Beating the Emotion

 Welp. My job was written out of the budget as of early April; I had another job offer and I took it. My boss had the cajones to actually let his fuckin' mouth hang open when I told him I was turning in my two weeks. This was on a Friday. All weekend, the memory of his mouth dropping open like he just couldn't believe I took another job stuck in my craw. On Monday, I had a follow-up with the neurologist, and right now, it appears I have Functional Neurological Disorder. So, the symptoms are real, but there seems to be no physical explanation of why. We spoke about the high amount of stress I was under, and the minute I got out to my car, I checked my phone, and the fucking boss had texted me to hurry me along to tell the other two office staff. So I texted him back that I wasn't coming in for the next two weeks, that I was done, and if he didn't want to pay me for the vacation time for those two weeks, fine. I was out even if I had to quit. He stated back that he would not object to me taking vacation time, and I haven't set foot in that goddamned building since I dropped my keys on his desk that evening and walked out.

As to what my new job is: I am a housekeeper in a hospital. It's odd how uncomfortable people are when they ask what I'm doing now and I tell them. There's no shame in my game. I work with two great people, and I work hard, and when I go home at the end of the day, that new job is done until the following day. There's nothing to stew about, nothing to be scared of at the beginning of each new day. I'm not getting psychologically abused by a liar and a very insecure person anymore. They get my "slack". (To the person who asked me if I didn't think I might be a hypochondriac: Fuck off and then do it again. Lather, rinse, repeat daily.)

I'm still having the same neurological symptoms that I had before, but I'm dealing (as though there were another choice). Hopefully, my brain can re-wire itself eventually and perhaps there won't be lasting problems. Perhaps there will be, and I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

I had everything I thought I wanted in a job: a great-paying job with regular daytime hours, fabulous health insurance. Enough to help my family live a little more comfy than we are now. But, Jesus, the price of having "everything I wanted" in a job has kicked me in the ass, and I get that we are more than our job  titles. We're all replaceable when it comes to a job, and that includes the people I used to work with. I hope they think about that while they're bitching about having to do all the stuff I used to do. I still have nightmares about working there, and I see how damaged I had become as I continued to stay there. News flash : toilets don't tell you you're not good enough, a shiny floor and a sanitized bed offers some immediate satisfaction, and being a laborer helps make the days go faster and gives me a pretty great sense of helping something be better than it was only an hour ago.

How Can I Stay?

I've been having multiple health problems over the last couple of years. I'm not sure why and I'm trying to find some answers. I'm horrified that a co-worker of mine thinks that I am a hypochondriac. First of all, it's none of her goddamn business. Second of all, it would be a fucking relief to be a hypochondriac. I made the mistake of sharing some of what was going on with me in the hopes that she would understand. The bulk of what I got back was how much slack she's had to carry for me and how she has become resentful. I don't deny that she has a right to feel that way. But I know I'm not a hypochondriac. For the last couple of years I haven't been able to think right. I have a Swiss cheese brain, and I can't remember a lot. I can't find my words. I stutter. The memory problems started most of this, and I believed it was the clonazepam that I was taking, very moderately mind you, that was causing it. And I've been working my way off of it. For a while my memory didn't get better. And when was I was on a miniscule amount of the drug, everything got worse. My mantra has been keep your head down and concentrate. I've had a multitude of odd symptoms, like strange pains, vibrations moving throughout my body, sometimes just on one half of my body, sometimes not at all, and I didn't seek any help for this until my medical doctor sent me for an EMG, which showed mild carpal tunnel syndrome, which I would expect since I do type. When I got the results of that back the doctor's office said these are the results and I asked but what about my legs, my feet, why are they going numb, what does that mean. So then I was referred to a neurologist, of my choosing, and had an hour-long overview interview and he did all the little tests like walk on the back of your feet walk on the sides of your feet just check your reflexes etc and some things weren't quite right but nothing was seriously wrong. He had me go in and get a brain MRI with and without contrast, which showed a few scattered signal abnormalities, with one particular abnormality on my colossal septum, which might indicate some sort of demyelinating disease. I was then sent for MRIs on my upper and middle back, which showed no lesions of any kind, just a fucked up back. Then I was asked to get another EMG by a sub specialist at this hospital which showed absolutely no carpal tunnel symptoms of any kind. So I've been waiting to speak to the neurologist, which I know is not going to answer all my questions, but I just want to get it done. The appointment date came and the hospital had to cancel because some fuck stick screwed up their web security. So now I'm rescheduled for another month out, and I really just want to get this visit done. I hadn't shared any of this with anyone that I worked with except my boss to a small degree because he indicated that I might not be rehired next year because of budget cuts. Anyway, my concern about insurance had me in such a concern that I did say something to my boss, which I maybe shouldn't have done. But I hadn't said anything else to the other two office girls, mostly because I was ashamed of how stupid I've become. This afternoon, I went to talk to one of the office girls who seemed to be chiding me for first of all not telling her what's been going on with me, and then suggesting I not worry because she's been in this place before with worries of her own like MS, and then she said, I know you've had a lot of things going on, I mean could you be a hypochondriac? And my heart took an arrow. I just wanted to explain to her that I'm trying to figure out why my memory is so awful. And now I realize she wouldn't give a shit anyway, because she's angry. I hate that she's thought less of me, but I don't even know who I am. That she said to me we miss the old Bessie, the happy confident Bessie that we haven't seen for probably a year and a half. It's hard to be fucking confident when your mantra is keep your head down and concentrate so you don't open your mouth and look like a fucking fool when you can't help it. I don't know why her opinion hurts me, except that I've been taking Coronavirus very seriously, and I was out a couple days last week waiting for the results of a test, because I had a sore throat and my son had a sore throat was sneezing, and my concern was going back to work and maybe exposing her and my other coworker. She has an elderly mom, and the other coworker is concerned about her grandkids. And then I discover the coworker whose mom I was so worried about thinks that sometimes I should just get over it because sometimes it's just a sore throat, and this kept her from seeing her mom last weekend. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I can't do the right thing ever to please the people I want to, and I can't please myself. If there was an old me she's not here anymore, she's gone. It could be my mental health. Maybe my brain has lesions because of my long history of anxiety and depression. I know that's a distinct possibility. But it doesn't change the fact that something's wrong with my thinking more than any of the other physical shit that's gone on, and this coworker says it always seems to be something.  I asked her, can you tell me, like is it when I was limping because my joints hurt? Oh no, nothing like that, just you know you had your stomach problems and then...You know what? I've been going to doctors trying to figure out what the fuck is going on, and I'm trying not to let myself get eaten alive. She doesn't know how fucking selfish her statement was. Because even though she's been scared before, our experiences do not exactly line up, and if I'm crazy it's because I'm truly ill in my brain, there's something going on I don't know how to fix. 

