Memory is a funny thing. Being a slave to your memories is anything but.
It is three years since the things I can't get out of my head started. I couldn't have imagined that they would still be causing me this much distress. Long story short? A Person who had a grudge against me started to write anonymously to my work place which culminated in them investigating me for supposedly lying about having depression. I wasn't lying, I became suicidal, I resigned.
When I put it like that, it doesn't sound like much. It was. It is. That I could be hated that much is something I really struggle with but not as much as I struggle with the fact that the people I worked with at The Place, who knew my mental health history lifted not one finger to support me or defend me. The Person and The Place threw me to the wolves and stood by whilst they tore out my sense of self.
Until the last week or so, I've not told anyone how The Person and The Place infiltrate my thoughts. It's constant. One or the other, or both, are there when I go to bed, there in my dreams and there during every waking hour. I relive each moment, I imagine it happening again, scenarios from the past and the potential future play over and over in my head. I can see it, I can see them.
I resigned in January 2012. It was January 2014 before I could even go to the train station near The Place. As for The Person, they are still on the periphery. Being part of my local community is great but it also means it is almost impossible for me to avoid them, although I do try.
Last week I did an assessment for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). It seems to fit. What happened to me wasn't typical of the type of events that trigger PTSD and this in itself makes me feel like a fraud - I haven't be assaulted or witnessed an act of violence, been in a war or earthquake zone, I haven't had a life-threatening illness. I read this earlier though that I think I can justifiably say is the case: