A lot has happened since my last post.
One of the things that has changed is my passion.
I used to enjoy debating and addressing the issues of the world. It used to ignite a fire in my belly.
I wanted to share my opinion.
I wanted to learn from others and to listen to their opinions.
I wanted to write, I even started writing a book. I started drawing a bit. I smiled more genuinely.
Now, I cry daily and struggle to get out of bed. My eating habits are shit and I smoke just to feel good.
My assistant manager took an extreme disliking to me for many long, painful months at my newest job.
I am a waitress in a nice, revamped pub.
I like to believe that it was all merely miscommunication; orchestrated unintentionally by different people; my interviewers, another manager and assistant manager respectively.
I crawled into my shell. Hid. I hate confrontation so I waited for it all to blow over.
She threatened to fire me at a one-to-one meeting, between me and her.
I had no clue what I'd done wrong.
I was never told and I didn't dare ask anyone.
I was originally promised something different in my interview (a supervisor position) only for people to change their minds and get me transferred to a different pub; the one with the hellish assistant manager.
It was a mess.
Everything got better, eventually.
The assistant manager and I even got along.
We shared a bottle of wine when we were closing up the pub. She bought me a drink. We shared cigarettes.
But uncomfortable events, like the above one, stick with me. I can't just forget.
I've had many unpleasant and downright dangerous encounters with individuals throughout my 26 years on earth. Mostly pub clients, both from my current and previous jobs.
I remember and old, sleazy man touching my leg as a placed his wife's breakfast in front of her.
An old boss was a strange, unfriendly man who drank 10 pints on shift, every shift.
I've been shouted at and humiliated by a elderly woman; she thought that I was being rude when I repeated what she'd said back to her; I couldn't hear her over the other rather noisy clients.
I've been screamed at by a man. Literally, screamed at. He didn't speak.
He just screamed int my ear, for the shits and giggles.
I've been abused by a customer who targeted me at work. Nothing was good enough for him.
I had to change his wine glass three times.
He sarcastically asked me what my problem was, then jeered that I seemed "stressed."
He asked for his tart with ice cream to be sent back because it was "too cold."
When I came back with the new dessert (after getting abuse hurled at me by the chefs) the man grinned and told me I was "finally being a good girl."
I bumped into this customer and his squat partner as I was walking home from work.
He jeered something at me. I can't remember what he said.
I just remember that his expression was full of contempt.
He'd probably bullied countless other barmaids before me. I snapped; told him he was a cunt.
I told him that I was pregnant too, just to see if the fellow had any semblance of humanity within him. He told me that I was a rat, that I was ugly and that I had smelly breath.
His partner giggled throughout this ordeal; saying nothing.
This man attempted (poorly) to punch my stomach.
I remember that I chased him and his partner across a road, yelling at them both. I was so blinded by misery and anger, wanting to hurt, wanting to get my own back, wanting to be mean, wanting to SCREAM.
It was not my proudest moment.
Afterward, my manager told me that I get paid too little to get into fights with customers.
It haunts me to this day, even though it happened more than two summers ago.
I've felt so worthless.
One of the chef's I work currently with will scream abuse about me when I've made mistakes; the other staff seem to placidly agree with him, especially one woman, who I thought I could trust.
I have no doubt that they all talk, behind my back. Lord know that they talk about each other.
This is despite the fact that I am a loyal, hard-worker, who does her best and has disgusting blisters all over her feet to prove it. I rarely take breaks, or get given them. Sometimes, I don't eat.
I've felt like an outsider, constantly observing people, as my colleges sit and drink a couple of beers after a shift, they laugh and talk with each other; I feel so alone. Shunned.
In a weird way, it feels like I'm trapped in a cage and that the walls make me invisible.
But it's not just work.
Unfortunately, I've been trapped into buying a mortgage from irate parents.
They bought my flat outright a couple of years ago; after much arguing and disagreeing.
I remember desperately wanted to buy a flat on my own.
But they insisted. I relented.
I learned to appreciate what they bought me and I am thankful for the fact that rent is lower than it would normally be. And I do love my small, lovely flat.
My parents are naturally pushing me and my boyfriend to buy it from them.
It's hard; I work long, late shifts and my boyfriend is also full-time.
They fail to realize that sometimes, people can't just get a mortgage straight away. It can take time.
My mother can say especially cruel and hurtful things.
She has a long history of being incredibly virulent in the way she speaks to me.
My mother is a good person. A flawed one, but a good one.
Coming to that realization has helped me become a much less resentful person. Still.
The insecurity lingers. I fear I am becoming more like her with each passing day.
My grandma is going through chemo too. Breast cancer. She's too sick to visit.
Some of my best, most formative memories have been made in the beautiful garden of my beloved grandma. Many carefree hours were spent playing with my cousins and my sister as the adults chatted and drank around a magnificent barbecue, overlooking two ponds, full of fish and frogs and dragonfly nymphs. My grandma was always smiling, laughing, cooking for a husband who adores her and tending to her flowers.
I have cried everyday for four days straight.
My head hurts.
I have thought about how brilliant it would be to be hospitalized, just so that I would not have to worry about work, or mortgages, or people treating me differently.
I could lie in bed for hours and not get up.
People might actually send me get well cards to show me that they do care.
Tonight, I won't sleep.
I will stare with sore, tired eyes at my cracked phone screen, as the clock turns 3:00am.
Then 4:00am. My anxiety won't let me close my eyes and rest.
5:00am. I will wonder why my boyfriend even loves me.
6:00am. Still awake. Thoughts tumble through my brain.
At work, they will wonder why I make so many mistakes.
