Me, Myself, Precautious Reassurances and I

I was thinking about the first day I went to work…

There I was in my stiff, hot, starchy uniform with;

– A vest top on underneath for security.
– A bottle of rescue remedy in my bra for emergencies.
– A bottle of water for fear I would become dehydrated.
– A pair of old shoes on for comfort.
– A packet of biscuits in my pocket for the possibility of feeling faint.
– A hair band on my wrist to ping for when my anxieties got too much.
– A locker key tied to my belt for worry it would fall from my pocket.
– And a watch for knowing when I could escape.

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An Old Ugly Friend

You get a job and think it will end all of your worries? Hell no.

Okay, so I feel a lot more happier then I was a couple of months a go and it honestly has done wonders for me but an old ugly friend has been rearing it’s head again – the waiting game.

When I was taken on, I was put on a temporary contract – something I didn’t want but something I couldn’t avoid.

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Drunken Insults and Mini Meltdowns

If you follow me on Twitter, then your probably aware of the mini meltdown I had on Sunday night.

If not here’s some of the tweets I posted that night:

Pretty intense right?

So what was it all about? Drunken insults.

After a few too many tequila beers my partner took it upon himself to turn into Dr Jekyll / Mr Hyde.

He spent the first half of the evening telling me how wonderful I was, how brilliantly I was doing at work and how proud he was of me for everything I’ve overcome.

The second half? A totally different story.

We was in our bedroom watching a movie, lounging on the bed when he announced that he needed the toilet.

Living with my Mum, I asked him to be considerate and to try and be quiet on the way.

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say and he just suddenly flipped.

He didn’t care if he made noise, he didn’t care if my Mum heard him! If he wanted to go to the damn toilet and if he wanted to bang on the damn walls as he went, he bloody well would!


I tried to calm him down and asked him to lower his voice but again this was the wrong thing to do.

He said I should stop being such a wimp, that I shouldn’t give a crap either, that I was so damn stupid for being so weak! He told me to stop cowering on the bed (I wasn’t cowering – I was still in the same lounging position I had been in, before he had got up).

He told me that he knew I would be like this. Weird. He told me I was being a stupid weird mental girl. Like always.

He seemed to repeat same stuff only with more adjectives thrown in, like; paranoid, sketchy, controlling, crazy, mental, etc.

When he seemed to run out of steam I simply got out of bed, turned the TV off and then got into bed.

This was wrong though – as I was still wearing my clothes from the day (I hadn’t even realised) and so, a new string of insults started. I was told to get undressed properly and to (again) stop being so f**king stupid.

I walked out and shut myself in the spare bedroom, and cried myself to sleep.

The next morning when I awoke, I found my partner asleep on the floor next to me in the spare bedroom.

As soon as he woke up he looked at me guiltily and said sorry. He told me that he knew he must have done something seriously wrong but that he didn’t know what.

The last thing he remembered was laying down on the bed to watch a film and then the next, hunting around the house at four in the morning trying to find me.

I told him of his Dr Jekyll / Mr Hyde impression; of the insults he threw and the cruel words he used.

He apologised profusely and we both agreed that it was very out of character of him.


I can’t stop thinking that this is what he truly thinks about me.

I can’t stop thinking that I, Charlotte (Surname), am everything he said.


An Anxious Working Girl

How time flies? – Not when your having fun but when your so damn busy you didn’t even realise the time flew past you.

Two months now. Two months I have been an employed person.

Still unbelievable. Still unreal.

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What A Whirlwind (Part 3)

Tuesday 5th May

The weekend gave me time to think. And all I could think was:

A) They gave me an interview out of pity. Also because they have to appear fair to all and seen as I’m classed as disabled they kind of had to. Fair equality and all that.

B) Even if they did offer me an interview for these reasons it meant moot. Either way I was grateful for the experience. I was proud of myself for going through with it. And it proved that I’m stronger then I think.

C) Plus I was pretty sure from my bad answers, terrible honesty and general chit chat that I wasn’t going to get the job so I could forget about it all.

So, you can imagine my shock when:

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