Today was a normal Tuesday. Up in the morning and to school on time. Surprising to say the least being that I'm still feeling quite raw about yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before that.
The 90 cents in the bank miraculously multiplied itself and gratefully became enough to pay the rent. By some miracle the Ex actually put enough in the bank to a good majority of the rent, but I had to pull $250 from my college money account to make sure the rent check cleared. So at least there's a roof over my head for another month which I'm very grateful for, but to be honest, I'm still scared. I'm dwindling fast.
I've been on my second interview with an ad agency to be their afternoon receptionist, but I'm not sure that the pay and the part-time hours will be enough to keep me afloat over the summer, so I'm still trying to deal with the fact that I've had to tailor my resume to become devoid of my AA, hoping someone, somewhere will not say that I'm overqualified and give me a job that pays enough so that I can pay my rent. However, it doesn't tackle the core issue, there are just no jobs right now. The horrible economy in Nevada has made it so that finding a job that pays enough to cover bills is next to impossible.
But, that doesn't cover all that I'm coping with. Yesterday's Personal Growth topic was still plaguing me when I woke up this morning. I woke up hearing the taunts and sneers from kids that tormented me all those years ago echoing in my head. I could hear and see them clear as day in front of me; the torments, the things that happened, everything flashing through my head at light speed. I thought I was going to come unglued. So, after history class this morning, I decided to be more aggressive with getting rid of those nasty little beasts once and for all. If yesterday's topic was at the core of all of my issues, then it was high time it became a non-issue.
I went and saw Doc Cat at her office. She sat with me and handed me tissues while I cried and she looked at me amazed after I had told her what was bothering me and how I had done my best to push them down and out of the way, and giving it everything I had to live my life in the present. I told her that I made great strides trying to understand where the abuse in my life came from; in my case it was a lot of stuff snowballing down hill that reached gargantuan size and plowed straight into me with a loud and painful thud. Then we got to the truth, most of what's happened to me I didn't deserve. However, it didn't stop me from wanting to understand why all of those horrible children went out of their way day after day to bully and torment me, that I would never hear an apology for all the horrible things they did to me.
I went out on a limb and asked Doc Cat if I was being my own guest of honor at a personal pity party or if I needed to be told "get off the cross, someone else needs the wood," to which she said that in no shape or form was I pitying myself, rather it was amazing the amount of compassion I was showing and it was amazing that I was trying to understand and process what happened to me without being angry or bitter. I went on with my questions. Were those kids dealing with a snowball effect in their own lives, were they growing up in violent environments that made it necessary to have them exact that behavior on someone else? What drove them to do such horrible things to a human being? I told her how much I wanted to put this behind me, how I have struggled for years trying to push them out of my head to get on with my life.
After drying myself up a bit she told me that what I was doing wasn't quite right. It was so sweet when she told me that I didn't realize that I was standing in my own way by pushing down and ignoring all of the torments that have been haunting me for the last 30 years. She said I had a right to be angry with them and to not like them, but what surprised me is that she said I was expressing more compassion towards the people who bullied me than they deserved. She was amazed that even though they put me through the mill and then some, I was willing to forgive them for what they did because I don't want to carry it around anymore. Doc said that they didn't deserve the leniency and compassion that I was willing to give them and that they didn't deserve to be understood. (Personally, the thought did flash through my mind that there is a special place in hell for those people, they just don't know it yet.)
The point was is that Doc Cat thinks that I'm afraid of how I'll react if I let go, let their voices in my head get loose, give them a voice and let them do their worst to me, effectively getting into the mental ring and going toe to toe with them. She said that by pushing all of those memories down that I wasn't giving them a chance to come out and be done with, and I think she's absolutely right. Those bastards don't deserve the love and compassion I have, it's too pure and precious to be wasted on the swine who lived to bully me all those years ago. But alas I have to, according to the doctor's orders, take time, get into a moment where I feel safe and let them rip. After I do what it takes to let them loose and let them do their worst, here comes the fun part, after they're done, I get to give it right back with both barrels. I have permission to throw things, kick, scream, and yell, say the horrible things they need to have said to them and finally exorcise them from my consciousness like so much trash ready to be taken out to the curb.
