Old Job, New Impressions

I have been having a rocky start at my new job. A few of the personalities at work are at odds with mine. There is one other manager on my level at my job and she is a wild one. I have told everyone that she’s the complete opposite of me; tall, thin, loud, and opinionated. She’s quite risque. Other coworkers and I talk about how scandalously she talks and how upper management lets her get away with it.

I laughed to myself this morning. I have a new manager (one month after getting hired O_o) and he was chiding the afore mentioned manager for being too sexual at work, talking about her boobs. Isn’t that common sense not to mention or draw attention to your boobs at work? I don’t know, call me old fashioned. *rolls eyes*

So there’s a level of professionalism lacking, to say the least.

I have no regrets about transferring back to the Old Ren, I’ll say that. It was like time ravaging a past lover of yours. One day, you come back to find their skin is sagging and things are amiss. My hotel is not as good as it once was. Time has done a number on it as well as shoddy management. The manager who hired me was more laissez faire than she could afford to be, as well as the general manager before her.

No one has trained me on anything. It’s lucky I remember a lot about the job I once held 2 years ago. I was at the peak of my career working in the same position I am now. Now, I have surpassed even that time. Now I am getting paid more than I ever have at any job of mine. I feel accomplished. I feel I can endure for the compensation I’m receiving. The disposable income I have had is making me feel so much better about many things. I don’t regret leaving the Residence Inn.

There was another girl that gave me much grief at my job. She was my problem child. I hated her passionately in a way I have rarely felt about a subordinate. She was loathed to do her job. She hated me because I wouldn’t let her do as she pleased. I was never so glad for someone to put their two week’s notice in!!

It bothered me that someone I had to work with so frequently disliked me. She so obviously disliked me and the feeling was mutual. I feel quite annoyed that I wasn’t able to commandeer respect from that little shit. I never did anything to her, besides expect her to do what she is paid to do. She didn’t even see fit to speak to me on her last day, and for all I wanted to wish her well, too. Bitch.

I get along well with everybody, if you don’t like me, there’s probably something more to that. Others said she had a problem with authority. I wasn’t the only one she’d been a thorn in the side to. But she and the manager I mentioned before seemed to be on each others’ side. She would keep my worker in the back office talking when she knew I wanted her to work, thus vexing me terribly.

That same manager also undermines my authority all of the time. She stays late frequently into my shift, often half of my shift. Even though I am the manager on duty, my co-workers felt more inclined to ask her permission for things and talk to her more. I get the feeling I am not as charming and vivacious, but what gives? It annoys me.

Why aren’t people warming to me faster? Better? I don’t think I’m doing anything wrong. But perhaps I have overlooked some behavior…..

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I hate social media

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I hate social media. I have recently renewed my facebook account and started over. I was tired of seeing memories from years ago pop up in my feed. My page was not myself anymore. I am not all about family venues, friends, and adventure. I am all about anxiety, depression, binge-eating, and marital concerns.

I get depressed because of social media. I can mindlessly scroll for hours down my feed looking at what others have posted. For pretty much the duration of my relationship with Jacob, I have been absent from social media. I quit because it was too risky when I had an obsessively possessive new boyfriend. I had no privacy whatsoever; he looked through my phone and got paranoid at every notification, every ding. He smothered me and made me give up all my friends, and I did it because I was going through something in my life. I naturally went down a different path than my friends, choosing to fall into drugs and alcohol. My friends found other methods to cope with their problems, and bully for them.

I’ve been caught up in trying to forget my problems. I have been lazy and trying to get comfy living in my own hole of depression. When my depression is at its worst, I convince myself nothing is wrong and ignore everything fantastically.

Until I wake up one day months from now, and realize I’ve been on auto-pilot. I haven’t been paying attention. Weeks go by and you realize how little you care for yourself, how thinking of yourself and trying to tend to your needs is painful. It’s painful being aware of your shortcomings and trying to accept them. Better to be stoned and not bothered about it.

For a while.

There always comes the moments when you wake up. You look around and realize you don’t live the life you want to have. You realize you’re miserable and you were doing so well pretending otherwise. You didn’t realize you were such a good actor. Or worse, perhaps no one is paying attention.

