identity

Evening Reflection 013: Facing My Mirror

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The past two months, maybe longer, have been a continuous disaster of my own making. I am left lost and confused with my identity in shambles. While there has not been a death in my family, like the loss of identity I felt when mom died, there has been an internal death. The death of myself as I knew me; of what I thought I was, who I thought I was. 

It’s a complicated topic. One I have been avoiding. Writing is my mirror and I haven’t been willing or able to face myself. I don’t know if I’m any more ready to do it now, in this moment, but I feel strong enough to make it to the outcome regardless of what it may be. 

I can face my painful truths and acknowledge my actions. I can face the death of my identity and begin the work of finding who I am in the aftermath. 

This writing is that start. 

To begin… what did I do that was so bad it killed who I thought I was?

I cheated on Ox. 

There is so much context removed from that statement. So much I want to say, not to justify, but to try to explain. To try to beg understanding from not just the outside world, but from myself that I’m not the type of awful person that word is typically associated with. 

Discontinuation symptoms were still going on. Ox and I bearly had a relationship at the point all of this happened. I had spent 3.5 years asking, begging, crying to be heard; to be understood. “I feel like the video game is more important to you.” “What makes our relationship significant?” “How are we any different from roommates?”

All of these things… all of these interactions and questions and attempts to express that I wasn’t ok… seemingly brushed aside or invalidated. 

None of my failed attempts at communication nor the true or perceived dismissals of my emotions justifies hurting someone I did and still do, care deeply about. I tried to not say anything about my actions, knowing that if I were honest about what happened that the life I had been trying to piece together, hold together, would fall apart. 

I couldn’t keep it a secret though. I couldn’t keep talking to Ox on the phone, or the few times we would see each other, and not admit to what I had done. My silence was making me sick. I wasn’t eating. I wasn’t sleeping. I was hating myself more and more. And so yeah… I told the truth. Late, but at least in the end, I owned my actions. I hold onto that. It wasn’t found out through snooping on my phone or hacking my email. I faced the consequences of my actions, and I hold on to that because it feels like one of the only things I have to hold on to. 

That moment, my honesty, was the start of true hell. Ox said, texted, and wrote through email several hurtful things. None of it I blame him for. All of his feelings were justified. All of his responses understandable. The question of how could I? Did the four years we were together mean anything? “Fuck you”. “I hope I never see you again”. 

Eventually, he released me. If you’re into BDSM you may or may not understand the level of hurt that can feel like. While we did not have a very strong D/s dynamic or a true BDSM relationship, it was the knowledge he released me from everything. The loss of our friendship, being released from the whole of his life… more than any other comment or phrase thrown at me… that one word, the knowledge of what it meant, hurt the most. 

For nearly a month, Ox and I didn’t talk. We separated finances. There were only a few things that needed to be resolved at later dates. As the time frame for those things drew closer, I reached out through email to see if I needed to continue covering some of the financial aspects.

That led to more open, receptive, and less emotionally reactive communication. Ox and I ended up seeing each other to talk about both sides; yes, even my side. 

These conversations were hard. I felt, and still feel like my emotions don’t matter. I’m the one who caused all of this hurt and devastation. I do not deserve compassion, empathy, understanding, or love. 

I deserve to be alone, lost, and crushed under the weight of not only failing my most supportive partner but of failing myself as well. 

Ox opened up to me during those conversations. He explained what the past 3.5 years had felt like and been for him. How he felt like he always had to be strong for me and hold me up. I never wanted to be held up. I wanted to be held close, and I told him that. 

I told him I didn’t know he sometimes cried when I wasn’t at the house. I didn’t know he felt like he couldn’t share his feelings with me because of all the crap I endlessly have going on in my life. I wanted to know how he felt. I needed that emotional intimacy with him and the lack of it was part of why I felt we had no connection. 

We have talked through so many things in the weeks following that initial email asking about car insurance. 

We are together again. The other night we agreed we are still engaged. 

We are working to figure out how we both fell short of each other and to work to make version 2.0 better for both of us. 

I don’t feel like I deserve this chance. I don’t feel like I deserve Ox’s love. I feel unworthy and that is what is currently holding both of us back. So… here I am… writing as a way to figure myself out. 

I don’t know who I am. I broke all of my values and morals. I’m a liar. I’m a cheater. I am honorless. I am unworthy. 

That’s how I feel. I am less than dirt even though I know I’m not. 

So… since I didn’t know how to find my way back to myself, I went to the internet to see if there was anything for “finding yourself” or “identity crisis worksheets”. I didn’t really find anything I connected with until I found some writing prompts for “Who am I?”

I read through them briefly. I may not like all of them, I didn’t read all of them, but I do feel they will help me start to find my way back to myself. So… this is my first writing in this attempt. There are 31 prompts on the page I found. We’ll see how many of them I completed. 

Prompt 1-31: Who’s your biggest critic? Who do they say you are? Why?

