It’s 11:50 PM, and I should be asleep because I work at 8 AM tomorrow, and I need to pack up all my shit this week to move.
Work. Pack. Move. Repeat.
All week.
I wanted to start this blog for nearly a YEAR. It came to me after I got quit-fired from a job. I’m a weird “troubled” girl (woman), and I have this pervasive neurodivergence that impacts every job I have had, leading to discrimination, exclusion, and mistreatment from employers.
I hate that boo-hoo woah is me victim mindset.
I get that hate from the people who raised me. “I will give you something to cry about” and “You aren’t abused; he was beaten to deaf in one ear as a boy; that’s abuse.”
Let’s halt the trauma dump, and leave it at that. You get it. It’s pretty easy to understand the inner criticism and lack of self-empathy for my experiences.
I don’t want to be the self-proclaimed victim who is handicapped.
I was told it was a choice and that I chose this. The self-hatred grew with every attempt to repair whatever was wrong with me. To find the miswiring and rearrange it until I was something acceptable.
It was recently that I discovered the extent of what I experience with my mental health was not this weakness of character or lack of will.
My will is strong, and that’s why I am here.
My mental health created chronic illness in my body. Once I realized what I experience is debilitating and disabling, it was easier to find mercy for myself. Perhaps that was the missing link all along, and this will allow me to operate from a different system and create a more sustainable life for myself.
Before recognizing disability, you may be constantly spending your time trying to compress yourself into a box that would never fit you, and what a tiresome existence that is. It’s defeating and deflating. It chips away at your self-concept until you feel reduced to rubble because you don’t have the capacity to complete the great performance.
The days this blog came to me started around the time I crawled out of my bed and to the kitchen with a blanket wrapped around my body. I sat with my head pressed against the utility closet, facing the kitchen island. I could not bring myself to get up and off the floor. I sat with this hollow heaviness. This done-ness. This inner collapse for what felt like hours before texting my boss that I was feeling sick and could not make it. I could not take another day of being singled out and mistreated.
I thought it important to mention, as I have many drafts of this story that were meant to serve as my first blog post.
I don’t expect this to get much, if any, reads, but it serves an important purpose.
I never started this blog because I had a vision for it containing all these self-imposed expectations, and the pressure of my definition of perfection looming overhead.
This system of thinking has been an internal prison. The only way to break out of it is to override the blocks.
One day this blog may become the ecosystem I imagined it to be. A container for my creativity that holds many facets of expression.
Right now it can be this.
Messy, flawed, imperfect.
I free myself from an expected output.
If my writing is this incoherent muddle of words, if it’s simply shitty, so be it.
I honestly have no idea how to conclude, and my brain feels like mush, so I will leave you with an until next time.
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