Tag Archives: toxic

A New Chapter

25 Jan

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I am a very strong person. No, not only as a woman, as a human. I don’t take shit. I’ve been programmed not to. Preconditioning in childhood, saw to that.

…The thing is, sometimes difficulties tear you down and down and weaken you, sometimes they do the opposite and stiffen your guard. It isn’t always one way or the other, nor from person to person, a consistency. Life is too harried and messy to allow for this perfected conclusion and plan of attack. Which means that even very strong people can get caught up in a circus freak-show of an abusive and toxic relationship every now and then, which in any other circumstance, they would see for what it is, and set fire to the bastard, instantly.

…Only life is…messy. Politics are messy. Relationships, friendships, family ties, can get so deep and scarred and reheal over twists of rusty barbed wire and promises, which shouldn’t be allowed to. Allegiance is a wonderful thing, but not to a cancer. The thing is, when these deep seeded relationships are finally seen for what they really are…the cancer is already alive and well and breeding. It takes over. And your history and time and family and everything else becomes twisted up into the mix as well.

…So what do you do?

…Ignore it? Excuse it? Try to relabel and reclassify it to sound like it isn’t what it really is? Because that way might be easier? Socially. Politically. And even in that deep down part of your heart that says, “Yes, but it wasn’t always like this, some good has come of it.” Or, “But family, is family…the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

As a strong, imperfect human, who sucks at forgiveness of others, who builds walls (plural) around them, and trusts almost no one (related or otherwise)…the fact that when someone actually scales the walls, earns the trust, and then fucks with it…should be soundly aware, they will swiftly be dealt a death blow. In case they aren’t aware, I have thoroughly educated them.

…Except “sometimes.” And I don’t always know why?

…The inconsistancy doesn’t make sense. Even to me. Why is this person excommunicated, while that one gets a slap on the wrist?

I don’t know.

…It’s a thing that has bothered and baffled me about myself. Upon further reflection, sometimes I can find a “reason,” but is anything worth ignoring a deep seeded “wrong” at a level so spurious that it eats at you across weeks, months, even years at a time?

…Do you owe anyone your self respect? For any reason? Do you “owe” anyone anything?

I feel that an uncomfort I have lived with for far too long, a history of me that I have always felt ashamed of…for no reasons which I was responsible for…a thing which shaped so much of me and my life…somehow became a mantle I felt I had to wear and suffer through for reasons which were never good enough.

…The truth is: no reason would have been good enough.

I have been a very strong person who has allowed an abuse, long scarred, to eat at me. There are no visible bruises, no scratches, no bodily violations. But there were lies, manipulations, continual boundary crossings, assumptions, and suffocations. There was a loss of innocence, a reiteration of trust issues…together with family and hardships and what I believe at the core, might have also been real actual love. It is after all, family.

…But that does not excuse, it does not diminish, the egregious wrongs.

…And when I see its pattern start to reveal itself again, in a whole new light of circumstances…only then can I truly see-SEE it for what it truly is. And was.

I am a very strong woman. I am a very strong person. And I am at last saying to this circumstance: I am done with you now.

I owe you nothing.

I never did.

I am free of this thing, whatever it has been.

And I am putting it in print. Not because you will read it. But because I needed to say it.

…And for all the strong people out there, feeling stuck in a circus merry-go-round of fucked up exceptions and reasons to know:

“You are amazing, and I know it is difficult to imagine: but it’s okay to let go now.”

It’s okay to say: “I’m done.”

~D

The Teamster Dump-&-Run

4 Dec

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For the record: it will always be too early in the morning to deal with Bio-hazard waste, but even more so before you have had your coffee.

This morning started much as most did, with paperwork printing and report updates. I was head-down-nose-to-the-grindstone for twenty minutes before calling out to the lobby at (who I thought was) the WHS Pimp.

…It was an easy mistake, as whoever was out there, was making coffee.