I am my biggest critic. No one, ever, will be able to hurt me worse, emotionally, or mentally, than myself; the only possible exception being Ox when he said he never wanted to see me again, or when he admitted to telling his mom, “Fuck that bitch.”

I say I am worthless. I say I am a failure for this transgression. I say that there is no recovery for my character. My morals are broken and will remain so forever and there is no hope of me ever being to undo the damage I have caused. 

I say all of these horrible, awful things inside my head. I say them when I’m alone. I say them in between my calls at work so I cry in between helping people fix their financial lives. I say them as I cry myself to sleep. I say them while thinking of all of the things I could do to my physical body to make the pain I feel inside slightly easier to live with. 

I don’t want to hate myself, but it’s really hard not to. And there’s no support or anything online that I can find for the cheater because our emotions don’t matter. The emotions and feelings leading to the event don’t matter. The anguish after doesn’t matter. No one cares about my struggle. No one wants to hear it. So I’m left alone to figure it out, but alone I am left with my own demons; my own “Crazy Lady in the Attic” who is more than glad to point out how awful I am. 

So how do I not hate myself? 

I told my therapist everything. 

Her first comments were, “There is no judgment. This is a safe space.”

I broke down. I cried, legit cried, for the first time. I felt wounded and broken and insignificant. 

“The first thing you need to do is forgive yourself.”

How? How can I forgive myself? 

Ox has said he forgives me, but how can he? How? How can anyone do that, even though I myself have forgiven previous partners for maliciously going out of their way to sleep with other people simply because they knew it would hurt me when they later would corner me in whatever room were we in and tell me how [insret name] was better than me? 

I have forgiven other people so much, but how am I supposed to do the same for myself? 

My therapist is primarily a Christian counselor. She respects my faith and she understands that I am not offended with she brings scripture into our sessions. I am able to view and hear the word “God” and apply it to my own life as “universe” or whatever term I feel suitable to use.

In our most recent session, she mentioned how we are supposed to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. 

Love your neighbor as you love yourself is conversely love yourself as you love your neighbor. It reminds me of all the times I have had to step back from a situation, almost look at myself as another person, and ask myself, if someone told me my own story, how would I react? 

Would I tell any of my friends that they were horrible people unworthy of love or compassion if they came to me in tears, questioning who they were as a person? 

No.

Did they mess up? Fuck yes. But that doesn’t mean at their core they are a bad person. 

We all mess up. Sometimes it’s a royal A+, top-notch type of fuck up. That doesn’t mean everything good in their past is erased or irrelevant. It doesn’t mean they are incapable of future good things. It doesn’t mean they are unable to learn and grow and move forward. 

So why? Why do I say these horrible things to myself? Why do I deny myself forgiveness when it has been freely given by the person who was hurt the most in this situation? 

Because I failed myself. I think that is my answer. 

In hindsight, how did I let myself get to that point? It’s not that I didn’t think anything bad would happen. It’s that I didn’t care. I felt so worthless and hopeless in my relationship, that I didn’t care if my actions messed up the relationship or hurt Ox. I was so incredibly tired of hurting and feeling alone and feeling unheard when I did try to talk about not being ok and I finally didn’t care. I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I just… didn’t want to hurt. 

I look back at the events leading up to my cheating and I see how I could have handled things differently. I could have tried to talk to Ox more. I could have said, “I want to break up”. I could have said I was talking to someone. 

The guy I was talking to knew about Ox. He knew I was in a closed relationship and “all I could offer was friendship”. He knew all of these things about me, and yet, when we met… it didn’t stay just friends and in the moment I didn’t care. 

It sucks knowing that I am capable of such apathy, which for me, is the opposite of empathy. I normally care so deeply about others and connectedness and harmony. And at this moment in time, I didn’t. I didn’t care about anything other than not hurting. 

How do I forgive myself for that? 

That is what I am struggling with. 

I know that I am human. I know I am not perfect even though some people view me that way. I know that I am not enlightened. 

I am not a good nor a bad person. I am human. 

I am. I exist. I live and struggle and succeed and fuck up. 

As I started in my About Me page. This isn’t a highlight blog. This is my life and sometimes I completely and totally fuck shit up. 

This is one of those moments. I don’t know how to move forward from here. I don’t know who I am in the shattered pieces of who I was. 

I do know that I am my mother’s daughter and I’ll figure it out. 

I know that I am human and I will figure it out. 

I know that Ox and I do truly and deeply love and care for each other and WE will figure it out. 

We’re working on version 2.0 of our relationship. We’re identifying the issues we had and actively working on fixing them, on both sides, together. 

There’s so much more I’m sure I need to type about, but I’m trying to take this one step at a time rather than focusing on trying to fix all of it all at once because that’s not how it’s going to be able to work. This is one problem that is going to need time more than anything to heal and grow past. A lot of it is going to be inner work on my part. Self-awareness of myself. Ox has things of his own to work on, too. We both are committed to communicating better so both of us feel loved, cared for, and valued. 

