The Only Thing On my Mind...

I just want my stuff back. I’m supposed to be blogging right now, writing my feelings down, blocking everything out and releasing my thoughts. Truth is, there isn’t much left in here. Just the thought, “I want my stuff back.”

There’s a certain level of hurt and sadness that I have reached currently that leaves me feeling extremely numb. The last two months’ course of events have been excruciating and tough to deal with. Losing my job, not being able to see my kids, not going to my seniors’ prom and graduation, and not even being able to get my stuff back. What’s worse, no one seems to care. Sure, people sympathize and empathize and offer hugs, love, prayer support and drinks, which I all accept. But, this moral and ethical violation that I have experienced seems to be legal and legitimate. A group of professional adults sat in a room and in a matter of minutes decided on the best strategy to pierce my self-esteem and rip my heart out in the most petty and catty way the law would allow. How’s that for poetic? After countless conversations with lawyers, colleagues and other professionals, the consensus has been “Oh how horrible. I’m so sorry about this. You’ll find something better.” No shit I’ll find something better! I knew that administration was shady when I took the job. I didn’t expect this to be the perfect environment. I was expecting to be treated professionally and like an adult. I was expecting to not have to play favorites and kiss ass to do my job. I was expecting to just be able to do my job. I was not expecting this. I just want my stuff back.

This isn’t just about change. This isn’t just about job loss or the uncertainty of my future. Sure, some of that is in there, but this is about disrespect. I’ll readily admit that I do not do well with change, acceptance, and dealing with things out of my control. So dealing with this situation already is tough. But not being able to control how you are treated and what you can do about mistreatment is not only maddening, it’s hurtful. It allows something in your brain to think “If these people could get away with this, there’s no telling what other powerful people can/and will do to you”. Why even bother trying. It’s no use anyway. You’ll never get what is fair. No matter how big or small. And, in this case, I just want my stuff back.

This is the point in writing where you climax in your storytelling. Where you’ve hit rock bottom and now you climb out of it and soar above it to look down on your past and speak on the truths you learned from it. Sorry. You’ll get none of that from me today. Because the truth is, I believe in this point. Powerful people wield control. They may not be able to control your happiness, but they can play a part in the quantity of it. They may not be able to control your success, but they damn sure have the power to yank it away. They certainly don’t have power over your mind, but they can break you down so much that in the end, neither do you. As much as I know you’ll think this sounds crazy, but this hurt will always be with me. Not because I was fired, but because of the way I was treated. The way it made me feel to sit in those meetings and hear those hurtful untruths, or to be told that all my hard work would no longer be needed, and as a thank you for my service we will deny you the chance to say goodbye to your students, ban you from all student events and walk you out of the building like a common criminal without giving you the decency of the chance to collect your stuff. The feeling of that day can never be forgotten, which makes it all the more painful to bear the fact that now, two months later, jobless, stuff less and hopeless, I am no closer to feeling better at all. In fact, I feel so defeated that I’m even further away from the one thing I truly want the most.

I just want my stuff back.