A year ago, my partner and I arrived in the Swamp. He drove me here for my new job and stayed while we put the apartment together and explored this neck of the woods for a spell. But two days after getting here, I was already at my new job – one that I thought was my saving grace. But that was a year ago. A lot can change.
It certainly hasn’t been a smooth ride – adapting to being alone again, finding infrequent occasions when we can see each other. It has been harder than when we stood in our kitchen in the town up north and both agreed we could do this. Damn, I might have stayed had I known how hard this would be. I miss him. I miss everything (or mostly everything) about him, but we thought this would be good. I doubt that decision everyday.
As we all know, I find very little passion in my “official” work these days. I never know if people hate me, ignore me, think of me as an afterthought, or something else. I haven’t really bonded with anyone here, and I can’t imagine being able to. No one understands the mental nor the physical pain I am going through with my spine. It is always, suck it up buttercup, as if the industry only wants cogs to move the wheel instead of caring about the health and welfare of their employees. I have learned, if you dig down deep, a lot of companies treat their employees this way. As cogs. Where is the growth? Where is the praise for jobs well done? Every one here is in their own orbit – at times we come together for meetings, etc. but for the most part, I rarely see anyone, unless they are on their way to the bathroom.
I am tired of this life. I am tired of waking up every morning knowing, simply knowing, that I will hate every minute I spend there. But I do not have many choices. Unless something else comes up. Unless a miracle happens, I am stuck. Because I need the money, but more importantly, I need the health insurance.
I busted my ass for the month of July and the first part of August covering for those who took extended vacations. I held up my end of the deal. But now I feel my body needs a long, extended break from that place. Yet, there is no light to show me the way, no promise that things will get better, and I am so tired from it.
I left an hour early today because I could not stand being there for another second. I was also in a great deal of pain, which never seems to subside and I cannot find a doctor down here who will take the condition seriously. I know what the future holds for me and my spine. I look at my father, tilting constantly to his right, even though he wears a brace, and know, just know, it is in store for me one day.
I wish something would open up. I miss home (which is a really odd thing for me to say, since I never really felt I had a home except the Island). But I miss my partner, our life together. I hate the snow, but I can deal with that. I just want, so desperately, for something magical to happen with his business or the jobs I’ve applied to to get us back to a place where we can be together once more. It’s been over a month since we’ve seen each other and we’re both going slightly insane.
The next few weeks will not be easier – my schedule is packed. I have little time to breathe and I am terrified of doing something “wrong”. I am afraid of breaking into pieces again, the way I did a year ago. I do not want to. I want to be stronger.
Sinead O’Connor posted a heartbreaking call for help last night. I watched it at one point today, and if anyone needs to know what mental illness can do to a person – this is a perfect example. I remember standing in a record store in Bern, Switzerland as a 17-year old and listening to “Nothing Compares 2 U” (which I did not know was written by Prince at the time) and “Last Day of Our Acquaintance” and thinking she was brilliant. Her voice was haunting, beautiful. She certainly started going off the rails when she ripped up the photo of the Pope on SNL. Not that I cared, but MANY people did. I think this was the beginning of the end for her. She was blackballed.
And with someone who has a mental illness, being felt shut out, wrong, persecuted is one of the worst things that can happen to us. Because it will send us off the rails, and if there is no support, we end up in a shitty hotel in NJ, begging for someone to understand, to help.
I don’t want that to happen to me. I want to be able to function. Maybe not at the heights of my great supervisor (in her opinion) or in anyone else’s opinion. Because the only one that counts is mine. For good or bad.
© Sorrow & Kindness