The Holidays Suck Balls

I hate Christmas. I hate what it's supposed to stand for because it never really means anything.

Could be cuz I'm not a Christian and I don't understand how and why Christianity works for almost everyone I've ever met. All this "reason for the season" is absolute bullshit. Everyone just buys a lot of shit and goes to their church's Christmas program and revere and adulate and allegedly feel so "blessed."

I am one salty bitch, truth. My kids like Christmas, my husband likes Christmas, my sister in law isn't a Christian exactly but isn't afraid to expound on what Christmas is and how others should view it (hippiecrits are as shitty as paper Christians).

I just want to sit in a quiet room far away for the next two weeks and let this whole fucking season slip away. I wouldn't miss it. I might miss one person or an ideal that will never be realized.

Retching, Retching

The dark shiny devil that lives in the core of me and the head of me rams me with it's black and bloody horns and urges me to vomit up the poison that's been consumed for these long decades. Swallow it back and heave it up: retching, retching. Endlessly.

My head is sore but no match for my soul.

Why is it so obscene and ugly?

Spitting It Out

She let him. That's why.

The Question That's Going to Keep Me Awake Tonight

What the fuck is consciousness for?

The less socially and personally conscious amongst us seem a lot happier. That's not to say there aren't plenty of intelligent people who are happy...just don't confuse intelligence with consciousness.

Consciousness sometimes moonlights as enlightenment, as a state of satisfaction, as a state of completely unconscious worthiness.

Whether you're staring into the black or completely surrounded by it, consciousness is hell. The thought of being conscious until the day you die "naturally" is a bitter, choking, sticky horse pill. You might try to make yourself less conscious with whatever you can get your hands on, or put all of the shit into a box in your mind until it begins to leak out and won't be stifled. When the seal on the box begins to break (for however many times it may happen), it's like going down a slide that gets faster and faster as you near the bottom. Instead of the thrill of a great ride, there's a monster down there. It doesn't bite or scream or roar, burn you or drown you. It might freeze you. It will keep you away from light. It will place you naked on a cold slab, maybe in whatever corner you can find your way to in the complete darkness. When you reach the bottom, sometimes it feels like dying is the only way to escape it. You might end it early or you might wait, day after miserable endless night, until dying comes to you, ending the voice in your head that tells you what a fucking coward you are not to have taken the reins sooner.

It's hard to get help from that place. Sometimes talking about what's going on worries you that what you say could be perceived as an attention-grab, and you can't stand bringing your darkness to anyone's attention. You can't bring your consciousness out into the light. It's just easier to eat the pain, though it's so rotten you retch between bites, spit between gasps of air.

Less consciousness would be a great kindness.

Smoke 'em if u Got 'em

Today, my father would have turned 88 years old. I have roughly six years of peace as pertains to him; one and 1/2 as pertains to my mother. After they left and I all I had was myself, things started to come up to the surface. There was all this space that initially seemed empty/peaceful, but it was actually full of shit that didn't have time or strength to be recognized before.

How odd that I should end up registering sex offenders as part of my job. I knew I hated it, but some of the reasons were probably apparent to a few others before I knew myself. The universe pokes and prods and sometimes you land in a space that's uncomfortable for a reason, maybe just to push you into recognizing why you see yourself in every survivor. The memories that you refused to give credence to, the black spots where you don't remember anything, but you remember everything before and everything after.

I almost cried today because I thought I was missing the part of him that made me believe he loved me. Then I realized I wanted to cry because I loved someone who treated me so abhorrently.

I wanted this space and quiet in my head; I thought I could find peace there. Maybe someday. At least there's a recognition now, and I see some of the things I always lied to myself about. I've been as willfully blind to myself as the caretakers/parents of some of these survivors were about what they put their children through...to have a man, to not have to make tough decisions, to blame it on the child, to blame it on a religion. I am to myself as some of the dirtbags were to their charges. No wonder I was so pissed at all the parents that didn't take care of their children. I wasn't even as angry at my mother and father than I was angry at myself as an adult not protecting me as a child.