One step, hopefully, one prompt at a time, I’ll be able to find solid ground and be able to work towards self-forgiveness and self-acceptance. 

I am capable of awful things, but I’m capable of amazingly awesome things too. 

Universe, please guide me to the lessons I’m supposed to learn through the hardship I have put myself in. Please help me find meaning in the pain. Help show me the truth in who I am. Please help me learn to love myself as I am and not the broken ideal I had in my head. 

Mom, please don’t hate me. Please still let me be your daughter even though I fucked up. Please be disappointed in my actions instead of being disappointed in me as a person. Please still love me. Please believe in me like you used to so I can believe in myself and my ability to figure it out. I love you. Forever and for always, no matter what. 

Daily Post 001: Starting 2022 With an Apology

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First post of 2022. That means Daily Post numbers reset. Woo. At the same time… I only wrote 10 times last year… That’s something to reflect on at a later time.

For right now, let us start off with the most obvious INFJ thing to do… apologizing. XD

I’m sorry, Universe. I don’t really hate you and it was unfair of me to use those words when cursing you out in my previous post. I’m not sorry I called you a mother fucking son of a whore because sometimes you are one. But I am sorry that I lashed out and used inaccurate words to express my feelings of frustration and helplessness. You do not deserve hate; after all, you’re only doing your job even if during the moment it makes you look like an insensitive bastard.

I do love you and I appreciate all of the good things you have given me and allowed me to experience.

Hugs and Kisses – A slightly Less Rage-Filled Dragon

I felt better after writing. I talked to my therapist about it during our session Monday evening. She was proud that I utilized a healthy and effective coping mechanism to release the emotions rather than keeping them bottled up inside or potentially doing something less than healthy. I didn’t write for people to be proud of me. In all honesty, it’s a bit of a struggle not to feel shame when rereading some of my words. At the same time, I know what I felt, and I know I’m not alone in those feelings.

We all, at some point, reach a breaking point. That’s human and I would rather not feel shame for being human; after all, there’s not much I can do about that. I can either accept that sometimes I act with less than perfect grace or spend my life resenting myself for something that can’t be changed. That sounds like a waste of energy, so I would rather acknowledge that it happened, apologize to the offended parties and reflect on how I could have handled the situation differently in hopes of doing so in the future.

Moving on to the other concerning issue of my last post… The kids and all family members are feeling fine. No one has had symptoms of covid. Christmas was enjoyable. Lil’ Ox loved the puzzle I got for her. We put it together Friday evening. For me, it was only 300 pieces, but that’s the biggest puzzle she’s done so far. Everyone was impressed that we were able to complete it in one sitting. It was an enjoyable experience and I’m glad I was able to spend time one-on-one with her.

She wasn’t a huge fan of the makeup palette I got her, but she did like the sparkily snowflake nails. Maybe she’s still too young for makeup, maybe she’ll never like makeup; either is ok. If it’s not something she’s interested in there’s nothing wrong with that. I try to instill in her the knowledge that she’s perfect the way she is. The makeup was simply a gift if she wanted to play around with it; it wasn’t an obligation.

I spent the majority of the week at the apartment. It’s hard being away from the cats. I have grown to love them, which may sound weird, but it was part of the healing process for me. I got them specifically because I was having a hard time trusting and loving after mom’s death. I knew eventually the kittens would teach me how to love again and they have. So now, being away from them is hard. It’s quiet, lonely even, at the apartment by myself. It’s hard being away from Ox as well. Maybe things will change in the near future with my lease ending at the end of May, but for now, during the week I stay at the apartment most nights and try to get as many Cat Cuddles in during the weekend.

Cessation has been going well. I was at around six yesterday. Six when before I was doing 30 or more. I’m proud of myself. I’ve been reading Atomic Habits by James Clear and listening to The Easy Way to Stop Smoking by Allen Carr. Both books have interesting points and insight into human behavior. Both books have given me much to think about and reflect on.

Part of what I’ve struggled with, during the end of my time with DaVita and even into the present with Nelnet, is returning to habits I once had. There’s a lot of emotion wrapped up with everything. Shame, guilt, fear, feelings of being a failure… All sorts of stuff. Atomic Habits especially gives me clarity on why some things work and others don’t as far as habits are concerned and where the obstacles I am facing may be stemming from.

I think a lot of it comes down to uncertainty about my identity. Who am I? What do I stand for? What are my beliefs?

That had basically eroded away to nothing by the time I left DaVita, and without my previous job defining me, I had nothing to go off of aside from the feelings of burnout I was left with. Not much of a resource when you’re trying to figure out who you are, what’s important to you, or what you want your purpose in Life to be.

If I tell myself I’m a failure, that’s on me. That’s me allowing myself to assume the identity of a failure, even if I don’t want that identity. Our brain believes what it hears, especially when it comes from our internal voices.