Are you calling out for help? No, you’re too afraid to be yourself. How can you be vulnerable in front of people and admit you have hang-ups? Today was oddly strange. I worked the overnight shift & had a conversation I may not have otherwise. A girl at work confided in me her struggles getting therapy now and when she was younger. How candid I was admitting I had the same problem. How can you afford them? We talked about depression medication and the effect it had on us.  We talked about psychology. I would normally – never in a thousand years – admit to someone I don’t know well that I’ve dealt with depression before. There’s still such a stigma attached to mental illnesses, it’s daunting admitting that you have one.

No one wants to hear about my problems. I keep them to myself, and I drown in all the turmoil they cause me. My husband doesn’t like me to be honest with him. He would rather me keep things to myself. When I try to expose my deepest hurting to get some relief, he is incapable of providing the comfort I seek. He doesn’t relish me being such a deep feeling individual. His emotional intelligence is not quite on par with mine. He takes things the wrong way and gets defensive. We fight.

He resents my mental illness. He doesn’t understand. He takes my illness personally. He thinks we don’t have sex at long intervals because I’m withholding on purpose. I’m sorry but my libido along with my spirits are DOWN IN THE DUMPS & YOU’RE NOT HELPING.

I have a feeling that my anxiety, depression, and drug use are a question the likes of which came first, the chicken or the egg? Does my self medicating cause me depression, or am I depressed because I am self medicating? Does the weed cause or ease my anxiety? I know that when I quit smoking, I have to take more anxiety meds. My depression is much worse when I am detoxing. I become quite morose during sober periods. I take offense much easier. I am emotionally raw and sensitive to every little utterance. I require more attention, love, and support. I am a pain in the ass when I am sober. I hate myself when I’m sober.

I hate myself now, too, but it’s easier to convince myself I’m okay when I feel like this. I can ignore the self-loathing when I am like this.

About four years ago, my mother admitted to me that my dad wasn’t my biological father. This fact alone is jarring, especially when you have believed he was your crappy dad for the past two decades. A chance to receive your genetic material from someone else! You think it could be someone great, could be someone you would be lucky to know, maybe?!

You’re not that lucky. Imagine my dismay when my mother told me her alcoholic ex gang-banging Mexican lover was my biological dad? And she wants me to accept this, everyone in my family says it’s an opportunity for us to be a family together finally. My mother is over the moon in love and thinks I should welcome him with welcome arms.

When he finds out, he instantly wants to claim me. He suspected I was his all those years ago, but he wrote me off when my mother rejected him. He loves me and is thrilled at the thought of having such an accomplished daughter when he comes from nothing. He treats me like I am golden and stands up for me when my mom says unkind things.

He is surprisingly more like me than I want to admit. He is sympathetic and generous with his words- and who am I, but a fool that wants to listen to pretty words?

I’m starved for sentiments of love, out loud declarations of how great I am. No one tells me I am beautiful or amazing. No one appreciates me. No one wants to know the real me. But he does, and I hate him for it.

I would like to hate him, but really I ache for him. I want his sentiments to be true, for his actions to back up his words. But I have yet to feel it. I doubt it. I doubt him.

My father keeps invading my life. He sends me a message one day weeks ago and I still feel bad about it everyday. How to beg someone to leave you alone and spare their feelings?

Consumed by guilt and resentment. Want to forgive and move past things, but then I find myself taking one step forward and three steps back. I was willing to talk to him and have a relationship with him and now I am stingy with my time again.

Why should I make time and spend mental energy on you, what do I owe you? Why do you shit on my life and make me feel bad? You were absent for so many years, why don’t you just keep doing that?

I don’t want to expose myself- fuck you, you’ll only hurt me in the end. I know you’re not worth it. I know I will regret knowing you.

This is the stuff that is really on my mind. People think I am a cool customer, that I never get mad and just roll with the flow. I try to appear that way, but really I am eating myself up inside. I want to talk about my shitty marriage, depression, and dad issues but who wants to hear it? Who will be my friend when I am just so utterly down? It is my habit to turn away from depressed people, so I expect to be rejected.

How is married life treating you?

“Not very well, I’m afraid.”

