Lost...

Dear Hearts,

They don’t know what they did. What they took from me.

When I first moved here with the intent of staying—summer of 2016—I applied for a job at Burning Bed. They didn’t have the funds for the job. But THEY came to ME. They contacted ME to take the training. The ED was all impressed with my writing skills and they implied that if I stuck around I would get a job. Granted I have been back and forth a lot since that summer until the fall of 2017. But I volunteered with a smile on my face and did go above and beyond. I fucking worked Sundays for free. I covered whole day shifts as a volunteer.

Tonya loved me. That’s what she said. I was great, skilled—I had everything they were looking for. They wanted me to be part of their staff.

17 paid days later that was not the case. I was incompetent and unattainable on the phone. I ignored visitors. I didn’t know the procedures even though I had “special” training. Tonya couldn’t do anything else with me. I just could not do the job.

“But, oh yeah, keep volunteering for us,” said Tonya.

“If you worked for me, you never would have been fired,” said the ED. “I promise that if you keep volunteering, I will get you a job.” (I DO WORK FOR YOU, ASSHOLE!)

The back-stabbing, sabotage, cattiness, and bullying had been done. It can’t be undone.

I swear I know when I do a bad job.

Monday: If a new client calls, write a referral if no advocates are available.

Tuesday: Don’t write a referral if a new client calls, FIND AN ADVOCATE!

Wednesday: How do you not know what you are doing yet?

Thursday: They are talking about you. What is the matter with you?

Friday: SHE probably already took it to the ED and you’re in trouble. I can’t help you.

I didn’t get a “lunch.” I got to go to the bathroom once a day.

It was a set up to fail.

I have a fucking NYS Teaching Degree and an MFA (Ha-fucking-ha, Michael-I’m sorry that my MFA doesn’t fit your standards. Didn’t you tell me that I was the only applicant with no writing errors in her application?) I taught for almost 13 years. I was a journalist. I graduated summa cum laude and deserved it!

I don’t know whom I pissed off. I don’t know what I could have done differently. I keep going over and over and over it like a skipping CD.

The situation makes less sense now than it did when it first happened. I was the only Office Staff with a degree.

What they took from me was more than just a fucking job. Oh, let me be indulgent—they took away a major part of my life. BB was a motivation for myself—for my future, past Papa, here. It’s gone.

I dream about Tonya. The humiliation and shame and secrets.

Fuck Me Freddy.

It hurts so much still. A visceral, palpable pain.

Pray and Believe. I am really trying. I lost Hope with BB.

The thing with feathers. Its feathers fell off.

And this single digit and below weather—I’ve had it! I cannot run.

The kind of care Papa has needed in the last month—I couldn’t have given that to him if I had been working.

I need something for myself. Just me. Something other than cross-stitching, drawing, reading…this is what happened in NY. I became so isolated.

I feel so alone.

Aunt Faerie does her best. Other people my age have families and jobs and lives.

I know I fucked up along the way. But, what happened at BB was beyond my control. Do I return to my abuser? Not this time.

I feel like I am living inside a prism and everything is distorted—all my senses.

The papers that officially release me from the house are in the mail.

I have no savings and am way in the red.

And I can feel those stressors coming back full force. The OCD. The germs that everyone has out there. Aunt Faerie got me butter, bananas, and apples when they went shopping this morning.

Do you know how much that means to me? That I did not have to go to a store—change into “outside” clothes and come in contact with people and GERMS.

I am screaming and no sound is come out.

I want peace. That’s it. Just peace. I want peace in my heart.

In an hour I get ready to go to Mass.

My life and days are anxiety-ridden with small oases of peace. For those I am grateful. And I know all the blessings I have and for those I am grateful. I recognize all of God’s blessings. Then I feel guilt for not being happier.

Dad gave me this book Streams in the Desert. Every day there is a Bible quote and then some commentary on those desert times.

“When you pass through the waters…they will not sweep over you.” Isaiah 43:2

“God does not open paths for us before we come to them, or provide help before help is needed. He does not remove obstacles out of our way before we reach them. Yet when we are at our point of need, God’s hand is outstretched….You must be in the floodwaters before you can claim God’s promise…”

I have come so far…and lost and gained so much…

I feel lost. I am lost.

Lost.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Ailbhe; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

Family

Health

Movie Night

Pie

Faith

Cigarettes

Coffee

Sleeping in

Staying up late

All those whom I love and who love me

PS: ED, does it make you feel good to insult a “woman you WANT on staff” by saying her religion is one of anti-gays and pedophiles? Did I tell you that you a craven Atheist with a big New York City attitude that no one admires? You have fooled some of these Mid-Westerners, but not me.

TAKE YOUR PROMISES AND SHOVE THEM, MOTHERFUCKER. 

God, I am here...

I don't even know what to pray for on this Epiphany of Our Lord...to be found, I think.