I am not a failure. I am not weak.

I am extremely strong-willed and capable. I am a warrior. I am a fierce dragon. I am loving, compassionate, committed, and determined.

This isn’t a “new year, new me” mentality. It just happens that I began reading these books at the end of 2021 and am writing now in 2022. This was happening not because of the new year. It was happening in spite of it being a new year.

My current goal is to work on my daily habits/routines; especially those regarding the morning and evening. I need that structure back in my life, and while I have haphazardly stumbled and fumbled my way back to some of my pre-DaVita normalcy, there’s still a lot that is found lacking.

I have my sheet created, not only of habits I already do, but the habits I want to return back to, why I want to go back to them, and how/where I can fit them into my currently unstable routine to ensure they get completed.

I’ve unknowing been working on environmental architecture; arranging the apartment in ways that reduce the friction for certain tasks. Since I’m working from home, part of that architecture has been designating specific areas for specific tasks. “This is purely work”, “This is only for sleep”, “This is only for working out”

It would be easier to separate things if I wasn’t keeping my brothers room off-limits. He moved out a while ago to be with his partner, but he still pays half of the rent, so I’ve kept the room for him. Having a whole extra room would be nice and helpful, but for now, I’m doing alright with what I have. Bit by bit I’m arranging things the way I want and that not only feels good but visually having order and structure helps calm my brain. It gives me a sense of security. Everything has a place and is in that place. All is right in the Dragon Den.

So yeah, I’ve unknowingly been doing some of the suggested things in the books. Others I’m now consciously aware of, which means I can consciously leverage those concepts in my life rather than being pleased when unconscious intuition turns out right.

On the subject of consciousness… When I step outside for a cigarette now I have a new habit; one which I am hoping will deter me from the habit because it now has a “negative” reward.

Which… all of that goes into what Atomic Habits is about. We do something because the “reward” at the end is something we want. Turn it into something we don’t want and we no longer want to perform the actions which lead to the “reward”.

So… whenever I have a cigarette I take a red sharpie and I slash a line over my wrist.

I know that may sound extreme, but hear me out on this…

When I was in high school I self-harmed as a way to cope. I didn’t talk about my feelings. I internalized them, and cutting became my method for releasing the emotions. Fast-forward to my first healthy relationship; my partner did not want me to self-harm.

Completely understandable. I didn’t want to self-harm to begin with. I didn’t want to feel worthless, unseen, unloved, and all of the other things I was feeling. I wanted to be able to share my emotions. I wanted to be able to trust people and feel connected and like I had value.

That lead to me promising not only my partner but also other extremely important people in my life (who continue to be important people in my life) that I wouldn’t self-harm. I would reach out and talk about what I was feeling before hurting myself. I learned that hurting myself hurt others and though conversations may be hard and there would more than likely be lots of tears, I felt better after talking with safe people than I did when I hurt myself.

This brings us to the past few days of reading and meditating.

Smoking sucks. For lots of reasons. And if we look at cutting versus smoking, smoking is way way worse than cutting ever was. So each time I step out and have a smoke, I’m effectively self-harming. The only difference is cutting gives you a visual cue that you’ve done something. You have a reminder that “hey, you did this thing that you said you wouldn’t do”.

Smoking doesn’t have that. At least, for me, it didn’t until now.

My red lines are my reminders that I choose to dishonor myself. I choose to light up and inhale poison into my body. It was a choice. No one made me do it. Choices have consequences, even if they are long-term and do not affect my present.

I now have a way to visually see what I am doing to myself. I am hurting myself. I am breaking my promises. And by hurting myself I am hurting those that I care most about.

I know some people may feel that my method is a bit extreme, and I agree. It is extreme. It’s most likely not a method for everyone. It doesn’t have to be for everyone. It needs to be for myself. When I think of how many marks my arms would be covered with had I done this from the beginning, I’m saddened. I have hurt myself so much for so long. It makes me realize that smoking, for me, was a cry for help.

“Help. I can’t do this on my own. Help. I don’t know how to cope with how I feel. Help. I hurt. Help. I’m scared of this social situation. Help. Help.”

Every time I stepped out to smoke at work it was to try to get just a few minutes to hear my own thoughts. Or when mom died; it was how I could get away from people and hurt alone because I didn’t know how to hurt around others. Not at that intensity anyway.

I am sorry for my past self. I am sorry I wasn’t there for her. I’m sorry I didn’t listen more when she said she wanted to quit.

So yeah… That’s what a lot of my weekend has been. Listening to how I can get back to my life and figuring out how to make the negative choices I’m making more apparent and real.

I’ve been cross-stitching a little bit. I’m hoping to finish the pattern I’m working on today. I haven’t colored since earlier in the week, but I’m ok with that. I have my projects with me if I feel the urge to work on them at some point. I would like to finish at least one of the books I’m reading, which I can do while I stitch.

