A bunch of unhappy splattered on a page

I’m sure I’m not the only one who does this.  (ahem.  I hope).

I was walking from my car to my office and as I entered the hospital I passed a patient transport vehicle that was in the middle of lowering a wheelchair bound man with two lower leg amputations to the ground.  His amputations looked rather…fresh.  They were pretty horrid looking…scabby and discoloured; lumpy in that unnatural way limbs have when they suddenly end before they are supposed to.  My first reflex was sympathy.  He wasn’t very old and it looked like an accident had necessitated the removal of his lower legs (the state of the rest of him is what tipped me off).  My second, private thought was “Why is he wearing shorts!?  Geez.  Some people don’t want to look at your nasty stumps buddy….” and right then I started a yawn that was prematurely arrested by the huge lumpy infection in my FACE.  Yeah….  I’m sure the world wants to see my big, puffy, jowly, freaking infected face.  I kind of love it when your own brain smacks you back before you even manage to finish an unfair thought.

I had to have a talking to this morning from one of the two bosses (the other isn’t in yet so I’m sure her turn is coming shortly).  This one is passive aggressive but is kind enough to try to understand the heavy workload I’m under.  She clarified her expectations around the missed issue and while talking to me stopped suddenly, squinted, said “Woah.  Are you okay?”

“Mhm.  Just a giant infection in my face.  I’m good.”

“Oh well then you’re not okay then.” “I’m alive.  It’s good enough.”  Here I shot her a lopsided grin and she looked directly at the floor.

Last night I dreamed of many things.  I had a weird dream about a place I was staying in for a few nights – I think we were planning on living there for some reason – that had a make-shift business at one end.  There were machines that generated different coloured substances (slushies?) but the owner was this little man who was extremely cheap and charged us double for everything we wanted to buy for ourselves.  Daisy, my little cat was there and she kept getting into everything.  Jack (the big cat) was also there and the two of them flushed out a mouse that turned into a stampede of mice that swarmed the room and kept trying to bite our eyes.  One got me and I had to extract its little teeth from my eyeball very carefully so I didn’t tear it.  Dayne couldn’t look at me while I was doing it.

That was what I would call a normal dream…it came in the late night after I’d been awake and asleep about two dozen times.

This morning I woke from a dream about my last job and last boss.  The small group of us were working in one large office with computer stations scattered around and I was doing stuff….not important stuff, and kept changing computers.  Eventually I ended up beside him and asked him if there was a firm date on when I would be let go.  He told me that I wouldn’t get much notice; anywhere from one hour to eight hours – they didn’t want to give me any time to plan.  I asked if I would still be able to apply for internal postings after my notice was given and he said no.  I was going to have to leave the hospital for good.  I was shattered.  I depend on this job….on this place (for real).  I panicked, trying to think of something else I could do that would pay our bills and woke.  Fell back asleep to find myself on a bus with the same people, only Dayne was with us this time.  We were still taking about how I was getting let go very soon and some of my ex-colleagues were sticking up for me…saying it was unfair, but the director didn’t care and kept making that face he made when he was blowing you off.

I woke sobbing, lost….remembering how I trusted him.  I went thorough a shit load of misery in that job on a personal level.  I had controlling, aggressive superiors and I was hurtled into treatment for ptsd, anxiety and depression the same year I started working there.  After all that, the pain began to overtake me and I went through that portion of my journey as well, struggling to stay afloat.  Mexico, where my final family moments occurred happened through that time along with them all turning away from me when I needed them most.  Colt and the epic battle with the school was also at its peak then…the harassing way the one principal treated me, the threats, the calls to children’s services that got us put under a microscope and triggered my ever insecurity beyond reason.

Let’s just say it was not a good decade.

I thought the years of rape, physical and emotional terrorizing which ultimately lead to absolute abandonment were tough.  Then, I though the years of being alone, homeless, so frail and terrified…the little mouse hiding in the corners of dark buildings, afraid of her own shadow were hard.  I was afraid of everything then.  Afraid of being found by my family and dragged back into that horror show, afraid of being found by children’s aid and forced back into the family or, worse, into the system to face another set of horrifying circumstances.  I was afraid of the cops who would drag me home (I was 15 but looked very much younger than my years – I think I weighed about 85 pounds then).  I was afraid of the other kids like me who knew so much more and had so many more street smarts.  I was afraid of the meaner kids.  I was afraid of the drugs and the sex trade and just plain getting hurt/raped/trapped.  I was afraid for the smaller kids too…I took one under my wing.  I don’t like to talk (think) about her as things turned out very badly for that little lost soul.

Anyway.  I thought those were the bad years.  Now, what I am left with doesn’t really scream much promise.  Pain, constant-fucking-pain.  Turmoil of the same flavour.  Work doesn’t work no matter where I go.  What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I do this?  I did SO much and now I can’t even keep up with a stupid job?  When I could keep up I was inundated by personal issues that took my focus away and I failed.  I’m managing all those issues now by sheer will and yet, failing.  Both bosses are pissed at me, again, and I can’t cope with it.  It makes me feel crazy…lazy…stupid.  I mean, I realize I shouldn’t be spending this time on a blog rather than getting the shit done that they are mad isn’t done but I find myself frozen and feeling hopeless without getting this out.

I cling to the kindness around me but I feel like an impostor.  I’ve always felt like an impostor in this life.  Like it’s all one big act and I’m always on the edge of being exposed; found out; uncovered.  Maybe I’m just not good at anything.  Not work, not people, not life.

Failure.  I wish these fucking dreams weren’t so damn real.  I can’t shake the emotional load they carry and it taints my entire being.  That plus my face fucking hurts.  At least it’s Friday…..


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About Grainne

My name is Grainne. This blog has been with me for years now and has served as a journal, a confessional, an outlet and a place for me to create and express my love of life. Thank you for stopping by and for becoming a part of this life long journey of mine. I appreciate every single one of you who takes the time to do so. :)

6 responses to “A bunch of unhappy splattered on a page”

  1. Birdie says :

    I wish I had the guts to sit down with the assholes in management and ask them why they think treating employees like shit makes them preform better. Do they really not know that it makes for stressed employees who take more sick time and are forced by stress to underachieve? Or do they like acting like assholes because they are just assholes and like making others feel small? At the end of the day, treating people with kindness, patience and understanding makes people want to work harder and give more to the company.

    • Grainne says :

      Me too. Dayne is good at that stuff but then, he’s never on the bosses good side. That would drive me mad, having them always upset with me. Then again, being treated like crap doesn’t feel much better does it?

      I think it’s a power complex, mostly. The last bosses I’ve had who were ridiculously demanding were all high paid leaders who spent more money impressing their colleagues than they earned for the organization. I didn’t hear a single peep about the front line staff who actually DO the work in the hospital the entire time I worked for upper management.

  2. ambivalencegirl says :

    “I cling to the kindness around me but I feel like an impostor. I’ve always felt like an impostor in this life. Like it’s all one big act and I’m always on the edge of being exposed; found out; uncovered”….Oh my gosh, this is so ME! I hate this feeling, absolutely despise it and it gets so overwhelming at times.

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