I’m in a relationship with an abuser, but today I can’t muster the wherewithal to fight back. I’m not a victim, and I’m certainly not a survivor (except in the most technical of senses, as in I continue to wake up every morning), but more like the residue that is spit out at the end of the day when I get to leave my government job. But, he loves me, I know he does, because I can see a doctor whenever I want without having to fear bankruptcy, and because every two weeks he gives me a liveable wage. He has me in handcuffs, but my goodness, they are of the highest quality and crafted from the most beautiful gold.
Besides, do I really want to be a survivor? A survivor bears and endures, is the one out of five hundred who made it. Also, you don’t get to be a survivor until after the fact, whatever “the fact” is, which I suppose is a nice thought, that there is a before and an after, a beginning and an end, and you can get through it. It is a nice way to reframe a shitty situation, to take back some control. You victimized me, but I survived that victimization, so suck it, I’m a survivor.
Is this all too heavy to describe a job? No, I don’t think so, not if you plan on continuing the job for another 30 years. I try to talk myself down when feeling this way about work. “This? This is nothing. I can do this.” But it’s curious how heavy nothing can feel. I would say my first marriage ended in divorce because of nothing. Could I have stayed with my first husband for thirty years? Well, we were friends first, and no one was being abused, so yeah, I could have. It’s just that we went around and around and around about the same stupid stuff like taking out the garbage or refilling the dog’s water dish (of course it’s never really about the garbage or the water dish), but stupidity can be crushing, so we divorced, and it was hard, but now I believe we are both happier. I guess I’m saying that if this job were my husband, we’d have divorced long ago.
And today, I’m at work, and I’m getting increasingly frustrated with all the stupidity of my job that just happens to be piling up all at once, but it’s so much more than stupid shit! It’s very similar to my arguments with Chad about filling the dog’s water dish, but raised to nth degree: do we use hot or cold water? Do we change it daily or only when it’s empty? Do we fill it to the top and have it spill, or only fill it halfway to keep the area clean but then fill it more often? Swap water dishes with contracts:
- You said you’d fill it!
- I never said that.
- Yes, last Thursday you said you would fill it with hot water.
- No, I wasn’t even around on Thursday. You’re crazy.
I doubt myself a lot in this job; the rules are always changing and I’m not always told, or maybe the fact that the rules did change is denied. It’s so warped, but I guess having me feeling disconnected and unsure of myself makes it easier to control me and easier to convince me that I need this job. It’s classic crazy-making.
And if this is such stupid shit, then really, it doesn’t matter. Why be upset? THIS IS NOTHING. But holy fuck, that is so goddamn depressing to acknowledge that such a significant part of your life is nothing. I mean, tell me, how could you not wake up everyday thinking about how you or maybe your livelihood is:
- inconsequential
- meaningless
- pointless
- senseless
- redundant
- superfluous
- disposable
Tomorrow I’ll read this and wonder, what the fuck was wrong with me yesterday? But isn’t that just the way with an abuser? Flowers and tennis bracelets or maybe just coffee with friends in the office, and it’s all forgiven then forgotten.