“I ignored you and you didn’t go away. This is some bullshit.”
Some people on Twitter like to joke about being anti-social. Today, depression doesn’t feel like a joke, but because it’s making me want to stay under the covers and be alone, I get it even if I can’t laugh. One of the reasons I want to stay under the covers is because I was crying during the night again. I don’t remember why, but when I woke up my eyes were glued shut with salt crystals, and when I looked in the mirror, they were swollen and there were bags under them. This must be because I asked the universe for help to stop crying long enough to earn my $20 cash money yesterday. I guess the crying still had to be done, but at least my body did it when nobody could see me. There’s another reason I’m relieved to be crying in my sleep, too. I was starting to tell myself that I was just wallowing in self-pity, and that there was no good reason to be crying all the time. Is it even possible to wallow in self-pity when you’re sleeping?
Yesterday, I talked about leaving the country. You probably thought that was just my instability talking louder than the Zoloft, which only seems to be able to whisper. But today, it still seems like a pretty good plan B if I can’t get another job before my money runs out. It’s a lot less humiliating to be homeless in a foreign country where nobody you know can see you. It’s also hard to feel like a charity case when people want to help you. For example, yesterday, I got a get well card from the school I just resigned from. It said I was missed and that everybody hoped I could rest and relax and feel better soon. It had a cartoon picture of somebody’s feet up in a recliner and their hands holding a cup of tea. Inside, there was a $25 Visa gift card. That made me question whether everybody there had really thought me as incompetent as I felt or wanted to be rid of me as much as I believed they did. I’m still pretty sure that at least a couple of them did, but I guess there were some that didn’t, too. Maybe it’s like that for everybody.
That kindness made me feel even more insane for quitting even though the stress was giving me eczema, gastric problems and panic attacks and weakening my immune system so I’d catch every cold and flu that students brought into the building. I had hoped it could be my forever job because I loved how I got to see the same students grow from year to year and feel like a positive part of the community. I felt what stability might be like for the first time since before my parents left the town we’d lived in for most of our lives in the middle of the night, before we had to sleep in city parks until they found the tiny house where they starved us until I ran away. That hope for stability made me willing to overlook how I really don’t believe it’s good for children to make them learn how to be quiet and line up and sit still in a classroom all day listening to mostly lies from 20 year old textbooks. I was glad I only had to teach reading and math, because those things are true.
Now I don’t know what my forever job could be. Maybe it could be in an office because I’m not as likely to feel incompetent in a job where I don’t have to pretend I’ve had a normal life like everybody else to avoid traumatizing others. I’ve already proved to myself that I can competently run an office—I just have to learn more ways to cope with the mind-numbing boredom of doing and saying the same things over and over again and the humiliation of being subordinate. Being subordinate is easier when the person you’re subordinate to is either as smart or smarter than you or extremely competent. If they aren’t, it’s doubly humiliating. Why aren’t there any self-help books with titles like “Ten Tips for Working for People Who Got Their Jobs Through Money or Politics”? It’s almost like people think if they ignore that reality, it will go away.