(no subject)

I did not have nightmares. I thought I might, after talking about Jerry. They weren't bad dreams, either. Just...serious. I, of course, can't remember at all what they were about - just the lingering feeling of somber words, somber deeds. But still, no waking up screaming. Small favors of the universe.

It was Pat who put to words why my experience with Jerry is more embarrassing today than traumatic. I was a mess at 19. I was at the end of my rope with my addiction, cutting almost everyday. I was sleeping with anyone and everyone that I crossed paths with. It wouldn't occur to me until years later that I was finding ways to hurt myself, just to have something familiar. Something like the abuse at home.

I had signaled for help at 15. I had taken immense steps towards health, faith, and recovery as a teenager. But as teenagers are wont to do, I got it all mixed up and at about the age of 18, hit the ground running in a desperate attempt to annihilate myself.

After having worked SO HARD at being a champion of getting out of abuse, that turn-around mortifies me. It makes me feel a bit of a liar or weak or otherwise that I did not do the work I said I did.

It's not fair of me to judge these things in hindsight. I was doing the best I could at 19 with the resources I had. I had managed to get away from the abuse. I did not yet know that there would be "getting away" that would need to be done inside, as well.

Pat also once remarked that this is something that must be difficult for me concerning David, too. THAT is on target. I was 27 when I met David. I knew better. So having found myself enmired in a web of lies and excuses, for years on end..it becomes a very real source of shame sometimes.

No one around me judges me for that. No one around me judges me for any of the abuse that I stuck through with. But sometimes, just sometimes, **I** judge me. This is normal in these situations. It does not always make it easier to wade through.

The positive news with all this is that I've learned from it. I've taken the bad parts of these relationships and have moved them on up in the world. The bad parts of my relationships NOW are not the same horror show they were then. I know what to look for now.

It really is better late than never.

For the random, I finally broke down and bought some sole-inserts for my work shoes. It was a little overwhelming, actually.Feet, Boobs, Poverty and Part Time WorkCollapse )

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Billy and Jerry

Jesse came to a realization today that shocked me. It shocked me not only because it came from him, but because it came from a man. Until today, Jesse did not understand why I am so hesitant about walking around outside after dark by myself, or why being catcalled makes me frightened instead of angry, or why I have a momentary but very strong quail-in-the-face-of-danger reaction when alone with a strange man. He did not understand why I have often said that I might NOT fight back during a rape attempt.

He said I was living in fear. He said I was such a firecracker, I could take on anyone I wanted. I told him I was living by experience, not fear. And I told him that it's easy for a 200 pound, 6 foot man to say their 5 foot, 150 pound girlfriend could take on a grown man. It's NOT so easy for that 5 foot girl, however, when she can't even arm wrestle a dude and win.

It's an entirely different world, I would tell him, when 50% of the population can literally, physically FORCE you into doing whatever they wanted. It's an entirely different world, I would tell him, when you live as a creature that is not only seen as lesser, but assumed AS lesser by sheer accident of birth.

This is an extremely common argument between feminists and the men we love. Even the most enlightened of men often have a hard time understanding this difference in how the other half lives, and WHY we live this way. For me, the most enraging part of this struggle is that despite living as women for our entire lives, feeling and experiencing as we do, it's rarely to be taken seriously. Surely, it's not all THAT bad. Those men who do eventually get it usually come to it from witnessing some kind of brutality, either to themselves or to a loved one.

In Jesse's case, it was watching the one episode of Angel that I can't watch.

"Billy" is an episode about a man, dark with evil energy, who can draw out and inspire abuse in men towards women. The show gets violent and the show gets graphic. It'd be one thing if Billy made men only hit the women in the show. But Billy can do so much more...in the men he is near, he makes them demean women. He makes them verbally abuse them. He makes other men dehumanize women.

The subject matter is disturbing for even the most healthy of individuals. For someone like me, who spent a year with a man who must have trained under Billy directly....it's why I can't watch it again. It's beyond triggering.

Jerry was my Billy. TW: Domestic ViolenceCollapse )

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Smarter than I gave them credit for

One truly aggravating thing about this job: The tiny but multiple lacerations I seem to get everyday - usually on my hands and fingers. I never slip with the boxknife, but I'll get cardboard paper cuts, or I'll accidently pick up a set of lawnmower blades the wrong way, or I'll accidentally swipe my stapler over the tips of my fingers while I'm putting two products together. I'm clumsy as shit.

