I hate what I do. I thought I would love it but the industry has changed and although I work to help others, I feel I am an indentured servant to this place – to these people. And this is not a way I can live. I cannot deal with being micro-managed or controlled. After an incident yesterday, I told my partner that he better sell his company in the next year so I can quit or I am cashing in my retirement and heading to the Azores. If he and I still want to be together, he’ll find me, once his son is grown, like Jason Bourne did at the end of the “Bourne Identity” when he goes and gets Marie, who is running a cafe in Greece. I will be there, and if it is meant to be, he will come.
I just cannot do this much longer. My passion has died. I can phone it in – no worries there. And perhaps I will, for the next year, just to get paid and have benefits. But after working for 10 hours last Wednesday and even more on Thursday, I am being told that comp time does not exist for us, and we have to work overtime without compensation, just because of what we do. Bullshit. That is not the way to buoy employee loyalty. Sadly, I’ve discovered this is the case in every institution I have worked for.
And, like the black sheep I am, I seem to have hit the beehive with a stick. I have emails from my supervisor, from the head of our institution telling me they want to “talk” about this. I do a damn fucking good job. But, hello – I also need time away from others and their needs. I am bipolar. I can only be “on stage” for so long before I break. Yet they do not know this. They appear to be high-functioning, emotionless people, who do not care about what we might be going through. I cannot “out” myself. What would they think? Would I look like a failure in front of them? All these questions pester me minute after minute, every day, every waking moment.
And then the shit hit the fan this weekend…
I don’t know what happened. I thought I was loved. I thought I was adored. I thought I was accepted for all my failings. And yet on Sunday it all fell apart, and I am hated by the person who is closest to me. He destroyed me with words. And then he gave me the silent treatment – just as my father had done the first 18 years of my life, because I wasn’t being his vision of “perfection”. He punished me in ways I do not know if I can forgive because they have cut me like a knife and I am laying on my floor bleeding out.
I don’t know what I did wrong, other than not answer his phone calls when he tried to reach me. I fell asleep. Goddammit. Can one not fall asleep and be forgiven for that??? Or am I always going to be punished if I never pick up the phone the moment he calls? Does he need to put a fucking GPS on me or insert a chip so he knows my every move?
He is a child. I was forced to grow up when my husband died. He never has had to. He is so angry at the world and he is pushing everyone who loves him away. If that is his desire, fine. I do not want to stick around for that. I do not want to live with the anger and hatred I did when I was in the desert city and my bipolar went off the grid. Because that’s what he is doing to me right now. I am trying to live a normal life, but he is destroying it with his demands, his fears, his control over me as I live 2,000 miles away from him. And I DON’T deserve this. What did I do?
I had to take another sick day this week because I could not get out of bed – they all probably think I am totally insane (which I am) and regret they ever hired me. Or that could be my paranoia, which is ever-present. And then I spent all day yesterday crying in my office whenever someone walked in to ask me how I was. The facade crumbled, because I am alone here and for the first time in 8 years, I have to image this could be my future. Without him. In a job I hate. With no real friends. I live a hermit-like existence. But that is still not good enough for him.
I keep reading about the Law of Attraction and how it can change things. I have been trying to change things for years and yet none of it is happening. I do not know what to do anymore. I am so exhausted – body, mind and soul. I just wish something would change, for the better, so that life would feel worth living again. Because it hasn’t felt that way in a long time. And I don’t know how many more years, months, days I can take facing the daily battle of getting out of bed and trying to look and act normal before I truly crack.
I am so tired. I have a stockpile of pills that I have hoarded for years and the box keeps calling to me from my closet. If I took enough, would that be enough? Would I finally find the release, the comfort I seek, to become non-existent?
Because I simply do not want this life. But I don’t know what to do to change it…
© Sorrow & Kindness