Thursday 23rd January (1.25pm)
Identity. What is it? What does it mean? Are you defined by it?
It is something that we all have legally, and anatomically through DNA and fingerprints, but do we look at other factors which give us our identity? Status, race, religion, gender, or any other characteristic? When talking about someone, you may refer to them as a footballer, actress, runner, doctor, teacher, the one with the silver mini, or the green hair. All of these things say something about us. Whilst these descriptors may not define us or give us our identity they are often what people think about when you mention them. Mo Farah – runner, David Tennant – actor.
You may identify yourself in a certain way. I do, or at least did, or do I still? On 4th November 2002, I was given a number that would be attached to my shoulder for 30 years (if not more). That number 4045 became my identity. That number for many years defined me. That number I would say and write time and time again. The letters in front of 4045 have changed over the years from PC, DC A/PS, A/DS, PS, DS, T/DI as I progressed through to CID and Specialist Crime. These letters, important in my eyes, these letters making me proud of who I was, what I was doing and what I lived for. They defined me, the way I was, the way I thought, the way I observed everything and everyone, the way I lived my life by rules and regulations, policy and procedure. These letters and that number made me get up everyday and do what I could to make a difference.
Georgina Lloyd – the police officer. Georgina Lloyd – Sarge.
Over the last few years my identity as a cop has slowly faded, and maybe new tags have taken its place, the runner, the Ironman, the mad one who runs around all of the time, the new friend, Olly’s mum. People who I associate with now, never saw me as what I was, instead they see me as who I have become. Which is the real me? I do not know?
I have recently come to realise that this has been a major problem for me. Whilst my friends and partner continued in their world, with their lives, mine was slowly being taken from me. My identity and feeling of pride, normality, purpose and hope were getting further and further away from me each day. I became jealous, afraid, scared as I felt left out of the real world. I became further isolated as I tried to deal with these feelings of ‘who am I’. I kept it bottled inside as I bubbled, crumbled, became rotten hurting those closest to me along the way. Stuck in a world that I could not adjust to.
Everything that I had worked so hard for now appears like a distant memory. This is still very raw and even writing this is making me emotional.
Therapy is now steering me in the right direction. Like an onion, I am stripping back the layers and I am getting closer to the core. The core in this example is my identity as I come to terms with perhaps losing one identity and finding another.
They say in the job ‘you are just a number’. Whilst this maybe true, the significance of those 4 digits will have an ever lasting effect, whatever I find when I get to the core.