A Prevailing Symptom Of My Abuse Is Not Believing Myself When I Don't Feel Well.

A prevailing symptom of my abuse is not believing myself when I don't feel well.

Today I am going to bed early.  My body is feeling symptoms of stress, and it’s high time I started listening to it.

Rewarding and Challenging.

This job is exhausting.

I have spent multiple nights up until 2am planning, finding just the right exercises, wondering when a video would help and if they're understanding the content I'm showing them, worrying if the questions I've prepared to test their understanding are fair, questioning if I'm working too hard on grammar or not hard enough, stressing out over if they actually understand why/how we use modals, does the vocab I send them for reference actually increase their vocab recognition, are they overwhelmed or are they feeling unchallenged, am I helping, for the love of fuck am I helping?

My mother warned me about this.

I still feel anxious for a split second when I go to take a slice of pizza

Inspection

This was him if I was ever eating anything with my hands. Sandwiches, pizza, crackers, whatever.  He was waiting for the second a crumb dropped so he could squawk.

And, man, did he squawk.  As if he’d be the one cleaning it up.

I started doing the dishes immediately after I finished cooking so he’d be done or mostly done by the time I sat down to eat. He never sat with me if he was done.  

I ate a lot of cold food, but at least I could eat in peace.

Oopsie.

You know when you know something is a bad idea, but you do it anyways?

Have any of you figured out how to curb that yet?

and I still do.

You didn’t just put me down

you made me put myself down

Did I mention I have to go back to this fucker to get him to sign things? 

Apparently I’ll never be safe.

So.  I got sexually harassed by one of my tax clients yesterday. 

He’s on disability and CRA (Canada’s IRS - less scary, still irritating) is jerking him around.  He’s “not going to file” to solve this issue (it won’t, but you can’t tell some people anything).  CRA will probably just cut off his benefits if he doesn’t file, and as I’m a fucking fool with no sense of self preservation or foresight I offered to do his return for free.  

So I’ve just agreed to do him a favour, and he starts calling me sweetheart.  I’m don’t say anything, and I wish I had because it went allll downhill from there. I roll up to pick up his documents and he’s shitfaced.  I don’t know what he was drinking, but I can’t get that sickeningly sweet smell out of my nose.

He starts trying to get me to “feel” his body parts that are “fucking jacked” now that he’s been working out.  I’m visibly uncomfortable. He asks me to grab his ass. “No, thanks”

He asked me to come up to his apartment.  I said that I was in a hurry to see other clients.  He asked me to go out to dinner with him and I told him I had a partner and wasn’t interested (why did I have to mention my partner, isn’t ‘not interested’ enough)?

THEN he says, and I fucking quote “Well you could always come upstairs for a one hour romance.”

“….Nope, I’m not interested.  I gotta go.”

“Oh come on, it’s just a sexual experience baby, that’s all it would be.”

*walking away dry heaving into my mask*

“Oh, ok, well thanks anyways!”

For the love of fuck, asshole.  I do your fucking taxes. I had half a mind to leave his docs with him, but I am propelled forwards by this self-destructive sense of compassion for people who are simply not worthy of it.