Last Day

Today’s the last day at my job. So far no one has spoken to me today. That’s okay. I prefer it this way.

I wish I could say my mood is good, instead all I focus on are my personal failings. My failure to correct the tailspin this current contract I am working caused. My failure to connect or relate to anyone here. It’s all right. It’s okay.

All I seem to be able to think about is failure, and hiding failure. Running away from failure. I am good at hiding, running away. It is not good that now I feel there is no one who I don’t have to hide from. When I go home, I have to maintain the mask of normality for my husband. It’s part of why I married him- he is steady, constant, and doesn’t have to pretend. But this also means he doesn’t understand the need to pretend.

Just keep it up. Just a little while longer. Soon the day will be over, and I can go home and nap. And given my mood swings, maybe by the time I leave I’ll be in a better mood. I tend to turn to this blog when I am at my lowest.

During the time off, I need to focus on doing. On acting. Not sitting in a distant state of introspective rumination. Chasing those thoughts that lead me further down and down the spiral. That’s why I couldn’t succeed at this horrible contract; my lack of successes lead to a slippery slope of perceiving I couldn’t succeed. Sitting at my desk and needing to work, to do something, but feeling paralyzed. My unemployment needs to be a time of recovery; feeling like I can accomplish something. To regain a love of programming, my career choice. To make my body stronger and leaner. To learn how to not give any f*cks. Without the pressure of being in a professional environment, expected to perform, maybe I can do so. That’s what’s left of my optimism, part of me is deathly afraid my mental health might continue to deteriorate if left to my own devices. I can’t allow it to.

Something I haven’t mentioned is that I’m growing my hair back out. Mainly because the last time I got it cut, the stylist asked if I was growing it out. That might seem like an innocent comment to a normal person, but to me it was an implication that short hair was bad. And so I haven’t been able to go back to get it cut, even though it looks worse growing out, shaggy and strange looking. I haven’t been back because I don’t know who will cut my hair, and what other types of comments I might get. I look back at every interaction I have with others and judge myself and the interaction extremely, extremely harshly.

I had a random thought today- if I was speaking to the woman I considered a good, close friend, like a blood sister, and who I ended up completely ghosting, I would say: “I always felt like I could be myself around you. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?” Being myself is the problem. All because I can’t play the part I was handed at birth.

Yet I don’t want to hide anymore. Not hiding means I can be hurt by others. Oh, and I will be. But hiding also means I hurt myself. If I am going to be hurt either way, what do I do?
My skin used to be thicker. No, it wasn’t. I was just blinded by my own social inadequacies that also made me a disastrously open person to others. I can’t return to that. I am currently in a state of change, and they say it gets worse before it gets better. I have to believe it.

I’ve razed much of my opinions of myself to the ground. I feel like the foundations for someone better have been laid.. All the time complaining on this blog has helped me work through some things, to some degree. I simply need to start building.

Huh. I feel better. Funny how that works.


Far Away in a Safe Place

The last week has kind of sucked, I’ve been sick. I took three days off work and have been in late for two other days.

It’s weird that this illness struck me right before I turn in my res1gnation. I started feeling sick last week, on Tuesday. The cold has run its course, but a respiratory infection took its place. No telling when that will end.

This Tuesday, I came back to work from sick leave and found my manager’s manager has scheduled a weekly meeting where he and an HR rep review my weekly activity report. Note, the weekly activity report (WAR) was a consequence of my “needs improvement” performance review from last year. It’s telling, that this manager wants HR to be present when he goes over the WAR with me. My three signed resignation letters are on my desk, ready to go, and I itch to simply drop them off. One for my manager, one for manager’s manager, and one for HR. Only a day left until I can do so. I wonder if they’ll still want to do the WAR review with HR if I’m resigning.

Not much longer that I have to come in here. I have to remind myself. Though I can’t wait to be out of here, I feel heavy-hearted. Mainly, at the loss of this place. It’s not a bad place to work. The company does and has done a lot for me. I’m just not suited to 9-5 work anymore.

What a entitled, ridiculous thing to say: not suited to 9-5 work. It’s deceptive, too. There’s a lot I’m not saying when I say I’m “not suited” to full time employment. I’m not talking about the huge increase in my social anxiety that’s happened over the last two years. The anxiety that makes me more and more reclusive, more and more unwilling to talk to others. The anxiety that poisons every interaction, that leads to oversharing when I do want to talk to others, leading to feelings of humiliation, leading to more anxiety. In a fatalistic way, I’m glad I’m going to be spending much of my time at home. It’s for the best. Fewer people to exist around. Fewer opportunities to feel inadequate.

I’m also not talking about the growing apathy towards my career field. The only feelings of accomplishment I get anymore come from doing housework or playing video games. Everything I do at work is frustrating and far from straight-forward. There is no sense of satisfaction anymore, doing the work that I do. Maybe that feeling will return one day, during my time off from working. I can start slow, learning more about Python and Django, which I worked with during my greatest period of success at the company. I’d love to feel some passion towards a programming project again.

When I think about not working, I feel immediate relief. Like I don’t have to pretend anymore. That I’m some high-power high-earning female. Deep down, I know I’m just a little woman with delusions of grandeur. Delusions of intellect and self-sufficiency. Other people have always been trying to show me my place. Subtly and outright. And the pressure has finally gotten to me, worn me down over years like wind and water does to stone. Look, world, you win. I’m not going to be more than what I seem. I’ll just be what you think I should be. Then maybe I’ll be accepted.

Yes. To stay home, safe and sound, away from the judgemental eyes of others. Safe from the bland, mediocre cruelty of everyday people. Away from dismissive, derisive, unconsciously and consciously over-competitive interactions. Everybody thinks everybody else wants to topple them from their tier in the hierarchy. I want to be treated like there are no levels. Just flat ground, where everyone makes an attempt to see eye-to-eye. I don’t want to bow, but I don’t want to loom over anyone either. I don’t feel suited to this world at times.

Better to focus on what I’ll be doing at home. I’ll decompress. I’ll work on building some sort of daily routine, rather than the haphazard “I’ll do it if I feel like it” thing I have now. I’ll lose my sense of alienation and despair in drawing and writing; my graphic novel will have time to be born now. I’ll be house-proud, fixing up the outside and keeping the inside tidy. I’ll take time to rekindle a love of programming. I’ll do what I want, when I want, but responsibly. A little bit of spontaneity and impulsiveness, to add spice to life. That’s my hope at least.