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Hands Clean....

  • By girly-d
  • On 28/10/2017
  • 0 comments

Before I became ill and way before I became a writer, I had a completely different life.

I was a fixer. A magician. A person who performed miracles and made magic happen. If people said that it couldn't be done I would prove them wrong  by being  the person to do it.

 

People looked up to me.

I did a lot of things for a lot of people and I touched a lot of lives.

I rescued battered women and their children, made Christmas's and birthdays  happen for poor and broken families. I listened to horror stories of abuse and neglect and starvation and  replaced furniture and posessions that had been lost or burnt or stolen. I took homeless people from the streets and found them places of safety.

I wiped away a lot of tears....many of them my own.

A lot of my work was  secret. Only a fraction of the things that I was known for ever became public. I chose to keep it that way. Some of my work was dangerous and I crossed some nasty people as a consequence. Safety was paramount. Both mine, and the families that I worked with.

I worked and I worked and I helped all of these people to get their lives back on track. Unfortunately I worked so hard that I failed to spot that  I was starting to lose my own in the process.

I was tired. My marriage had broken down. As a consequence I lost my home and somehow managed to gain an addiction. I couldn't be this one-woman force to be reckoned with anymore. I had my own massive problems to deal with. So big that they put me in hospital. And so I stepped away.

There was a smear campaign. Started by a couple of people who wanted the kudos that my work had generated. One was supposed to be my best friend. The other was a person who didn't like being told "No".

I didn't have the energy to fight my corner. I was in hospital at the time when it started. Cut off from the outside world.  I didn't get to see their attempts to tarnish me until several months later. By then I was in rehab and  trying desperately  to rebuild my own life. I had bigger things to worry about.

Long story short. They got what they wanted. I went under-ground. Disappeared from social media completely. But for reasons of my own. And not because they wanted me to. 

So I'm not a threat anymore. They can do what they want. And they did.

They ran my work into the ground when it became obvious that they couldn't do what I did. To make themselves feel better. And thats a bitter pill for me to swallow. Even now. 

But my reputation is intact. Despite their best efforts to prove otherwise. And they can never take away the impact that I had or the things that I achieved. 

So I win in the end. Abeit a hollow victory....

And maybe one day, when I'm completely better I'll do it all again.

I miss my work. I was brilliant at it. But for now, the only person that I am putting back together, is me.

sarana anxiety not the slide mental health control decisions me myself and i

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