I'm
disappointed. Disappointed in people. It seems that people have forgotten where
I come from, what I've been through. They seem to have forgotten that roughly
two years ago, I was still admitted at one of the most severe closed
psychiatric wards of the country. They seem to have forgotten that at that ward
I had to fight to get the respect of the nurses and co-workers, and even of my
fellow patients. It's just as if it's normal that at the moment, I'm actually
teaching almost seven hours a week. I've even recently started my own Spanish
class. Doesn't matter that I only have two students in my group, it actually is
a GROUP! But people on the outside don't seem to care. They don't care that I'm
pretty exhausted after teaching my six-and-a-half hours a week. It's obviously
too obvious.
Within
two weeks time, I'll have been enjoying my free life for two years. Two years
ago I traded the psychiatric ward with a place of my own. During those years, I
have not been admitted, not even a single day. Instead, I've build a place of
my own. I've been living in my own apartment for over a year now. Yes, I'm
proud of my achievements. It hasn't been easy, not a single moment. I was so
dependent on my therapists that I thought I couldn't live without them. That was
a false assumption - I know now! When I left the CIB (Centre for Intensive
Treatment) in October 2015, I was still in therapy with four people and I
received weekly two nurses at my place. At this moment, however, I only have
one psychologist and one nurse visiting me once a week. I talk to my
psychologist once every two weeks. So you could say I've become quite
independent of therapists in general - and I feel blessed for that!
So
things have changed quite a lot, and for the good. I was 17 when I was admitted
for the first time. Now I'm 34. Since my 17th birthday I was frequently
admitted, without any luck of lasting recovery. I kept on getting back to the
closed ward. Until they sent me to the CIB in The Hague. Everything changed
there, the medication the most important thing. And since October 2015 I've
been successful in my most important objective: no more admissions at
psychiatric wards!
A couple
of months ago, I knew I wanted to do something with my life. I was tired of
having so little things to do. I was already teaching private Spanish lessons
for two hours a week. I knew I enjoyed it and that my future lay in teaching.
That's when I decided I wanted more students. So that's when I put some flyers
in a couple of places. With some luck, I got two new students. And they are
even motivated! Lucky me! But still, I was hungry for more. And that's when I
got to know that at the woman and child centre here in Leiden they were looking
for a Spanish teacher. I didn't think twice. Two weeks ago, the classes started
and this is what I really want to do with my life: being in front of a class,
teaching vocabulary, explaining difficult grammar topics, using some jokes to
make it all a little less complicated.
There's
just one thing... it requires so much energy, maybe too much energy, energy I
don't have at the moment. And that's when you hope people compliment you,
people support you, somehow make you feel it's worth it. And then it doesn't
come. People think it's obvious that you work and have a regular job after
having been admitted for nearly half your life. People who work and don't have
any disabilities don't know what it is like if you want to work to have your
own salary but you just can't, for whatever reason. They probably think you're
lazy and you don't want to work. They want to tell you to get your lazy ass off
the couch and start to work. They just don't understand! I feel such a loser
that I almost get knock-out after working not even 7 hours a week. But people
don't know how much I'm longing for a real job, as a real teacher,
at a real school. It's so hard, and nobody seems to
understand. They are belittling my achievements. Luckily there is my social
worker. Today I was in tears, telling her how disappointed I was. Then she told
me how proud she was. And with her, also all my other therapists. And that
healed my wounds a little bit. At least someone who makes me feel I'm worth it,
how small and meaningless those six-and-a-half hours in a week might be. But
obviously, for most of the people around me, it's too obvious. (And no, I'm not
expecting any pats on my back...)
