I’ve spent my entire life trying to obtain safety through control. I always thought that if I could just get everything perfect, then everyone would be happy, and I would be safe. I don’t know why I still believe this… it never worked when I was a child, and it doesn’t work now; but there’s some part of me who holds onto it for dear life. There’s always the argument that I didn’t get things quite right last time, but this time, I will… It will be so perfect, so seamless that no one will even notice me, and I’ll be safe.
Total and utter invisibility is always my goal.
One of the ways which I maintain my invisibility, is by working. It allows me to pay my bills, and have the least amount of interaction with officials as possible. It helps me to maintain a routine, and forces me to interact with people… So, for me, work is a positive in the overall scheme of things. However, over the last year, it’s become less and less positive. To the point where I realised earlier this week, that I hadn’t enjoyed anything about work for probably close to three years.
I should state, for the record, that I’m thankful for having a job – I know there are many people who don’t. But, it’s now reached a point where my job is negatively effecting other parts of my life. I could probably find a way through if the only problem were the workload issues, but it isn’t… I have a new team leader who doesn’t have any library experience, and appears to have little inclination to learn; and on Friday I was sexually harassed over the phone by a co-worker.
This combination of events means that work no longer feels safe.
My default reaction when something doesn’t feel safe, is to try to gain some semblance of control. But here, I felt powerless… the phone call left me exposed emotionally, and the team leaders lack of knowledge makes me feel as if my skills are not valued within the organisation. It feels like the rugs been pulled out from underneath me, and I have no idea how to regain my balance.
I’ve spent the weekend trying to get my balance back. I’ve failed. I’ve been rude to people who have tried to show me kindness, and gotten lost within a dissociative haze. All I can think of, is that it feels like my coping mechanisms were fired out of a shotgun, and the pellets from the shot were spread far and wide… I’ve been running around here and there trying to fix things… but instead made bigger messes, and caused more hurt. This, of course, triggers another round of self-loathing, and more shots to be fired…
I entered the weekend feeling unsafe and out of control… I leave it in much the same way.