It was at that point that I confided something to her, that I've gone on Facebook and reveled in the fact that I've seen photographs of all of the people who bullied me back then that now have exteriors that match their childhood interiors, and all truth be told, outside of one or two, they all look like holy hell, ugly and there is no amount of eye bleach that can remove how ugly they really are as adults. Ok, let me be blunt. These are people I would in no way, shape or form would be seen dead with at Spago for a Creme Brulee. Ok, if I've pulled out the Spago big guns, you know I mean business. That's the highest insult I can dish out on anyone. Seriously, they are the dregs that take ugly to a whole new level. Doc Cat thought that what I did was great, that I could actually confront them that way in a manner which was safe for me. It was a good first step. But now comes the next step, I have to let them loose and let them do what they did so well, throw damaging taunts, spread rumors, and do all of the horrible things that have marred my soul for the last 30 years. They're directly part of the reason that I've shoved drugs in my body and engaged in self-destructive behaviors, but fact remains, they get one more shot and then it's katy-bar-the-door because I finally get to bring the hammer down.
After my meeting with Doc Cat, I felt better knowing that all of the anxiety I was feeling was, as Doc Cat pointed out, just due to the fact I don't trust myself to be able to handle how I'll react to letting them loose. She looked at me and said, "I trust that you can handle this. I trust you more than you trust yourself, you'll be ok. I know you will. You can do it." She gave me the big hug I've needed for a while and sent me back onto campus.
As I walked toward the Student Union for lunch, I felt better just in the fact that I talked about what had happened to me. It was the first time I had ever spoken about the bullying I went through with another human being. No one has ever seen me talk about it in the way I told Doc Cat about it, mentioning names, what exact atrocities were visited on me (to which I saw her flinch a couple of times) and describing in exacting detail the torment that I endured every single day during adolescence. I've never expressed it verbally until today. I guess it just needed to come out to someone I trusted enough to talk about it with. To be honest, it's been inside me festering for so long that I'm not so sure it's not become some sort of emotional gangrene. I'm still weepy about it, but I will say this, it feels good to know that I'm not crazy, that I'm not pitying myself and that those bastards who hurt me really do deserve to burn in a hell 1000 times worse than the hell they put me through. As Sherrilyn Kenyon would put it, "The oven temperature is set at 'extra crispy.'"
To be quite honest, their 15 minutes are up, even though it did last 30 years. I'll make sure I write about it when I get to the point I let them loose, but let's get on with the rest of the day.
After lunch and a quick IMC class, ended early because we have a grad student substituting for our professor that's out of town, Haley and I were on our way to the cars. On the way out, I spied something that stopped me. On the bulletin board in Wright Hall, a flyer with a familiar logo gave me pause. It seems as that Disney recruits students for their College Program at UNLV.
Grabbing Haley by the hand, I pulled her along with me to the Student Union where we took an hour and sat through the Disney College Program presentation.
For me, it was old hat. For goodness sake, I can still name my seven dwarves without even breaking a sweat. Dopey, Doc, Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy, Grumpy, Bashful. Two D's, two S's and three emotions, it's the easiest way in the world to remember them. But, the dwarves aren't important. What is important is that it would be a job that pays sub-minor ducats but would allow me to live near a Disney park, enjoy free admission, along with getting college credits with minimal living expenses for the summer and through the fall semester. Nine months of trying to figure out what to do but the ability to save money during the time. Ok, it's not even remotely close to a lot of money, in truth it's barely enough to survive on, but given what hours I would get at the ad agency, I'd be moving back in with my parents before I could speak the company's title when answering their telephone. I look at it this way, at least I'd be living in a different location, do what I know how to do, taking classes while working along with taking an online class or two for UNLV to keep my student status.
Ok, is this going a bit far? Probably, but I've yet to see a publisher come out of the works and offer me an advance on the book that is my blog.
I'm still waiting to hear back from the ad agency. Cross your fingers, huh?
Ugh, I really do hate having to struggle like this. I'm worth a lot, I know I am.