Today was a hard day, and I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m up to my elbows in trauma therapy and the anguish is taking its toll. And I don’t know what’s harder, the therapy itself or the realizations that have come to light in the process because it all stays with you. It’s one thing to discuss all the crappiness, it’s something entirely different to have it all follow you into the loo to pee.
When you’re burdened by these types of things, garden-variety nuisances become mammoth tasks. At least that’s what it feels like. Because I am undergoing a rebuild of Stuart, everything I say, do, and think is under reconsideration. In my prior life, I felt naked when there was nothing to worry about. Actually got a kick of adrenaline when someone pissed me off because it gave me purpose. I know, a little too much of Pearl runs in my veins. I’m excellent with my tongue and can eviscerate someone in seconds. And I love doing it. When someone screwed me over, the gloves came off. Screw me over once, shame on you. It won’t happen again and now your stupid assholish behavior is going to haunt you as long as I have air in my lungs. While I’m not physically violent, I do get a rise out of fucking with people. Again, thanks Pearl.
But, Stuart 2.0 has me being something I never thought I was before: pensive. I know, it’s as startling to me as it is to anyone that knows me. I used to act first, think later. Not anymore. My life feels little right now because I’m self isolating, staying inside, and avoiding anything that resembles stress. My emotional and physical well-being cannot take it. I’ve been beat up and I’m trying to heal, and that means doing everything in my power to control my circumstances right now. A decidedly simpler life.
So, people in my life have a clearly-defined purpose and fall in one of two categories. First, I choose to keep you in my orbit because you complete me as a human, bring out the best in me, and I respect you. My life would be worse without you. Second, you are here out of pure necessity; if you fall in this category, I do not like you. You are utility in my world, and I hate that you have any role in my life. Once you serve your purpose, I will extricate you from my world. The people in this second category really annoy me and I find them useless bags of wind.
Many of you will say this is harsh, extreme. Maybe so. But I have spent my entire life placating other people to the detriment of my own mental health and wellbeing. I did anything within my power to keep others happy so that they wouldn’t hurt me. And I did it instinctively, which is scary. So, in order to retrain my brain, I am taking time to reflect and think on my words and actions with each person. Again, if you are in my world you fall into one of the two categories above. Anyone that isn’t firmly assigned is gone. Permanently.
As luck would have it, I have a part-time job writing from home. The company I work for has a global presence and employees are scattered all over. My boss’s boss, I will call her Captain Twatwaffle, lives out west. She’s a raging bitch with mindbogglingly high levels of incompetence. Ask anyone that works in her midst, and you’d get the same reply. Yep, Twatwaffle would likely use a knife to get toast out of the toaster. Incidentally, this person is also a bully to everyone and it is clear that she got ahead by belittling others. Literally every interaction with her has revealed new depths to which she will stoop to protect herself and throw others under the bus. She’s a horrible excuse for a human being. Fortunately for me, I don’t ever have to see her and I rarely interact with her. I see her posts on social media and she’s bloviated herself to a status unattainable and considers her presence a blessing to all. I think I just vomited in my mouth.
Yesterday, I found myself in a bit of a predicament and had to ask a question of human resources. Ordinary, run-of-the-mill kind of question about a form. A basic inquiry about how to complete it in the proper fashion because its author, Captain Twatwaffle, is a fucking moron. To my surprise, Twatwaffle reached out to me and came for my throat in a display that can only be considered as true to her character. Bitch.
I was instantly thrown on my heels and put in a completely new position. Rather than going for her throat and exposing her for all to see, because that kind of shit got Stuart 1.0 revved up, I stopped. I didn’t reply to her email. And I’ve been sitting on it for 24 hours. Let me tell you, this is a feat of unbelievable strength and restraint; it is also testament to the power of pharmaceuticals and good therapists.
This precarious place is new to me. I was wronged. And others that know what happened agree with my perception of the events. Remember my world, if you let someone screw you over, it will continue. Cut those bitches off at the knees before they do it again. The only people that can really fuck you over are family. And that’s been my mantra forever. The new me is fighting every ounce of myself to not hang her out to dry, report her, and hopefully get her fired. I’d also like to thank Pearl for having me think of posting her email to me on social media and tag all of her followers who she’s deluded into believing she’s some benefactor to the masses. Pearl’s brain…the gift that keeps on giving.
But I won’t. I’ve decided the new me isn’t fighting every fight anymore. I’m tired, beat up, and worn down. I have also decided that to fight this fight is to accept the premise upon which the ordeal started. To engage Twatwaffle means that I’ve given credence to her words, that I let them bother me. I’m not giving up that kind of control to anyone ever again. She doesn’t deserve the real estate in my brain.
People don’t change overnight, so maybe I’ll placate myself by conjuring up new ways to anonymously fuck with her while I fight insomnia tonight. I’ll pin them to my mental bulletin board to remind myself that she’s unworthy of my efforts.
Nevertheless, not engaging the fight leaves me feeling naked and unprepared. But I’m covering up and reminding myself that not everyone is worth my exposure. That it is a risk for me to go for her jugular. Well, and my boobs are spectacular and I refuse to expose them because Twatwaffle got under my skin.
