Losing the plot – Trini style

When I first heard the term “she’s lost the plot” I died in laughter. I love how the British had found a polite way of saying “bitch be crazy”. It resonated with me… because unfortunately I myself was losing the plot and when I repeated it, it made me feel less ‘looney’ and more ‘just a bit confused about life’. Here goes.

.2016.

I had just graduated from uni as a vet (a very proud Dick vet, but most people won’t know what that means) and started working for a company in England. Eight years of working my ass off (…traveling, partying, drinking too) and finally I had the life I dreamed of. Living in England with my cute new VW Polo and my first born – I could hear that Drake song playing in the background … “Started from the bottom now we’re here)

Lol I was only there for like 5 minutes.

1506110_10152979454368238_5582713405317152060_o .                       21083180_10155755267924636_8155145867743856676_o

Above: The perfection of my first born. The reason I still exist.

Turns out my life was about to become “deeply unsettled” as my one-off therapist later described.

I was pregnant.

Never did I ever think that this would happen to me. Children were not in my life plan (ever) and I was usually quite a responsible person. But as they say, it only takes one time – and boy were they right. Literally one time. The first time in fact. It’s almost funny now (not then) how impeccable the timing was, especially since I had taken a morning after pill a few hours after you-know-what took place. This was also a fella who I had massive respect for. We spoke daily for months leading up to this and 6 weeks later I had to call him and tell him the result of my pregnancy test. It was NOT fun. I don’t recommend it.

I thought it was negative. Sometimes you see what you want to see. I sighed in relief as I threw the test into the bin thanking God it was a false alarm. Then I back tracked – actually…did I mix up positive and negative? Hands starting to shake, I took it back out of the bin along with the paper to re-compare them. No no no no no. What, how could I be pregnant? I did another test. Same result. I was hysterical. Frantically, I picked up my phone and took a picture of the test just in case I was seeing it wrong in real life. The picture was (obviously) the same. A rush of nausea came over me as I called my new (brand spankin’ new) boyfriend.

He was working offshore and unexpectedly, cool as a cucumber while I sobbed on the phone. Thank God he was with me when we bought the morning after pill and I took it in front of him. He could have thought I was a maniac sneaking a pregnancy! (Do people do that?) Why was this even one of the first things I thought? Phew, anyway at least there was that. He was so supportive, as were my parents, and I thought – I got this.

One week later, BAM! I was slapped with a letter from the home office stating that my work visa application had been rejected.

Is this real life or pregnancy brain?

What even is pregnancy brain?

What even is being pregnant?

Months before, the company I was working for made a mistake on my first visa application (they weren’t paying me enough) so it was rejected. They had paid for me to reapply as it was their error but it managed to get rejected again just after I told the company I was pregnant. Something about health surcharge which I had already in fact paid. Coincidence, Maybe?

Maybe not.

The day I got the second rejection letter I got a phone call around 2 pm just as I’d come out of surgery. “Hi this is ‘whatever the hell her name was’ from the head office, you need to leave work now and move out of our flat by next week. You can’t work for us anymore.”

Umm. Ha ha?

And so the spiral began, unfortunately heading downhill. I thought I was strong. The only time I really cried was during a euthanasia or Love Actually. Sometimes I wondered whether I had any feelings at all (my mum wondered too). I thought after my last tumultuous relationship of deceit and total heart break I could handle anything life threw at me. Turns out life had never truly thrown me a curved enough ball to warrant me losing the plot but this girl went cray cray.

And this blog is my very raw, very honest story.

2 thoughts on “Losing the plot – Trini style

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