I once fractured my elbow as a teenager, being a dumbass and deciding to break into an abandoned, 2 story building through the skylight. While on lunch break in high school. While drunk.

Teenage intellect in all it's glory.The grownups were smartCollapse )

I don't think I ever thanked those teachers for what they did for me. Teenagers are dicks like that. I don't think they would hold a grudge about that. But I'm not a teenager anymore.

I'm not a teenager anymore and I'd like to thank them.

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Never happened

Eyelid's right. I need to let this go. To which I will do, as of after this entry, because this is my journal and I can write what I want because fuckyouthat'swhy.

I get so upset and feel so untrusted, like you guys don't trust me not to relapse or do unhealthy things. But when I think about it from your perspective, like -

Bart, remember that time in 2013, when David had frittered away 7 grand and Pat couldn't help and I didn't know what to do for rent? And remember how I thought the only way to get through was sex work, and I messaged you asking you how to do it safely?

Do you remember that? No? That's alright. It's because that never happened.

And Simon, when Cassie lost her kids, and I was helping her pack her house, and I found out she was sneaking meth in her bedroom, and I lost it and begged her for some dope? Do you remember how it got so bad that she actually had to kick ME out of HER home?

Do you remember that? No. That's alright, too. It's because that never happened.

And do you guys remember how, when Jesse was a dick to me about not going into work, I broke down and cut myself because I was so hurt and angry? Do you remember how ashamed I felt afterwards?

No. You don't remember that, because once again, that never happened.

Not only did those things not happen then, but they haven't happened in decades. Is that not something I can stand on and say "Hey, I have it on good word that those things aren't going to happen, because, like, they haven't happened IN OVER HALF MY LIFE.??

And maybe for other people that doesn't count. Maybe for other people that isn't enough to give someone some faith, some trust.

I thought it was for you guys. Or at least the few who have been arguing with me. I guess it's not. We have YEARS, here, guys - at least, again, the older folks here - fucking YEARS - of me continuing to do the right thing, over and over again, no matter what.

One disabled dude who smokes weed and suddenly that all goes away? Did nothing out of the last eleven years I've been here prove that maybe, just maybe, I might be okay? That maybe, just maybe, I know how to reach and work for GOOD, HEALTHY things? That maybe, just maybe, I won't destroy myself?

Am I really that weak? Do you guys really think that? Do you trust me? Do you trust me to live and love without relapsing, whoring, or any number of things I haven't done in fucking decades anyways?

You're right, Eyelid. This isn't about Jesse anymore. Now it's about me. I don't feel hurt on Jesse's behalf.

I feel hurt on mine. Now THIS?

This has never happened, either. Not here. If I'm getting snarky, maybe there really is a first time for everything. But honestly?

I'm too tired for snark. And hurt, too. Anyways, Jesse's made dinner. Maybe that will be the thing that causes me to relapse. I hate it when he uses too much salt.

(Okay, so obviously not too tired for snark. But too tired for continued snark.) Srsly, guise, like, srsly...I dunno.

I guess this time around I trust me more than you do. And I guess that's okay. It has to be. What else is there to do???????????????

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(no subject)

On my phone. Y know what? Since I've known Jesse I've gotten a working vehicle, out of bad school and into a solid well paying job, cut Cassies toxic influence out of my life and cut David out entirely. If this is what happens when my life is in peril due to a relationship, i can't wait too see what happens if it gets worse. So far, this worse is working out pretty well.

Unless you guys think those are bad things. Doubt it, but I'm wrong a lot these days with you guys.

(no subject)

Dawn approaches slower and slower with each passing week. Fall and then winter will soon be here. This used to bring with it a quiet dread, one that grew louder as the nights grew longer. But the last winter, alone and with you guys, kept the darkness outside from growing inside.

I'm not afraid of winter this year.

This job is doing what I thought it might - I'm losing weight. 10 pounds down in a month. I'm absolutely jazzed that, since I am exercising more, I can eat more AND still lose weight. I'm at 150 pounds now. On someone as short as I am (five foot flat), ten pounds makes a noticeable difference.

Though I gotta lay off on the soda. I've kind of been going buck-wild on that one. I just get so excited that I can drink it, now that it doesn't seem to put 3 pounds on me immediately. While 10 pounds in a month is fast, it's slower than the 7 pounds I lost in a week of depression last month. Slow weight loss is happy weight loss. Slow weight loss is healthy weight loss.