It’s a cold day today. It snowed last night, which lead to a spat with my brother about New Year’s plans. That’s a writing for a different day. Maybe tomorrow. For now, I’m going to have breakfast with the family and be content with a quiet day.

Again, I’m sorry, Universe. I don’t really hate you. I love you, truly, even if you are a mother fucking son of a whore sometimes.

Musing Moment 142: Better Than Good

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I still don’t have a date for my surgery. By the time I got a chance to call Friday afternoon the office was already closed for the day because of course, it makes sense to close at 11:30 on Fridays…

Blarg.

Work has been going well. It’s been helping to keep me grounded, if just barely. It helps to keep things feeling “normal”. I still go to work. Days are still mildly crazy. I still see all of my patients. I still have cancer and I still save lives.

Ox and I tried having a date night last night. I wanted to go out. I wanted to get wings without having to drive halfway across town to a location that was nowhere near any of the other things we had been hoping to do; grocery shopping and such.

We found a place online that seemed promising. The service sucked. My food was not up to my standards of wing-ness. Though, to be fair to them… I have pretty high standards. Overall I wasn’t impressed and felt like it was a waste of the money we spent. We had to wait so long for the food and then the bill that by the time we left I was too tired to want to do the shopping. We went home instead. I slept at the house rather than going back to the apartment to be with the kittens.

It was nice, sleeping next to Ox. I so rarely get to do that now. I didn’t spend the night alone, trapped in my own darkness. I woke up next to someone I care about.

Despite feeling like the money spent on date night was a waste, it was nice to be out. It was nice to try to have a date night even though I have cancer. It was nice to feel normal and not defined by something no one can see. No one around us knew. I could pretend to be a normal person. I cling to the things that make me feel normal right now; that let me pretend that all of this isn’t going on. I can pretend that I’m not waiting for a call about surgery. I can pretend that I’m scared.

I’m just a normal person with a normal life and things will be ok. I don’t think pretending all of this isn’t going on is healthy, but I also don’t know how to confront or contend with all of the emotions going on so I don’t know what to do.

I know a lot of it is still a rat’s nest inside of my head. I’m not defined by my organs or lack of them. I’m not defined by sickness or lack of it. I’m not defined by my resolve or when it wavers. Strength isn’t defined by a lack of tears or the absence of fear.

I know all of these things and yet I can’t fight the evil voice which isn’t so little anymore. It has strength and power which gives it size. It’s not little whisperings which I can tell to go fuck themselves.

“Good girls don’t get cancer.”

That’s one of the things it says to me, stated like a fact, full of confidence and conviction. It doesn’t have to yell those words at me. You don’t have to yell when you know you’re right. That’s the type of voice it uses right now. It knows it’s right and that I can’t do anything to change it.

I don’t know how to fight Evil Voice right now because there’s a part of me who agrees with it. Trust me, I know it’s fucked up to have that type of mentality. I didn’t ask for cancer. I didn’t actively do anything to get it. But saying, “It’s not my fault,” isn’t enough to fight Evil Voice. I can’t say, “Good girls get cancer,” because that’s untrue. “Good girls fight cancer” doesn’t work because I don’t feel like having surgery is really fighting… I don’t know what to say to fight back as so I’m left feeling like I’m losing another part of myself that I didn’t know was such a part of my identity.

The whole “good girl” thing comes from the bdsm aspect of my life which may or may not be appropriate to write about, but fuck it, this is my writing and this is where my brain is at. When Ox called me a good girl during sex the other day I completely lost it. I was furious at him for calling me a good girl. Furious to the point of tears and breaking down in anguish because I’m no longer what I was; what I should be. I’m not a good girl anymore. How could he say that to me when I’m not deserving of that phrase.

Good girls don’t get cancer.

All of this sucks.

Who am I? Who do I want to be? What defines me?

Where do you start with questions like that?

I guess, first and foremost I’m a sister. To my brothers and my half-sisters. I’m there for them. I’m still a daughter to my mother and father. I am a partner to Ox. I don’t feel like I’m a very good partner at the moment. I feel like I take a lot of energy from him. I cry a lot. I talk about stupid things like zombie apocalypses and last wills and how I feel unworthy. He says he doesn’t mind but if I’m tired of myself then I don’t understand how other people wouldn’t be tired of me, too.

He says I’m still “His good girl,” which helps, though I don’t know why. Maybe because it takes away my perspective. His view of good and my view of good can be different. My having cancer doesn’t change his view so his view of “good” is still valid and allowed while my view of “good” needs to be more definitively defined so as to combat Evil Voice.

When I talked to my instructor she said as caregivers, most of the time it’s easier for us to give care than to receive it. I feel like there’s a lot of truth in that statement. I don’t want to be a burden to people around me. I can’t be the happy and optimistic me I normally am and I know that bothers people. They want to help. They want to do something, but there’s nothing for them to really do other than let me try to swim through the tidal wave of feelings when they come.

