I lost my job.
I had to send an email saying I wasn’t better yet: my doctor said no. No, not better yet. Shouldn’t be working yet. Shouldn’t be stressed yet. They had to call and say they couldn’t wait any longer.
I lost my job in the most eloquent of ways. I didn’t hide or sink or slowly fall of the radar. To them, I smashed into a wall with about as much subtlety as a bird smashing into a pane glass window. Visible, absurd, sad, but not quite a scene.
They waited. They tried. They cared.
Theres no mess, theres no blame. Theres nothing to hate or be hurt about. Theres just the truth: in my life, for me, I crashed like a 747 that couldn’t quite stick the landing. Careening sideways and the wings smashed off the runway, erupting into flames, blowing apart in an instant.
I feel awful I couldn’t get better. I feel awful, in general. I feel awful about feeling awful. I feel guilty I can’t do better. I feel guilty they waited. I feel guilty they cared.
I feel very much like my sick and healthy minds are battling over every response.
Fucke dup perfectionist trauma me is so horribly disappointed with herself. I loved that job. I had a plan. I had a good job with good people doing important things and I loved it. I was going to go to grad school. I had my shit together. I had worked hard. I ruined everything. I am devastated.
Sick me… Sick me is just relieved. Sick me is happy to get better without a timeline. Sick me needs a break. Sick me is so so tired.
And dream future self me is just trying to get by in one piece because turning into a giant ball of negative energy is really not helping anyone let alone me.
I wish dream future self won more often.