…And Boss not only doesn’t know how, but was busy at the moment…arguing over Christmas purchases for the kids on the phone with his ex-wife in his office.

Getting no response to my call, I popped up from the desk with papers in-hand and marched to the lobby in hopes of gaining info on a product drop-date. But, there standing over the coffee maker…scoop in-hand…was NOT the WHS Pimp. It was a tiny man in a beanie hat who looked as if he hadn’t showered or shaved in about a week and a half.

“Must be a Teamster,” I thought to myself as I smiled at him with a blink, then turned on-heel towards the Warehouse. Following the sounds of the forklift, the WHS Pimp was found, my stocking question answered, as I pointed to the truck.

Me: That one of our usual guys? I don’t remember seeing him before.

WHS Pimp: The driver? No. He’s new.

Me: I thought he was you, in the lobby.

WHS Pimp: Thanks?

Me: No…I mean: he was making coffee.

WHS Pimp: Making coffee?

Me: Yeah.

WHS Pimp: Okay.

Me: I was just wondering…does he do this often?

WHS Pimp: I dunno. Not here, anyway.

Me: Okay. So…not to be mean or anything but…

WHS Pimp: Yeah?

Me: Maybe don’t drink the coffee?

WHS Pimp: (Pshaw.) No. It’s fine.

Me: Okay. Well…you drink it first.

WHS Pimp: Lemme finish the truck and I’m on it.

…To which I nodded my head and headed back into the office, where — I kid you not –the second I opened the door I was hit with a warm wall of rotting death.

…Which meant that, clearly, said Teamster had just completed one of the Union’s favorite past-times of taking a giant dump in your office facilities.

I get it:

It’s warm.

It’s clean.

It isn’t a truck-stop, or a Denny’s with another dude sitting in the next stall.

…But for whatever reason that I am NOT sure of, the ways of the road seem to creep into the habits of these dudes…”cleanliness next to Godliness,” being the least favored theme on which to build their hygiene habits, and maybe also: their noses are all broken. Because it seems to me, that they are never conscious of the smell which follows their deed…what’s more, might even be rather proud of it…marching around the lobby afterward, with the bathroom door left wide-open and zero attempts at aerosoling the atmosphere, or washing their hands or (in a lot of cases) even flushing.

…So Mr. Teamster Beanie, was found. In his hand: a fresh (?) pot of water, being taken with him from said stench-way, directly to the coffee pot, where he loaded it, and pressed the brewing button.

Eyes tearing from poisoned gas, I tried to be civil, as I rounded the corner to my office, and waited for Mr. Teamster Beanie to exit…which he did…to join the fellas out in the Warehouse.

…Which is immediately when I shot into action, beating it for the bathroom door…where remains of a new potty-training individual would be the ONLY excuse for what I found. Which I will not describe. But sufficient to say: it took two flushes, three Clorox wipes, and a shit-ton of Lysol spray to repair.

After detoxing myself with harsh chemicals and five or ten handwashings, I eventually emerged back into the lobby, where the bubble and fart-burp of newly brewing coffee greeted me. Along with, soon-after, Boss.

Boss: Hey. I’m gonna run to 7-11, want anything?

Me: Coffee.

(Boss looks at coffee maker, and points.)

Me: After what I had to just clean up in there, I would lick the Warehouse ground, before I would touch whatever is cooking over there.

Boss: A bad one, huh?

Me: Could you not SMELL it?!

(Boss shrugs. My face, holding a total look of disgust.)

Me: God, I hope whatever is in “that,” gets somehow killed by the heat. We may even need a new coffee maker…

Boss: You are just way too germ-a-phobe-ee.

Me: Poop on the seat! ON. THE. SEAT!

Boss: So a large coffee.

Me: YES!

Boss: Got it.

(And he exits, as enters WHS Pimp. I all but throw my body as a buffer, directly at him.)

Me: Don’t. Drink. The coffee.

…And he could tell by my face that this time: I really meant it.

~D

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