I dig healthy. Eventually the weight loss will plateau. It will stop and stabilize. I figure another 10 pounds or so till it does that. Again, that's healthy. Healthy is awesome. And seriously, I can eat fast food again. I LOVE FAST FOOD. I would eat it five times a week if I could. Typical American tool, I know. But now I can eat it a couple of times a week and not worry so much.

The last time I lost weight due to a job was in 2009, right after I left Pat and re-applied to work at Super 8 again. Between the manual labor and the fact that I was eating only about 1,000 calories a day (and that much only because my friends and lovers were buying and making food FOR me) I dropped like 40 pounds in three months. DO NOT WANT to do THAT again. Drastic weight loss is not my friend.

Besides, I don't have a lot of money left over to buy new clothes. I did, however, keep my old skinny clothes. I will not throw away my bigger sized clothes as I get smaller, either. Weight loss gurus will tell you to throw away all of the clothes that don't immediately fit. Poor people know better.

The mislabeling thing was resolved at work. Or at least enough as to where they figured out it wasn't all me. Huge, HYUGE relief. I do, however, seem to have a problem with following directions, in that I follow directions in a very literal sense. This sounds like a good thing. It's actually NOT.

I was told to go through a particular section of the warehouse and clear out the empty boxes. And so I did. Turns out it was just a BOX of empty of boxes he wanted me to clear out. The box of empty boxes FOR that side of the warehouse, NOT the entire side of the warehouse itself.

I apologized. Turns out that while it makes a little extra work now, it'll save us work come inventory time. So I got lucky on that one.

Another gal told me to get a sheet of scrap paper on "the top" of the shelf. So I did. Turns out it was the top of ANOTHER shelf I was supposed to have gotten the paper from. Stuff like that. I just need to start asking for clarification, even as I'm a little worried it'll come off looking neurotic.

Better to look neurotic and get the job done right the first time, though. That much I know. It did produce several minutes of heavily missing my old boss at Super 8.

Donna and I worked together for almost the entire 8 years I was at Super 8. Hell, I even trained her - both for the regular housekeeping AND for Head Housekeeper. (I hated the Head Housekeeper job and was very happy to give it away). We were close. She was the only coworker I've ever disclosed anything to. So she was privy to the particulars of the way my brain works.

And she worked WITH me on it. She knew there were days in which she'd have to be very, very specific about the tasks for the day ahead. She knew there were days in which she'd have to outline EXACTLY, PRECISELY, where to start and where I was to stop. She knew this and was never upset, frustrated, or otherwise put out about it.

Which is unusual, as even I recognize that it is not my job's job to adjust to how I work, but rather it is MY job to adjust TO the job and how it's run. But it worked out well, as she knew that I would be just as efficient and work just as expediently, even if she had to approach my work a little differently.

I miss that. Greatly. There is no disclosure at this job and likely never will be. It's just not that kind of place. So I worry that my whacky brainwaves come off as...well, whacky. I'm not going to get the option of being understood here. And in its own way, that's fine, as again, it's not my job's job to BE understanding. I have to understand IT.

So I'm going to be asking questions, requesting clarification, direct specifics. A lot of it. Especially in cases where I think to take a large project literally. They probably usually mean it literally.

Buuuutttt I'm gonna ask from here on out.

I really, really like this job. A part of me even wonders why other people can't seem to hack this sort of job, manual labor aside. Pat says it's because people generally crave intellectual interaction from their jobs. Warehouse work - and manual labor in general - requires very few brain cells. It's physically repetive and doesn't engage the brain. That's why I like it. It leaves my brain free all day to think about other things. And I WAAAY prefer a job that wears me out physically rather than mentally.

But other people often prefer it the other way, he said. That they not only crave, but need that mental stimulation, that mental engagement. That made sense, in as much as I can intellectually understand it, at least. Pat was sort of awed that I've managed to "side-step" how mentally boring this kind of work, but the truth is, I just like having the extra time TO think. Or the extra time NOT TO think.

Either way, I get the option. And I love that about this job. There is a strange and simple kind of beauty, of Zen, one gets from working a job that puts you on autopilot. Where muscle memory takes over and the mind just disengages. Sure, a few times I've found myself wildly bored with matching product numbers from page to shelf, but those are rare moments.

Besides, it's warehouse work. There's ALWAYS something to do, even if it's just pushing around a broom. Warehouses get dirty fast.