But you’re not allowed to say that, are you?

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Jake and I have been having a heck of a time in the bedroom. It’s terrible and I just don’t know how to fix it. He regards me as a cold woman and won’t come onto me. He has claimed that I always refuse him, which is not necessarily the case.

I have to come onto him every time, no matter how foul his mood. It’s even worse when he rejects me. We both know I don’t want to do it, but if I don’t “milk him” then his aggression piles up on top of each other every day until he’s downright hostile towards me and the tension in the house could be cut with a knife. I regrettably told a girlfriend the other day, “I should probably be worried my husband knows how much a divorce costs.”

*hangs head in shame* It’s just not going well. We’re both depressed and getting in each other’s way. He wants me to clean house and I want him to leave him be. He doesn’t clean house either, so why don’t we help each other? No, he’d rather play his game which is his form of escape.

But what is he escaping? Me, Us? Are we so horrible? When was the last time we asked ourselves if we were truly happy? We don’t seem happy. He’s always mad at me. His temper is so short. He treats me poorly. I’ve cried to my mother more than I should have about our state of affairs.

Sex is one of the root causes. He says that his only stress release has been turned stressful by me. He no longer wants to even try and salvage our physical intimacy. He never tries to woo me. We barely act like we like each other.

We’ve come to take advantage of each other, and it’s a vicious cycle. He’s mad at me, I’m mad at him for being so emotionally unavailable and unforgiving. He pushes me away and I let him, frustrated and at a lose for what else I should do. I know he doesn’t want to push me away, and I don’t want that either, but he’s so damn prickly it’s like trying to comfort a cactus. How do I soothe his ire when it is directed at me so?

Parting is such sweet sorrow

He’s at work. You know this because you have taken great pains to pay attention to his schedule. He’ll be leaving around 4:30, and it’s 11:00 now. It would be considered nonchalant if she dropped by and brought him food. Men regarded women getting them food warmly, and she was eager for his smiles.

She brought him a subway sandwich she knew he’d enjoy. When he saw her, her pulled her in for a brief hug. It was enough to satiate the yearning inside her enough to almost make her pleasurably sigh in his arms. Almost. She held back, and she smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes.

He never kissed her. They were very careful about that, although the opportunity had come up every now and then. She was sorely tempted. She was smitten, in love. She would take what she could get.

She was married. She should not be craving another man so ardently, but it’s happened. He treated her with such care and friendship it made her ache to be away from him. He listened to her petty woes and concerns and he didn’t get bored talking to her. When they had worked together on calm Sunday nights, he was the one to come and find her. He was the one that kindled their friendship.

Before he came around, she felt a certain distance between herself and her other coworkers. She noticed when her bright and flirtatious coworker Sara was around, people perked up and came visiting at the front desk. When it was just Carmen by herself, she noticed the same people rushed by with things to do rather than stopping to chat with her. Chad was the only one who approached her even though she was standoffish at times.

He lingered by the front desk and wormed his way into her heart. He was such an apt listener, she found herself saying things to him she was afraid to say to anyone else.

She should be able to have such conversations with her husband, but he was uninterested in the things that made her worry through the night. He was quick to soothe her frazzled nerves by telling her it was time for her to smoke, distracting her from the fact he wasn’t willing to share himself with her. He would rather she smoke and fill her head with false pleasure.

Chad listened to her. Chad said uplifting things. Chad was understanding and encouraging. Chad reminded her she had power she’d forgotten she once had. He was nice to her, and he asked her things. He spent time with her and shared himself with her. When she left that job she worked with him, she was dry-eyed with everyone else as she bid her goodbyes. But not him.

It was only Chad that made her weak. She managed to hold back the tears in front of him, just barely. She walked with him out to his car on their final day together, and she slipped him a letter she’d written.

She gave him a heartfelt hug and honestly said, “Thank you for being a friend to me.” She doubted he had any idea how much that meant to her; it meant the world. She felt wrong telling him goodbye.

When she looked into his face, a flash of everything they could have had in another world came to her. She missed him already, and her arms were still wrapped around him.

Afterwards, he got into his car and she walked away. She didn’t look back as she rounded the corner of the building away from him. Farewell. Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t hold back her hot tears any longer. Parting was such sweet sorrow.

