

 

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