Every time I sat at the computer, my spirit sighed again and I did the responsible thing.
Emails stacked up.
Unread blog posts stacked up.
My own went unwritten.
This is a time of incredible turmoil for our family. A kind that I can’t blog about and I can’t escape with my usual stress relief of putting it out there for you all to tease or commiserate about.
And in the span of one awful week, it fell apart.
Have you ever felt an emotional blow so keenly that all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears and weren’t sure if you were breathing, much less forming words?
When everyone in the room is looking at you for a response and you sit with the blood rushing to your head, trying desperately to absorb the impact without letting it show?
I’ve been running a backwards race for three years.
Waiting for information to catch up to the people who make the decisions.
And with awful finality, the punches landed in succession and threatened everything my entire adult life has built.
I hate bloggers who do this. Write about some awful traumatic thing in their life without sharing it. And I realize that sometimes, it’s not by choice. The risks are high and I’m watching things unravel each day. Dooced is the last thing I want to worry about.
But it’s all changed.
In a way, maybe it was good. It forced me to give up. Three years of trying to do the right thing while they did the wrong thing. Three years of insidious bullying.
And three reams of paper.
At 1:30am, I printed the last sheet and sat staring at the proof of my struggle.
I’ve never seen it all in one place before. In their own words. Lying that went higher than anyone had imagined.
All my life I have spent fighting against any kind of victim label. As a deaf person, as a woman. I can do anything I put my mind to.
How did my disability become a tool to belittle me?
How on earth did I get to be 35-years old and bullied to the point of illness?
Spending months surviving on 4 hours of fitful sleep. Days where all I eat is a pair of Advil and I throw that up too.
Not a victim. I refuse.
If you’ve seen my blog posts in the past few months – you might see that I’m reaching for the funny and the beautiful. Because our lives can be anything but that lately.
So I’m doing the thing I hate. Leaving you with nothing of the story, but laying myself bare because I am really terrible at faking.
And for a change, today is a good kind of exhaustion. Those three reams will speak for me now. It’s a weight I gladly surrender.