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Clearing the air

Y'know, Bart, it hadn't even occurred to me that what I wrote could have been taken as a subtle but real cry for help. Your reaction makes a lot more sense now - and I thank you for that. I didn't realize that that is how it might have sounded.

I am lucky to have friends like you.

I think, to explain this better, is that I have been on the defensive about Jesse and the things Jesse does. I feel defensive because I feel some of you guys have gone on the offensive.

For months and months on end, I've heard nothing but how great you guys think Jesse is for me. That he sounds like such a respectful guy, such a caring guy, etc etc. Nothing but lauding Jesse. I then write two entries - two entries out of a year - about the one time Jesse was a real asshole.

And from that, suddenly he was not a great guy, but someone who was going to lead me down a path of ruin, financially, emotionally, and completely. A path of ruin that I can only assume you guys think is worse than David, as (at least those of you with me at the time), never even bothered to say things like that while David was actually, actively IN THE PROCESS of abusing me.

This leads me to think that one of three things are true.

(1) That that ONE time of Jesse being an asshole really is enough to make people think he is going to ruin me. To this I would which request everyone whose ever been an asshole once please remove themselves from my list, since we all know that people can't have bad days, or react badly to someone else having a bad day, or else you will ruin someone else's life.

(This is sarcasm. Please do not remove yourselves from my list.)

(2) That you guys have thought all along Jesse was this bad for me and have been lying to me every time you said how awesome you thought he was. Lying to me and just WAITING for me to write the inevitable bitchy entry to share it with me.

Or (3) You guys got pissed off as hell when Jesse hurt me and you reacted, knee-jerk, in that anger.

You guys are smart enough to not fall under Number 1. You guys are honest enough not to fall under Number 2. So that leaves Number 3.

We all knew from the beginning that he was disabled and would have difficulty working, if he was able to at all. We all knew from the beginning that he smoked weed. We all knew that sometimes he had trouble walking.

If we all knew this before, and it was nothing but compliments up until the day I bitched about him, then why the change? And why was it not "Wow, what a dick", but "charity case", "hospice care", "prostitution", "relapse", etc? Why did one day of Jesse being a dick warrant more harshness than all of the entries I wrote about David, for years?

It confused me. Then it angered me. Then it hurt my feelings. I didn't understand the sudden and vicious change - at least not until Jarn said something to the effect of that sometimes we just get mad at the people who hurt our loved ones, even if it's over relatively normal relationship squabbles.

I know by putting this out there, I'm just stirring the pot and inviting more comments about how Jesse isn't good for me. The very idea of posting this is making my heart race because I don't like being out of sorts, of out line, with you guys. But with months and months of "Jesse is so great, I'm so glad you found him!" to "He's going to ruin you because he was an insistent ass one, single day!" makes me feel like you guys are out of line with ME.

It was so sudden, eclipsing everything you guys had said before, and eclipsing rational reactions, that I'm still reeling. I know that each and every single one of you has been an asshole to someone, a REAL asshole, a MONUMENTAL asshole, at least one day out of your life. Every. Damn. One. Of. You. Myself included, no less. And I know each and every one of you is not going to ruin me or your loved ones for that.

And I know that each and every one of you is not a liar, that you haven't been telling me how great Jesse is, while anticipating a time in which you could tell me how you really felt.

So I'm hoping that clears some things up. Or at least, how I feel about it.

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I know you're not trying to give me shit, Bart. That you're trying to help. But remember, a few months ago, when I got that hellaciously strong contact high and it freaked me out? What did I do? I told the people around me immediately. I came here and I wrote about it. I hauled my ass off to the single emergency meeting I seem to have a year. When I hit a danger zone - or even something that FELT dangerous - I did what I was supposed to. I was accountable, I got help, and I let Jesse AND the people whose house we'd been at that I will not put myself into that position again.

And that"s exactly what I didCollapse )

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(no subject)

Last night I was bemoaning my need for medication. I held out my hand, brimming with pills, and said that I wished I didn't need it. That I wish weed were all it took to stabilize me. Not that weed solves Jesse's pain or anxieties, but marijuana is at least a drug that can be felt to a pleasurable effect. My medication doesn't get me high. It just makes me feel normal.

Or at least it feels normal NOW. A handful of years ago, in the early days of taking medication to correct this disorder, it felt the most unnatural thing ever. The evening of my baseline moods felt so alien. Not so much these days. Thank god.

