Asking the universe to give me a break.
What I didn’t say, in my last post, was that the ‘lady’ who insulted me called me a cripple.
The word “cripple” is derived from the Old English word “crypel”. It means “one who creeps, halts, or limps, one partly or wholly deprived of the use of one or more limb(s).
The noun cripple and adjective crippled are no longer considered appropriate and are largely regarded as insulting. The word crippled is so deeply entrenched with derogatory connotations that it is filled with implications of disabled people being subhuman or useless. Any use of any form of the term is considered offensive by many in the disability community, especially when it is directly used as a slur.
As a person who has ‘joined’ and I would even go as far as to say, ‘been welcomed’ in the disabled community, it’s difficult enough to process a new identity as it were; how people look at you with a walking stick whether that be in the street, on the tube, in a shop and how vulnerable that makes a person feel. It’s not an identity that I’ve had my whole life and my friends may argue that it doesn’t cover my whole identity, but it’s still become part of my world that I've had to adapt to.
Still, I do not think my disgust at being called a ‘cripple’ (or a ‘Cripple C***’) to be specific, is as a result of becoming part of the disabled community. No, I can guarantee on my life, that I would never ever have used that word, even when I was able bodied and healthy. I was also aware that each time she called me ‘insane’, ‘crazy’ and ‘mental’ — she was probably also insulting the mental health community.
I didn’t even add that part in when I told my family and friends what had happened to us; even amongst the police reports and the chaos, I was too embarrassed to admit that part; too ashamed and I did in fact feel less- than — all because I have a walking stick.
Since then, the police issued a contract whereby she isn’t allowed to swear at me or come near me, aggravate the situation further.. which, of course, she broke.
Life outside of this at the moment has been, shielding my children from it as much as I can but it has been difficult; she shouts the c-word over the fence most days, she’s called me evil a few times, she threw cigarette butts over the fence to burst my children’s pool, she plays really offensive music ONLY when my children are in the garden, she lights fire pits every single night so we cannot open windows or doors, she also LAUGHED when my little boy fell over in the garden and hit his head — she said how hilarious it was. So being in the garden with my children, trying to cough over the insults so they don’t hear them, making excuses why daddy moved the pool to the other side of the garden ‘we just thought you might like a change of scenery!’ and having to watch my children every second — incase something gets thrown at them or might make a bit too much noise that might spark up the drunken woman next door — it’s stressful to say the least. I feel as though I am in a mentally abusive domestic abuse situation, but there is a wall between us. Equally, we are only six feet away from the abuser at all times, in the one place that we are supposed to feel safe.
‘Why haven’t you screamed back?!’ I hear you say.. ‘why haven’t you called her names, smashed up her car and thrown water on her fire pit?’
Well firstly, I am currently on placement as a children’s counsellor at a school — I cannot be seen screaming abuse at people — it could be recorded after all. Secondly, I am in the middle of my second police report — which is now under investigation — you show the police a video of us both giving each other as good as we get? — they’re going to tell us to get on with it, we’re both as bad as each other and her abuse will not be addressed.
I could sit down with her over a cup of tea and have a good old chat; ‘ hey mam, why are you so hateful? isn’t everyone entitled to peace in their own home?’ but I've hardly written about the actions of a reasonable person now have I?
Summer is now officially here and everyone around me is excited for the heatwave that will beam down upon us over the weekend and I'm dreading it; it’s garden weather, she’s drunk every evening shouting abuse as it is, what is she going to be like all day outside? Should I light a BBQ this weekend? I really want to, but what if that BBQ smoke sparks up abuse in front of my children? even though she lights a firepit every evening. My children are going to want to be in the garden all day.. enjoying their pool.. how can I stop them from hearing offensive language or offensive music?
As I said, the police are aware and confirmed that I am officially ‘a victim of harassment’ — I’m trusting the process, but I'm stuck between moving from the beautiful home we’ve just renovated for the sake of our mental health and not wanting to move to give them the satisfaction because why should we?
Amongst all of this chaos, I found a lump where my coccyx used to be; underneath my scar. Of course my first reaction was to be terrified; that's part of the PTSD of going through major surgery a few times and nearly dying but I tried to reassure myself and I contacted my surgeon who fitted me in for a catch up appointment quickly, this week.
I genuinely thought he was going to tell me; ‘oh thats just scr tissue from where the drainage tube was’ or something similar. Instead, after a violating and painful internal examination up my bum — which never gets easier, no matter how many times you’ve shown your bum to strangers — he said ‘as your journey has been terrible so far, its best to check’ — it could be scar tissue, an infection within my tissue or something to worry about, so he’s put me forward for an MRI scan to double check. This MRI scan will be my 24th MRI in four years. I cried all the way home — I'm not a crier, but all the tears I've held in automatic mode whilst trying to shield my children in the past month, on top of the sadness that I’m still dealing with this health issue four years later. I dealt with the fact that I was going to live with chronic pain for the rest of my life, but I didn’t think I'd be dealing with the scares four years on.
I went straight to bed that afternoon — as I do every time its scary or painful when it comes to my health journey — but that room that I spent months recovering in, that was my sanctuary and haven is now tainted, as there is a person on the other side of the wall who wants to hurt me and my family.
My therapist said to me; ‘the health scare would be heavy on it’s own, the harassment case would be heavy on it’s own — but together, it probably feels overwhelming.’
Would the ‘lady’ harassing us care that as a family we have already been through so much already? that we didn’t go through four years of illness, major surgery and trauma, then renovate our home for it to end here? probably not, she wouldn’t care — that’s what hurt the most about being called a ‘cripple’ I think; everything it’s taken for me to get here, the scans, the hospital appointments with two two year old's, the surgery, the fear, the reading my three year old children bedtime stories over facetime because their mum was in hospital for weeks, the writing of letters to them incase I didn’t ‘make it’, the change and adapting of a new life, medication that I’d never heard of and NEVER EVER just sitting back, changing my career because I wanted to make the world a better place — has all amounted to being called a ‘cripple c***’ by someone in their fifties that should know better.
So yes, I’m angry. I’m angry this is happening to me, my husband and my children after everything we have already been through — I'm angry there are another set of results, another conversation to be had with my children that have been through so much already and I will pick myself back up and carry on like I always have — but it’s really heavy right now and I really really really want the universe to give me and my family a break.