Most of the time I’m so tired of feeling that I feel nothing and there’s a part of me wondering if that’s the cancer fucking with my thyroid or if that’s legitimately how I feel. And there’s still yet another part of me who wonders if it even matters where the emotions come from or why they’re there. The end result is the same regardless of the source. Maybe it’s the fact that it is winter. Or the holidays. Or that it’s a day that ends in “y”. Who knows.

There is this pervasive feeling of… something. I’m tired of figuring stuff out. I’m tired of caring. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of explaining. I’m tired of people. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not good enough. I’m tired of defending my self-worth against myself because I’m the only one saying that I failed.

I’m a failure. I’m a fuck up. I’m too much. I’m too little.

No, I’m not, damnit. Fuck you, Brain.

You know what? Yeah. That’s exactly it. That phrase right there is the thing I didn’t know I needed to say. Fuck you, Brain. Fuck you and all your thoughts and emotions. Just… fuck you.

Angry. I guess that’s what a lot of it is at the moment. Anger and frustration and helplessness because none of this is in my control. Fuck you, Universe and all your trials and “adventures”. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of your games. I’m tired of proving myself.

I’m angry that now I finally have the insight to want to talk to mom about things she went through that I can’t. Fuck you. Fuck you for putting me in this position after taking her away from me.

Fuck you for making me think that I am going to owe this doctor my life and be in his debt. Fuck you for the mentalities you fostered in me. Fuck you for making me an INFJ who’s constantly aware and considerate and understanding of others but completely unable to provide or apply the same understanding to myself.

I’m always in a different category simply because I’m me and I’m sick of it. Fuck you. I’m no different. Ok? I’m the same. I’m a fucking human, too, just like every other person on this fucking planet. I’m a human even if I don’t have my thyroid. I’m a human even if I have cancer. I’m a fucking human, too, and I’m allowed to be angry and frustrated and tired and not ok.

I’m allowed those things. I’m allowed to feel those things.

You can’t take that away from me, Universe. I’m still human. No matter what you do to me, no matter what you take away from me, I will always be human. I will always be my mother’s daughter. I will always be my brothers’ sister.

I think that’s a step in the right direction. I feel better for having found it at least. I’m human. Cancer can’t fucking change that.

Yeah. That’s right. Fuck you, Kevin. You can’t change me; the real me. The human me was human before you and will still be human after you, you son of a bitch. Fuck you for fucking with my life. I won’t let you make me think that I’m less than awesome. I won’t let you tap me out. I won’t let you win because you don’t deserve to win.

So what if I’m not a good girl anymore. Maybe you’re right, Evil Voice. Maybe I’m not a good girl anymore. Maybe I’m an awesome girl now. You want to play this fucking game? Fine. I’ll destroy you, Evil Voice. I’ll crush you with every fiber of my being. I’ve fought too hard to get to where I am for you to hurt me like you used to.

I don’t need to be “good” anymore, Evil Voice. I’m better than simply “good”. So go ahead. Keep your stupid word, you selfish bastard. I’m graduating, up-grading, transforming, evolving.

Thank you for pushing me to this point, Evil Voice. Thank you for making me realize I’m better than good.

Daily Post 019: Temporary

Standard

Let’s see…

I wrote Friday. The day I found out that I was denied for the job.

I went through a lot of the 30-Challenge posts. I have a clearer idea of what I want to achieve and how to achieve it. Most of it comes back to:

Getting a job
Finishing the PCT program
Continuing to kick ass at the dojo

I ended up talking to my younger brother. That sort of sucked, though there’s a story for how the day evolved to the shitty conversation I had with him.

I went and made a payment for the EKG class I took. While I was there I saw one of my former classmates. She had just gotten done taking the board test. She failed by three points.

We ended up standing outside talking for a bit. The subject of my interview came up and I had to explain how I was denied and how the email hadn’t specified a reason why.

She said that even though companies aren’t allowed to discriminate, that it most likely had to do with my purple hair.

I hadn’t thought of my hair as an issue since it was mentioned during the interview. I had been told it wouldn’t be a problem. Accommodations would be made as long as I wore a head covering.

The conversation with my classmate made me begin to wonder, though. Am I going to have to give up my hair in order to get a job?

The thought of having to dye my hair back to “normal” physically hurt. I know I am not my hair, but my purple is important to me. Purple is the color of the 7th chakra, the crown chakra at the top of the skull. It represents our connectedness to the Universe and energies around us.

I don’t dye my hair because purple is my favorite color, or because I’m being a punk ass millennial and “sticking it to the man”. This is part of my spirituality, and it sucked, hardcore sucked, to have the realization that almost all of society would stand in front of me and say, “well if you want a job you have to conform”.

In my head that’s a lot like telling a Christain, “You can work here, but only if you renounce your faith and tell people, daily, that you don’t believe in Jesus.”