That is another thing I can thank David for. There are a handful of such things - one of them being that it was he who dragged me to the mental health clinic five years ago. Near literally, as we skipped class to go do so. It was necessary at the time, though of course I didn't quite see it as such. But without his insistence at that moment, it would have taken several more months for me to seek help on my own. As insane as I was at the time, I shudder to think what further damage to my own life and those around me I would have inflicted.

I remember being surprised no one had ever mentioned the word "bi-polar" in connection with "Teressa" before that day. Pat remembers differently, though, saying that he had said a few times that he thought that I might be bipolar. I don't remember that, but as Pat has the better memory, I'm willing to acquiesce to that. But suddenly it all made sense when I was diagnosed with bipolar - and even more so when the medication for bipolar actually WORKED.

I'd been misdiagnosed as Borderline for my entire life. The medication for it never worked, instead sending me off into a wild tailspin of (what would later be noted as) mania and mixed episodes. One way of pinpointing one's actual diagnosis is to see what sort of treatment works. The mood stabilizers is what eventually brought me down to Earth, thus the disorder that mood stabilizers treat was the correct one.

I don't consider myself a rapid-cycler (the most common perception of bi-polar - the mood-swingy type), though I might ask those around me for confirmation of that. I, instead, manage to get STUCK in moods, for days, for weeks, for entire months at a time - all the while spinning further and further into obession and desperation. As Marya Hornbacher puts it, I get stuck in "thinking the same seventeen thoughts for days and days." Medication is a stop-gap. It's not always exactly effective and it damn sure comes with a price-tag dangling from the bottle, but it is worth it.

Even if I bemoan my wish to be without it, I understand that I NEED it. At first I thought bipolar medication was one of those "take as needed" treatments. Research and experience quickly taught me otherwise, though. It's a lifetime deal. This does occasionally stymie me. It does not stop me from taking my meds. Every night, every night the handful of pills, the big glass of water and down the hatch.

There are sacrifices. My creativity, the intensity, has been lowered several notches. Medication side-effects, from hair loss to reduced libido to twitchy muscles. The cost of my medications, at about 65 dollars a month (though being on a patient discount program, that is dirt fucking cheap compared to NOT being on that program). And a part of me will always miss the roller coaster. Many of us folks on the crazy side miss it, no matter how destructive we know the ride is.

The important part is that we care for ourselves while we're yearning for the crazy. That we make the effort to keep the crazy at bay, even if it sometimes overtakes us, despite our best efforts, because at some point, it will. It will crash in a tidal wave and we'll be swept up, no matter the precautions taken.

That's just the nature of being sick. It's the getting up, the signaling for help, the flailing of arms and legs while we're trying to get to shore....that's what counts. And it always amazes me to know that my loved ones also understand this. That they understand sometimes I really, honest-to-god can't stop the crazy - and that so long as I am trying to get clear to shore, they will help me.

Jesse understands this in as much as he, too, has a mental disorder. ADHD. Never having been close to someone with ADHD, I was at first frustrated. I didn't understand. I won't ever really understand, either, as it's not my disorder. But I can be patient, as I try to be.

He did this illuminating exercise to try and show me what it was like. He had me start talking while he was looking at a clock, using the second hand. Everytime he said "Switch", I had to change topics. It's meant to display the constant lack of focus, the terribly fast way an ADHD brain works. The "Switch" represented every time HIS brain changed topics, so I was essentially trying to keep up with him.

A minute into it, I floundered as we'd hit the "Switch" several times. I couldn't keep up. It was exceedingly difficult and I told him that I had no idea how he lived like that, how he handled it. My bipolar will produce loud, racing thoughts, but they are generally sequential. What he did showed me that his brain jumbles.

He says medication helps. As someone on oodles of medication herself, I understand. Once he gets on Medicaid he can get medication for his ADHD. I've heard tons of jokes about ADHD in my lifetime, but had never been shown the reality of it. That exercise showed me. In a moment of astounded-but-kind-of-dickish wonder, I said I don't know how he gets ANYTHING done at all with how his brain works.

He said it's a matter of working through it. As someone who also has to work through her crazy, I can sympathize.

It's interesting dating another mentally ill person. David was also mentally ill but he had no interest in seeking any real treatment for it. But Pat is as normal as can be, no malfunctioning brainwaves, no misfiring neurons, no electric fences he occasionally crashes into trying to keep the crazy contained.

