It’s 5.30 am, and I’ve been awake already, albeit drifting in and out of sleep, for a couple of hours. But overall I’ve had a good nights sleep.
I seem to be settling into a new pattern, of going to bed and waking up earlier. I generally turn in anytime between 7.30-10 pm (usually about 8-8.30’ish), and wake around 5.30-6 am.
But this post isn’t really about sleep habits. Rather, it’s chiefly about something that’s been hanging over me, like the Sword of Damocles – or that big swinging cleaver in The Pit & The Pendulum! – for just over fourteen months.
I haven’t felt able to talk about it publicly, my analogy being that it’s rather like – pardon the crudeness – sh*tt*ng one’s pants. Not that I’ve done that, btw! But if one did, it’s not news to loudly trumpet far and wide.
Indeed, in relation to what I’ve been through, recently, the saying ‘least said, soonest mended’ seems fairly apt.
Part of the reason I’m finally putting something about it into the public sphere (if my blog can be considered in that light?) is that I’ve been under this awful duress for so long, I’m wondering how long it’ll take to come out of it.
For now I’m not going to go into any great detail. All I will say, is that a false accusation was made against me, which had a catastrophic effect on my then career, as a music teacher, and my mental health. I twice attempted to hang myself.
I was charged with a crime I didn’t commit, and – after fourteen months of agony – yesterday I had my day in court. Neither the complainant – my accuser – nor either of the two chief/alleged ‘witnesses’ bothered to appear at court.
My case was dismissed. Partly for lack of evidence; CCTV footage allegedly recording my supposed offence didn’t, in fact, show anything. And partly due to the no show of those who had made the accusation against me.
If I was single, I’m pretty sure I’d be pursuing a Civil Case for Defamation now. I did discuss this with, Charlotte, the solicitor who represented me. But Teresa is advising me to let it go, and put it all behind me. Which I think is probably very good advice.
It’s been enormously stressful and debilitating, living under the shadow of this for so long. Do I really want to prolong all of that? I’m not ruling out seeking redress. But I think for my immediate recovery and well-being, it’s better that I look and move forwards, not rake over old muck.
I’ve struggled with depression since my mid-teens. For lots of different reasons. I think it may have started with social alienation as a schoolchild.
It was then compounded by what Robert Crumb has called My Troubles With Women. And grew worse when first psoriasis began (mid-teens), then my parents split up (late teens), and psoriatic arthritis was added to the brew (mid-twenties).
Anyway, in quite recent times a combination of a fairly stable domestic and work existence, along with medications that were ameliorating both my physical and mental ailments, I had become happy!
And then two things happened: I was summarily (and unfairly, I hold) dismissed from a teaching post. This was a position I’d held for four years. And I was fired by a new music head not yet even four months into the job (I wasn’t the only casualty of his axe).
Why? For not responding promptly enough to all of his emails! I might note that he, on occasion, didn’t respond at all to some of mine.
Had I been a proper employee of the school, a due process type procedure would’ve been set in motion. But peripatetic teachers such as me have almost no rights or safeguards whatsoever.
This event brought about a relapse into depression. And, to compound it all, I was out ‘drowning my sorrows’, at a local pub, with a neighbour, who I assumed was also a pal, when the events – non-events in truth, as the allegation was false – that lead to this fourteen-month nightmare transpired. Or rather didn’t, if you see what I mean!?
I remember it all so vividly. A Sunday afternoon; Teresa pleading with me not go out. In all of our time together, and especially since moving to March, I’ve very rarely gone to pubs without her, even more rarely with other folk.
And she never liked this particular neighbour anyway, seeing him – and hindsight rather vindicates her on this – as a bad influence on me.
I was saying ‘Honey, I need this; I just want to relax!’ Thinking, what possible harm could a pint or two with a local pal do? Well, it turns out it can be very harmful, to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
There have been numerous outcomes of this whole horrible scenario. My career as a music teacher has – whether temporarily or permanently, I’m not sure yet – ended.
I wanted to stop teaching anyway. But most decidedly not under these circumstances! At least now I’m free to resume, should I want to. At present I don’t. But that may change.
Another outcome is that I’ve been working for around a year, or a bit longer, as an Amazon delivery driver. That hasn’t been ideal. But it’s been alright. I do, for the most part, actually enjoy it. It doesn’t pay well enough; less than half what I earned per hour, teaching. But it’s easier and less stressful. And I like being out and about.
As I’ve alluded to already, in the foregoing, I’ve been living under appalling stress caused by the false accusation, and it’s possible fall out, for so long – fourteen months – I’m not sure I can just ‘snap out’ of the patterns of anxiety that have been induced.
I’ve also gone tee-total. That’s taken a good while to come into effect. But I suppose it’s good for both my physical and mental health. And it’s also saving me money. I was drinking every day. And the fiscal costs alone were not good, given my generally straitened circumstances.
I think that about does it for this post. I’m not sure if should or shouldn’t be putting this out there? Part of the reason I’m doing so is to purge myself of it all.
Yesterday, after the judge refused an adjournment requested by the prosecution, and dismissed the case, for both lack of evidence and lack of anyone accusing or testifying against me, I felt immense relief.
Slowly, over the course of the day, that turned to joy. As I felt the weight lifted from me. We even went out to The Ivy, on Trinity Street, for a celebratory lunch. Which was lovely.
But this whole nightmare has really told on me. And I think recovery is going to take time.
Still, I’m grateful to Charlotte, my solicitor, for a job well done. And the Judge, Mrs Harrison, for a just – if horribly lengthily deferred – outcome. And Teresa and friends and family for emotional and practical support, through what may well have been one of the hardest episodes thus far in my life.
I’m not religious, but I feel compelled (by tradition and habit) to say, Thank God the nightmare is finally over. Now, please may I be permitted to resume a ‘normal’ life!?