Yeah, you could do that. You could say those words. There’s nothing stopping you from stringing those syllables into that particular order, but I bet the thought of doing it sucks.

I bet for some people it sparks anger. Why should you have to do that? Why should you have to renounce your faith when it has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the quality of work you’re able to do as an employee.

Maybe sadness. Why should you have to give up something that’s important to you? Why are they making you choose between something your soul connects with and the survival of having a paycheck?

Yeah, I get it. It’s “different” in my case… It’s just hair…

But at the same time, IT’S JUST HAIR.

Why can’t I keep it the way I want? Why do I have to give up an expression of myself, my soul, just to prove that no, I’m not a crazy drug user or whatever unfounded stereotype someone else is brainwashed into believing, especially when simple, easy compromises could be made to negate ALL of the perceived issues it would cause?

What is the company sacrificing for me to make this trade fair?

What core identity, fundamental belief, is it sacrificing to show it cares as much about me as I do about my potential job?

A paycheck? It’s sacrificing money to make me conform? Yeah… ok. I can go with that. I get that in exchange for changing my hair I would be receiving compensation in the form of money.

Is money worth giving up the fulfillment of being able to say, “Yes, I believe in Jesus?”

Would anyone else give that up, or something else just as core value? What if it was, “You can work here as long as you’re not gay?”

And that’s where I have the biggest problem. If it were anything else people would be understanding, but because it’s “just hair” it’s not allowed to be important to me. It can’t be something I have an attachment to, or a connection to. It can’t be something spiritual that I have a right to keep.

What’s more infuriating is the fact that I could work at a fast food chain and because it’s considered “lesser” work there are more leniencies in regards to appearance, but because I want to work at a hospital me being myself is suddenly something that needs to be altered or hidden or eradicated.

At the time my brother called me I was very much in an irrationally angry and hurt state.

I told him I didn’t want to talk about it, but he pressed.

Jon: It’s how our society works.
Me: Well, fuck our society.

What’s really bad is I don’t even know if my hair was or wasn’t the cause of my denial. It was mostly just a built up fantasy inside of my head of a bunch of supervisors sitting around a table and saying, “Nope. She’s obviously a delinquent. Just look at that hair.” And the only reason I was thinking about it like that was because of the conversation I had with my classmate.

Originally I had thought it was because I was very obviously over qualified for the job. I mean, come on… Patient transporting when I’m EKG certified, working on phlebotomy, about to be CNA working towards PCT… The only thing I could have done more to keep me from getting the job was walking in with a flashing, “I’m not going to stay in this position long” sign above my head.

But no, the conversation with my classmate totally overrode all of that rational. The only reason I was denied was because of my hair. They lied about the accommodations and simply didn’t like me even though both interviews had gone well. They’re all lying soulless jerks. Rawr.

The conversation with my brother ended on not such a good note. He sent me a text message not long after our conversation saying how it had felt like a slap in the face to him. He had just sent me money to pay for my classes and here I was throwing it away because I refused to dye my hair.

Bitch, I had just said on the phone that I knew I would do what I had to do, but that I hadn’t had time to process through the emotions and that I was angry and didn’t want to talk about it.

If you want to pick and choose what parts of the conversation you hear at least remember the goddamn facts of it and recognize that whatever hurt feelings you have are your own fault since you didn’t leave it alone when I told you to leave it alone.

I felt betrayed and guilty. I’m not the only one invested in my schooling anymore. That makes me want to do my best. But I’m not the only one invested in my schooling, so now I feel like I have to do what makes him happy. I feel like I “owe” it to him to give up my hair because that’s what he wants.

While we were on the phone he tried to relate to me by saying how he hates having to flip his septum piercing up when he goes and works with the color guard at the high school he volunteers at.

I mentioned how he had been dishonest about his piercing and that he was playing a dangerous game, which he was obviously ok with playing. He hadn’t been told he had to take the piercing out in order to have the job. He had flipped the piercing up before the interview and pretended like it didn’t exist.

That’s fine. That’s how he wants to play it. But it wasn’t fair of him to use that as an example of him “sacrificing” because he didn’t sacrifice. He lied and kept something that is important to him. So really the moral here is I should lie. I should hide my hair in a head wrap preemptively. At least that’s what he’s saying his actions would be if he were in my situation.

I didn’t have it in me to do much the rest of Friday. I applied to some jobs eventually. Only three. One is a Central Service Tech job at a surgical center not far from where I live. I wouldn’t mind interviewing for it. Another is a pharmacy stock position with the hospital. That one doesn’t seem so bad either, but with how I got so far with the interview process for them to deny me with no reason given, I’m sort of burned out on the hospital right now.

I thought a long time about the conversation with my brother. I didn’t want him to feel like I was throwing away anything because I wasn’t. What made everything so painful was the knowledge that if push came to shove I would, indeed, relinquish my hair. That I wouldn’t stand true to myself. I would conform. I would bend, but in my head, it wasn’t bending, it was breaking. And I would do it even as I hated every second, even as every morning I would be reminded by the mirror that I had abandoned myself. He felt hurt and betrayed even though ultimately I would do whatever I needed to do.