Some girls like girls

A girl and her best friend were young and naive. They were intimate best friends. There was no such thing as “too much information.” Whatever thought popped into one’s head, the other was bound to hear it sooner rather than later. They had an open door of communication between them.

That was one of the reasons things changed between them. One of the girls was blonde and the other brunette. One day, the brunette was overcome by emotion towards her best friend. She loved her completely, and she wanted to physically express that love. They were standing at the top of a football stadium after hours as the sun went down, and the brunette suddenly became aware of a desire to kiss her best friend. She said nothing at first.

The urge built up over time. Finally, one night, they went to a hookah lounge to have some fun. The walls of the hookah lounge were splattered in black light paint and personal shout outs and jokes, and the air was thick with sweet tobacco smoke. The owner of the establishment was well liked and he performed magic tricks and encouraged others to share their smoking tricks.

The girls witnessed a trick that changed their lives from that moment on. A couple in the hookah lounge shot-gunned, the man taking a hit off the hookah hose and kissing his girlfriend, and when she pulled away she exhaled all of his smoke. The brunette was instantly enthralled and saw an innocent opportunity to get the kiss she’d been dreaming of for months. She suggested that they perform the trick, too. The blonde readily agreed.

It was their first kiss, both of their first kisses with the same sex. They each had boyfriends, but were becoming painfully aware of their feelings for each other. They spent more and more time together, snuggling and innocently holding each other. They kissed occasionally, but they weren’t an official couple yet. Little did they know, they would never know such bliss.

They started seeing other behind the brunette’s boyfriends’ back. He had no idea that their kisses progressed further into sexual territory. They went driving at night and climbed into the back seat of the blonde’s mothers’ car, necking like their lives depended on it. Eventually, they progressed past heavy petting and eventually had sex for the first time at the blonde’s college dorm room.

The guilt of seeing her best friend behind her boyfriend’s back got the best of the brunette. She broke it off with her boyfriend, and it was the most honest she ever was to anyone, even herself, when she told him she had feelings for her best friend. She wouldn’t say it out loud again.

After they broke up, the blonde and brunette could be found holding hands in the arts district. They went to house parties and the hosts always assumed they were an item before they got to know them. They were attached at the hip, but they weren’t defining anything past what they had always considered each other; best friend.

The brunette couldn’t admit what was happening. She did not tell her loved ones about the change in their relationship, and the blonde kept silent in deference to her feelings. She was trapped in the closet with no way out. She thought she could keep her sexual preferences to herself, and she hid her attraction in the darkest corners of her mind. She didn’t want to be open with the world; even though she loved her best friend. She couldn’t bear the thought of wearing a non-traditional label, and she lost her best friend over it.

Before she could overcome her way of thinking, her best friend was offered a job across the country. Not seeing a viable option staying at home for the sake of a lover who wouldn’t claim her, she decided to pursue her dream of travelling and took the company up on its’ offer. She left her lover, and never looked back.

I Don’t Know Who I Am

Help! Identity crisis!

I was recently browsing amazon for great nerdy finds. I love Harry Potter, and was once very emotionally connected to it. I was consumed by the fanfiction and may end up going on a tangent about my favorite things in it in this post.

The fanfiction I wrote was about my own original character who was in the Hufflepuff house. She was Neville’s girlfriend, into Herbology like him and always kind to him. She was supportive of him in their senior year at Hogwarts, and went into battle beside him as a member of Dumbledore’s Army. Her name was Lenae Windsor and she was a registered magi with the ability to turn into a black cat. Her patronus is a panda bear. She’s friends with Luna, Ron, and Ginny. But most importantly, she was Hufflepuff because I always believed I would be sorted into Hufflepuff if I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!

It was flattering, however, when I asked people which house I would belong to and they answered with Ravenclaw. I always forget that people pay attention to my intellectual abilities. I always assume people think I am nice, but a lot of them think of my smarts first. That’s a compliment in my book, so I would be proud to be a Huffleclaw, too.

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I never sported any delusions that I could be in House Gryffindor. I was not nearly so strong, bold, or unafraid. I was more like a wall flower, suited to house Hufflepuff in my eyes. The one thing I never suspected was to be in House Slytherin.

