I Feel The Need To Repost.

I feel the need to repost.

We’ve hit Anger, for now

A few years ago, my friend’s city had to be evacuated due to a wildfire. Pictures from the evacuation process look exactly what I (an atheist, and admittedly not a theology expert) picture Hell to look like. It is pure terror.

Once my friend was able to return to her residence she found that it had burned to the ground.  She and her partner had lost everything.

I remember her telling me the frustration she felt  trying to talk about it.  She heard a lot of “but at least you’re ok, it could have been so much worse!” My experience is different than her’s, but I understand her now much more than I did then.

I am Angry.  Yep, Capital A.

When I actually sat down and looked at the numbers, I handed him 6 figures.  I got years of therapy and the prospect of never being right again  nothing.

When I think about how I’m killing myself to pay off debt that I got into to appease him, and scraping pennies together to try to get myself even half way to where I was with him, yeah, I get Angry.  

I am angry for the life he stole from me. 

I’m furious  he’s sitting in MY home, with MY bed and MY furniture, and gifts MY family got us, with MY money lining his bank accounts and MY trinkets and heirlooms that have no real value in this world aside from the memories and connections they have to me lining his shelves and cupboards. 

I have tried to talk about this, and very well meaning people, tell me  “It’s a small price to pay.”   “You’re lucky you got out.”    “It could be so much worse.”

Listen, no one feels my mortality or how “so much worse” it could have been more than me.  You weren’t there when he was threatening me with kitchen knives, putting pillows over my face, smashing my head against walls, pushing me down stairs, or threatening me with tools.

You weren’t there. I was. I know. I get the fucking flashbacks that remind me any time I’m feeling too comfortable.  Do you really think the other stuff is  “a small price to pay?”  You have no idea.  

I know, they mean well, and they’re trying to make me feel better, but they aren’t. They’re trivializing my loss, and making me feel as though I should feel guilty for being angry.

I’m entitled to my rage; I will take it and let it wash over me.

My woman is worried about me. Apparently I've slipped down into another hole. That's unusual for the summer months. But here we are.

I have to wonder where I would be if he hadn't wrecked havoc on me physically and mentally. I wonder how much of my brain scramble was mine to begin with

He told me I was stupid. He told me that if I wanted to be a slut I should have at least charged for it. I could have made decent money and at least I'd be good for something.

Word to the wise

I just watched I, Tonya this morning.

If you're a survivor of domestic violence or violence at the hands of your parents and you're still a bit triggery, I'd recommend not watching I, Tonya.

They’re everywhere.

My new boss has told the director of sales (my colleague) that she should bring him along when she’s going to deliver a proposal because men are better at closing deals.

He called me ‘Dear’ on the phone and told me I should have more staff on when we are busier and less staff on when we are less busy (how insightful, I never would have thought).

He also insists our numbers are higher than they are despite my explicit explanation (and the math) as to how that is impossible. 

Furthermore, he told my other colleage and counterpart that he should speak to me “as a friend” (he actually is my friend by the way) about my attire and how it’s not appropriate for my role. I should dress more professional “ a skirt maybe”, and wishes to avoid an awkward encounter with me himself.  

Not that I want to give his suggestion much gravity, but I’ll explain something fairly quickly that he, as my boss, should have figured out within 5 minutes of discussing with me what I do.  My role in other larger companies would likely be a desk job with some sales/retention work with clients.  I’d probably have a nice office and staff to do about 50% of the work I currently handle myself.

Unfortunately, our site is on the smaller side and I run my department basically from ground level.  This means my job is about 60% physical - I’m running a lot.  So the suggestion of a dress and heels to work isn’t just offensive and inappropriate, it’s fucking downright impractical.

I have to have a meeting about this.  I may get fired over this.  Whatever the outcome, I’m not staying at this hellhole.

How the fuck is it, that every time one of these fucking shitbags enters a work place they kill off everything good around them?  Why am I the one who has to find something else?

Today is a bad day.