One of the things that has changed is my passion.
I used to enjoy debating and addressing the issues of the world. It used to ignite a fire in my belly.
I wanted to share my opinion.
I wanted to learn from others and to listen to their opinions.
I wanted to write, I even started writing a book. I started drawing a bit. I smiled more genuinely.
Now, I cry daily and struggle to get out of bed. My eating habits are shit and I smoke just to feel good.
My assistant manager took an extreme disliking to me for many long, painful months at my newest job.
I am a waitress in a nice, revamped pub.
I like to believe that it was all merely miscommunication; orchestrated unintentionally by different people; my interviewers, another manager and assistant manager respectively.
I crawled into my shell. Hid. I hate confrontation so I waited for it all to blow over.
She threatened to fire me at a one-to-one meeting, between me and her.
I had no clue what I'd done wrong.
I was never told and I didn't dare ask anyone.
I was originally promised something different in my interview (a supervisor position) only for people to change their minds and get me transferred to a different pub; the one with the hellish assistant manager.
It was a mess.
Everything got better, eventually.
The assistant manager and I even got along.
We shared a bottle of wine when we were closing up the pub. She bought me a drink. We shared cigarettes.
But uncomfortable events, like the above one, stick with me. I can't just forget.
I've had many unpleasant and downright dangerous encounters with individuals throughout my 26 years on earth. Mostly pub clients, both from my current and previous jobs.
I remember and old, sleazy man touching my leg as a placed his wife's breakfast in front of her.
An old boss was a strange, unfriendly man who drank 10 pints on shift, every shift.
I've been shouted at and humiliated by a elderly woman; she thought that I was being rude when I repeated what she'd said back to her; I couldn't hear her over the other rather noisy clients.
I've been screamed at by a man. Literally, screamed at. He didn't speak.
He just screamed int my ear, for the shits and giggles.
I've been abused by a customer who targeted me at work. Nothing was good enough for him.
I had to change his wine glass three times.
He sarcastically asked me what my problem was, then jeered that I seemed "stressed."
He asked for his tart with ice cream to be sent back because it was "too cold."
When I came back with the new dessert (after getting abuse hurled at me by the chefs) the man grinned and told me I was "finally being a good girl."
I bumped into this customer and his squat partner as I was walking home from work.
He jeered something at me. I can't remember what he said.
I just remember that his expression was full of contempt.
He'd probably bullied countless other barmaids before me. I snapped; told him he was a cunt.
I told him that I was pregnant too, just to see if the fellow had any semblance of humanity within him. He told me that I was a rat, that I was ugly and that I had smelly breath.
His partner giggled throughout this ordeal; saying nothing.
This man attempted (poorly) to punch my stomach.
I remember that I chased him and his partner across a road, yelling at them both. I was so blinded by misery and anger, wanting to hurt, wanting to get my own back, wanting to be mean, wanting to SCREAM.
It was not my proudest moment.
Afterward, my manager told me that I get paid too little to get into fights with customers.
It haunts me to this day, even though it happened more than two summers ago.
I've felt so worthless.
One of the chef's I work currently with will scream abuse about me when I've made mistakes; the other staff seem to placidly agree with him, especially one woman, who I thought I could trust.
I have no doubt that they all talk, behind my back. Lord know that they talk about each other.
This is despite the fact that I am a loyal, hard-worker, who does her best and has disgusting blisters all over her feet to prove it. I rarely take breaks, or get given them. Sometimes, I don't eat.
I've felt like an outsider, constantly observing people, as my colleges sit and drink a couple of beers after a shift, they laugh and talk with each other; I feel so alone. Shunned.
In a weird way, it feels like I'm trapped in a cage and that the walls make me invisible.
But it's not just work.
Unfortunately, I've been trapped into buying a mortgage from irate parents.
They bought my flat outright a couple of years ago; after much arguing and disagreeing.
I remember desperately wanted to buy a flat on my own.
But they insisted. I relented.
I learned to appreciate what they bought me and I am thankful for the fact that rent is lower than it would normally be. And I do love my small, lovely flat.
My parents are naturally pushing me and my boyfriend to buy it from them.
It's hard; I work long, late shifts and my boyfriend is also full-time.
They fail to realize that sometimes, people can't just get a mortgage straight away. It can take time.
My mother can say especially cruel and hurtful things.
She has a long history of being incredibly virulent in the way she speaks to me.
My mother is a good person. A flawed one, but a good one.
Coming to that realization has helped me become a much less resentful person. Still.
The insecurity lingers. I fear I am becoming more like her with each passing day.
My grandma is going through chemo too. Breast cancer. She's too sick to visit.
Some of my best, most formative memories have been made in the beautiful garden of my beloved grandma. Many carefree hours were spent playing with my cousins and my sister as the adults chatted and drank around a magnificent barbecue, overlooking two ponds, full of fish and frogs and dragonfly nymphs. My grandma was always smiling, laughing, cooking for a husband who adores her and tending to her flowers.
I have cried everyday for four days straight.
My head hurts.
I have thought about how brilliant it would be to be hospitalized, just so that I would not have to worry about work, or mortgages, or people treating me differently.
I could lie in bed for hours and not get up.
People might actually send me get well cards to show me that they do care.
Tonight, I won't sleep.
I will stare with sore, tired eyes at my cracked phone screen, as the clock turns 3:00am.
Then 4:00am. My anxiety won't let me close my eyes and rest.
5:00am. I will wonder why my boyfriend even loves me.
6:00am. Still awake. Thoughts tumble through my brain.
At work, they will wonder why I make so many mistakes.
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