Somes it’s no fun being me
Some of what I don’t want to post:
I’m worried. I’ve thought, for moments in the recent past, that I’m the one who is wrong here. No one likes me aside from my very small and unique little family. I was racing back into the past last evening, thinking about all the ones who I’ve worked for or with who didn’t like me, or rather, didn’t like the job I did for them. It’s humiliating….painfully so….to even think of it, let alone write of it. I always start out okay, everyone seems happy and things go well, until I start to drown in the work and then the tables turn. I’ve thought that it was me all along but always blamed it outwardly on circumstance. I don’t know though, which is reality and which is fantasy on this one. If I go back to the start of my career here in health care I start a long list of people who were dissatisfied with what I had to give. The first few loved me and then I took a “step up” job where they couldn’t keep staff for longer than three months at a time. There was so much bullying going on there it was outrageous and I ended nearly every day in tears. I then had my son and the post-partum depression along with the shock of suddenly being the mother of a disabled child (who screamed endlessly) shocked me into a full time depression with all sorts of little mentally unhinging goodies that plagued me for years following. Through THAT time I was involved with M and working in a very isolated environment with a boss who was no fan of me at all. I got lost in the mental mess for a while and then, when the physical pain started to supersede my emotional pain, I turned a hard focus to coping with that. Honestly, that takes me right up today. The pain and the stupid ptsd crap make things all sorts of difficult to handle, but I’ve hung in there and fought through. But now, here I am in a suffocating role with far too much work to manage in one week and although I’m putting in the extra, unpaid time and racing to get everything done every day, it’s turning out not to be enough. :S My predecessor fucked me by working nearly ever weekend for free so she could keep them happy here. I would do that if I was able to, as stupid as it is, but if I don’t sleep nearly my entire weekend away I find it impossible to manage to stay caught up at all. ……
So now I’ve started making excuses. Crap. Are they excuses? Am I just pathetically bad at what I do? I don’t particularly like the job or the tasks involved but it’s a decent paycheque and the benefits and pension are so important for me to keep. It’s not just me either – everyone around here has the same issue with the one boss and everyone (aside from the damn boss) knows how hard I’m working. I worry that I’m just working this hard because I suck at it all though, and that’s throwing me for a spin.
In my last job I was dumb and told them about the physical issues I was facing. They immediately stopped supporting me and I was given no allowance for the stress I was under (not that I deserved one, I don’t think). When I tried to fix things they laid me off, then, when I had my exit interview, one of the reasons cited for not keeping my position active in the department was my sick time. I was almost at a step one attendance management level. Almost. I didn’t go over the threshold though and every single incident was cleared before hand and most of the days off were for medical appointments and testing. Lesson learned there – I was right the first time when I thought I should never admit weakness to anyone. Ever. The moment I do I am torn to shreds by whomever is closest to me at the time.
Hmm..that deserves a new paragraph, I think. Weakness. My father was one who preyed on weakness and used it to get what he wanted. As a child and a new member to the family I loved my father and was desperate to make him love me back and then, desperate to maintain the level of love I had achieved each day. I never, ever, stood up for myself with him, thinking that if I just let him get his anger and hatred out on me that we would more quickly return to a loving state. I was wrong, but there was no way for me to know that at the time. My mother was the same. The moment I felt sorry for her everything was okay. I never asked her to protect me, in fact, I openly took the brunt of things so he would leave her alone. She put up with it until they made me leave and then she took steps to protect her natural children by booting dad out of the house and divorcing him after so many years.
“I thought he was going to kill you!” she told me so. many. times.
I thought it was an offer of empathy at first; something to let me know that she understood how terrifying my younger years actually were, but I was wrong there too. She was saying it so I knew how much the fear of him killing me affected HER. It stunned me into silence when I made that connection. I tried to stammer out a question over the phone but I couldn’t get one in around her self-induced panicky misery over her own issues. Suddenly it all made sense in a sickening and soul-shaking way. The reason she loved me when I was being supportive of her was only because it made her feel better. Sympathy for someone you love sometimes exposes weakness. Exposing weakness sometimes means you won’t be given what you need.
Sometimes we’re just too blind to see the poison being dripped into our veins because some snake-charmer ass-wipe has tinted it the colour we think is synonymous with love. ….or maybe it’s just me. (It’s probably just me).