Jesse is mentally ill - and he makes active efforts to treat it. Without medical care, it's more difficult, of course. But he keeps up on his caffeine, he will take specific and deliberate times to wind down, and he is honest about when his crazy is making things difficult for him. He is open to treatment. These are all good things.

He also never uses his diagnosis as an excuse. He does not NOT do something and then say "I forgot because of my ADHD." He does not bounce around, smashing into my boundaries, and then say he has a difficult time respecting me because of his disorder.

After so many years with David, who used his diagnosis as an excuse to get out of everything from cleaning to holding down a job to staying romantically faithful to me, it is beyond refreshing.

It's not far from that line in Alice in Wonderland, where the Cheshire Cat grins and says "Mad? We're all mad here." The difference is that here, the madness is an ever-present houseguest, but it does not rule these rooms.

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(no subject)

Yesterday was an exceedingly frustrating day at work, as I got blamed in full for something that was only partially my fault. A project in which things got mislabeled. Terribly mislabeled. Mislabeled in a way that's taking two days to fix. There was a lot of "You weren't careful, you messed this one up big, do you know how much extra work this is costing us?!," etc etc.

Well, I was one of six people on this project - AND I had initialed all of my work. The worst parts of the mess? Not initialed. I got defensive. I brought that up. The lady handling the mess said she didn't remember anyone but me on it. I wanted to scream "WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT SOMETHING THAT'S SO EASILY VERIFIABLE?! JUST ASK THEM FOR FUCKS SAKE!"

It's difficult not being a tattle-tale sometimes. One gal who worked on this project, when I told her that the Boss wanted us to staple the packages in increments of ten, went "Oh, I ain't doing all that" and went on her merry way with the project. It's more likely that the girl who blatantly flouted instructions is the cause of the mess, but I damn well can't say that, or it'll just come off looking like...well, a tattle-tale. And that never works out in a person's favor.

Eventually, it occured to me that the very reason the Label Lady was in the position TO fix the labels was because she has a broken foot and could only do sit-work. Sit-work is hard when you're used to being on your feet. I realized that she was probably having a WAY worse day than I was. So in the end, I wound up apologizing to her for being on such high-guard, and she said that it happens and not to worry.

That's a trick I've learned over the years to diffuse a tense situation. Even if you feel you've done nothing wrong, even if you feel you're the wronged party, making an apology takes down the other person's guard. It's on the manipulative side, but it's also damn near foolproof. It allowed both her and I the breathing room to focus on the solution instead of whose fault it was.

Thing is that this mistaken work happens on a semi-frequent basis. I'm often getting called over for wrong orders on tickets that aren't mine. (A girl and I have sort of similar signatures.) I'd fixed that by changing HOW I initaled things, but I'm still getting called over for wrong orders. I worry that my repeated "Actually, that's Kristen's order" is going to be seen as an attempt to pin bad work on someone else. I go on and fix the order everytime, regardless of whose it is, but it's frustrating.

I was also blamed for unplugging someone's phone and plugging in mine - a thing that was not let go of until I pulled out MY phone and showed her "Hey, this was NOT the phone that got plugged in over yours.</i>"

Whenever I've been in the position where it has been my fault, or even could have been my fault, I'm very fast to admit that. I even said, concerning the labeling thing, that I was SURE some of it was mine. Just. Not. All. Of. It. This has been the case for a month and a half now now, so when does the new guy stop getting blamed for things that go wrong? Especially when that new guy has actually, seriously, like really been found - by the bosses, no less - to be INNOCENT, like, several times now?? Do people not recognize patterns?

And the biggest question: How in hell do I bring this up next time it happens without sounding whiny? Because it's really starting to become A THING, where no matter how many times it's proven otherwise, the accusing eye is cast at ME.

Jesse says this will all pass when I'm no longer the new guy. Unfair, but true. It adds up and it's massively annoying, as I KNOW my work is solid, triple-checked, and done well. Jesse says to not worry, that it will sort itself out in the end. He's right. It's just very frustrating. And it raises my anxiety levels significantly.

It's going to take some deliberate, conscience work today to stay calm and not get defensive. I'm going to do it, though, because high roads and yadda yadda yadda.

I was telling something to Jesse yesterday. I meant it as a compliment, but I don't think he felt it was. Wifely dutiesCollapse )

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