WOE IS ME lol I took the official sorting hat test on J.K.’s Pottermore website and was devastated when I was sorted into Slytherin =( =( =( =( =( !!!!!

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Hufflepuff has always seemed to be the polar opposite of Slytherins! Slytherins pick on Hufflepuffs, i.e. Draco Malfoy. (Then again he seemed to be an equal opportunity bully, picking on a multitude of people throughout the series.)

Hufflepuff Traits

  • Dedication
  • Hard Work
  • Fair play
  • Patience
  • Kindness
  • Tolerance
  • Unafraid of toil
  • Loyalty

I supposed I am guilty of associating bad guys with Slytherin. After all, many of Voldemort’s followers were from that house. Not all Slytherin are bad though, despite what you might think. I should be open minded. What are Slytherin’s traits?

Slytherin Traits

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I decided to take some back up tests and see what else I might get. The results are below.

Which House Are You In?

huffle

Which Hogwarts House Would You Be Sorted Into?

gryff

Which Hogwarts House Do You Belong In?


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Look at it as a learning lesson

I never have enough privacy to blog. For whatever reason, blogging is a private act to me and I have to have room for my thoughts. If my husband is near, it’s like a wall forms between my mind and my fingers and I can’t access my feelings or be normal. When he’s around, I have to be some kind of perfect house wife who blows him on the regular and doesn’t have a mind of her own. There is no room for my sadness and despair in our relationship. He doesn’t understand. He wants me to lock it up, close it away, don’t make him witness it or be affected by it. I’m sorry I’m getting my blue on you, but I am drowning in it over here. Please help me, please shoulder some of my burden. Take my mind away from me, help me to focus on something else.

I had a relapse in my journey to sobriety. Today was not the first time I thought I should be quitting again. I did wish today that I had never bought more weed, that I’d never quit my sobriety streak. I read some articles on line and they said to not see yourself as a failure, think of your relapse as a learning lesson. What did you learn about yourself during this most recent break down?

I was walking around feeling very sad about Jacob, my husband. I’d been walking around feeling dejected and emotionally denied. I was so far up his ass I lost myself. I didn’t care about myself, I was solely preoccupied with his actions and what he wasn’t doing for me. He wasn’t holding me, kissing me, acting romantic. All he wanted to do was play his game and it made me want to pull my hair out, I felt ignored and unloved. I felt very badly about myself. I was not thinking of my needs, only of what I wasn’t getting that I thought I deserved/wanted intensely. I was focusing on negative aspects and not positive.

The reason I broke down is because I stopped checking in on myself. I was keeping a daily journal in the beginning of my sobriety, but in the last couple of weeks I lost my focus. I stopped fueling my positive thoughts and was pouring gasoline over all of my negative thoughts, giving them power. I was not being wise. I was being petulant and small. I wasn’t thinking of things on a bigger scale.

The thing that did not work about this last round of sobriety is that I stopped journaling.  I stopped paying attention to myself because it was too hard. I stopped reading my 12 step program.

I can try different things this time. I could start attending the 2pm meeting on every other wednesday. I could find a different meeting. I believe a meeting would be a good thing to find. One thing I noticed a couple of different times is how badly I wanted to talk about my recovery. I wanted to feel accomplished and celebrate the length of my sobriety. I wanted someone to know how hard I was struggling and what little and large things were in my mind all the time now. I had Katie and my mom for that, but it’s not the same. Katie doesn’t know what addiction is like, and my mother has no desire to quit, so neither of them understand me the way that I have been craving.

Jacob could understand it and be a great sense of support, but he chooses to stay silent mostly. He is never encouraging in my sobriety. He can’t handle the raw version of me with no weed, my emotions are too much for him when I am sober. I am too much for me when I am sober.

I also thought to myself I could get back on my depression pills. I probably should be medicated in some way if I am not going to use weed. I took my anxiety pills as needed last round, but perhaps I need something more drastic.

Hysteria-

  1. exaggerated or uncontrollable emotion or excitement
  2. means ungovernable emotional excess

Full disclosure: that sounds like me -_-