What do you do with that? I said, “If I have to, I’ll do the thing you want me to do.” And he still felt hurt. He still felt like I slapped him in the face. How was I supposed to succeed in that situation? I didn’t, and still don’t, understand other than to say, “It’s Jon and he’s always going to be a double-edged sword.”

Saturday morning, while I was drinking my coffee, I came up with what may be a compromise I’m ok with.

I’ll keep applying for jobs. That choice was never really an option. I’ll keep my purple hair while I do it. If, by the time I finish my phlebotomy class, 5 weeks from now, I haven’t been able to land anything, then I will dye my hair back.

And even then, I might wait a month while I finish out my PCT course and see if I can get a phlebotomy position with my hair the way it is. I think I like that idea better. I can’t apply for phlebotomy jobs yet, so I want to give myself a chance in that area before giving up my hair.

So, yeah, nine weeks. Nine weeks to find someone who sees me as a person rather than a stereotype. Nine weeks to find a company who understands that IT’S JUST HAIR and that I would be beyond grateful to be allowed to remain true to myself.

Having found that compromise I felt a bit better. My thoughts turned to the job search, though. I’ve been seriously looking for a job since mid-February. So a month I guess? Two interviews, and a call back I shouldn’t have passed up. So does that count as three?

Are those good numbers? Am I not trying hard enough? Should I still be reaching for low hanging fruit or stay aimed at the direction I want to go in? How do you know when you’re making the right choices? Is there something I should be doing differently?

Blarg.

I paid bills on Friday, too. I’m broke. Like, “I can’t go grocery shopping until Warren pays rent” level of broke. Yeah… and with no future income in sight at the moment. It makes my stomach tight like I’m preparing for a massive uppercut that I know is going to suck no matter how prepared I am for it. It makes me wrap my arms around my stomach to think about how I can’t buy anything. Not conditioner or body wash. Not the cheese slices for breakfast.

This was what I was trying to avoid by searching for jobs early. I didn’t want to be in this situation. But I’m here. So I guess the best thing I can do is understand the emotions I feel and do the best I can to change my situation.

I went to the dojo Saturday. Jiujitsu was first, then Muay Thai. I thought about not staying for the second class. I did, though, and I’m glad I did even though right now I’m incredibly sore.

I hung around after class, stretching on the mat while some of the guys talked. We all ended up in sort of a pow-wow circle, sitting and relaxing while we chatted. It was nice. I feel like I’m starting to form actual friendships with some of them, which you would think trying to choke each other out all the time would mean we’re like BFFs or something. Since a few of them are friends on my Facebook they mentioned my stripe and EKG certification. It made me feel like I was part of the group.

I didn’t drink enough water while I was at the dojo so by the time I got home I had a killer headache. I ate, drank water, then curled up in bed and suffered for a while. It wasn’t until around 8 pm that I started feeling ok enough to do much of anything. I cooked homemade beef stir fry. It came out awesome.

I went back to bed not long after cleaning up the kitchen and running the dishwasher.

So, of course, I’m not ok that when I went down to the kitchen this morning there are dirty dishes in the sink.

Blah. That’s a conversation I don’t want to have. But I know I need to because it’s only going to get worse for me internally if I don’t.

I don’t feel like doing anything today. I’m supposed to go start cleaning out the storage unit but the bitch in me doesn’t want to do it. Why should I be the only one to do anything when he can’t even be bothered to put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher?

I know if I don’t start moving boxes back to the apartment that Tuesday is going to epically suck. I don’t want to spend my whole day moving stuff. I want it to be the furniture and that’s it.

I feel like that’s a victim mentality. “Why me? Why can’t it be fair?”

I don’t know what to do to change those feelings. And I don’t know how to make it fair when the other person doesn’t care enough to change.

I might have a way to make my work area more conducive to studying. It’s something I’m looking into at least, being able to work better at home. Since home is becoming a point of stress for me I’m not sure how helpful any changes are actually going to be.

I want things to change, but I don’t want to put in any more effort because it feels like the effort I have put in is pointless. It hasn’t gotten me anywhere so why keep trying?

Because I said I would. Because if I don’t try than things literally won’t change. I have to keep going to the dojo if I want to keep getting healthier. I have to keep applying for jobs if I want the chance to actually have one. I need to keep going to class so I can keep improving which will let me apply for better jobs. And I need to keep telling Warren that he’s being unkind to me because he is. His apathy affects more than just him and it will kill our relationship if he doesn’t change.

I have to accept that he might not change, and if he doesn’t then that’s on him. I’ve been doing my part. I’ve tried to come up with compromises that work for both of us. I’m not a doormat. I’m not his mom. He’s not my man child.

This moment is temporary. It will change.