I understand, through some information that has been provided to me, that my former company felt some pain for the first few weeks after I left. Before my departure, I made it very clear that I was open and available for advice, consultation, perhaps even onsite setup and training, for whoever remained to do my former job. That offer was not taken up because, and these are the words quoted to me, “we don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing we need his help.”
I’m not one to enjoy another’s pain, let alone gloat about it. But this prideful cockiness gives me great liberty to smile. I like that company; I miss that company and those I worked with. It was a laid-back affair laden with the personalities and drama that could only exist in a small shop environment. And it is because of that environment that I have to take a light heart about it and laugh. My presence made a big footprint on the soil of that company, and my absence left a painful, gaping maw. I have the satisfaction that I, for once, was able to make that effect.
Now. My current job; let’s just say that unless I learn what the hell I’m doing, do a great job, and ascend the ranks, I will not leave that great of an impression on the company. There are 15,000 or so employees, and I am but a contractor trainee in a testing lab. There are certain parties who may seek the satisfaction of knowing that I am going through trouble, stress, turmoil; they may have a glimmer of it, my treat, because my new job is hard. Damn hard. After years of growing dull, issuing motions to my body in gross movements, turning off my mind while I droned out the repetitive work with music, I am having a damnable time of trying to wake up my mind again, turning on my memory, juggling little bits of facts, events, people. You may have your satisfaction.
It’s a drain on me, this trying to keep up. I have filled pages upon pages in my journal about my internal struggles and storms. All the shit I’ve held hidden below the waterline for years is rising to the surface in murky curls of fetid water. And it startles me; smacks my face and laughs as I drop a few balls while trying to do my juggling act, trying to perform. Makes me want to scream, makes me want to run. But the urge to collapse and do nothing takes hold and pulls me back to zero where I do nothing extreme. A zombie. A real, live zombie.
You may have your satisfaction.
This has been a lonely journey, these thirty-five years, these past 4 years, these recent 2 months. Within the withering crop of people I consider friends, there are the usual few who know of my situation, but there are none who are in my closest circle. My weight is my own to bear, and it is my fault. That is my feeling; my fault for shutting them out. I suppose when I am ready I will reach out again; maybe this is my reaching out. Until then, I likely won’t be talking much.
So. To you, the people I most likely know who read my words anonymously, this is my state. Thanks for the concern. And for the satisfaction: you’re welcome.