What Fireworks Means to a School Shooting Survivor
I despise fireworks. I think that some of them are so pretty, but the sound triggers me. Every time a firework goes off, I can feel it in my chest. The breath gets knocked out of me, and I freeze. At that moment, I am transported back to School. I am back in the classroom with my teachers and fellow student.
At that second, I can see the fear in my teacher’s eyes as he looks down the hallway at the commotion. “Run,” He says with complete fear in his eyes. The look in his eyes will forever be etched into my brain. Confused, I run down the hallway and watch as a freshman falls and slides into a locker. I can’t bring myself to stop and check on her, and I’m pretty sure that makes me a bad person. I’m doing what my teacher said. I am running, from what I don’t know.
As I Get Outside
As I get outside, I stop running. I just assume that it was a fire and that I am safe outside. The fire can’t get me here. “Someone brought a gun to school.” A stranger says behind me. At that point, I can’t think. I take off sprinting. I almost get hit by a car, it was literally centimeters away from hitting me. I can hear the teacher yelling at the students to get into a classroom in the tech building because it’s safe. I sprint into the building.
I almost enter the first room as soon as you walk in the door, but I decide that that classroom would be the first to get shot if the shooter comes up here. I run a few classrooms away, and set against the wall, and wait for any information. Students and teachers start piling in. I look around and realize I can’t trust anyone. At this point, no one knows who the shooter is. Finally, the teachers shut and lock the door.
Calling my Brother
The first person I can get a hold of is my brother. He tells me that there’s been a shooting at the school and that someone has died. My heart sinks, and all I can think about are my friends. Fear courses through my veins as I struggle to get a hold of them. Luckily, they’re all okay. I go on Twitter, and desperately try to find some information. Someone sitting close to me tells me who the shooter is. I am completely shocked and In denial. I’ve known this kid since seventh grade, there’s no way he did this. I was wrong. He did do it.
We are sitting and waiting to be told what to do next when a student starts banging on the door. He was banging on the door so hard, and asking to be let it. Fear overcomes my body. I remember begging God that they wouldn’t open that door. Luckily, they didn’t. We sat there until like 9:30, and then we are told we must get on a bus.
They let us out of the room, but we all must go in a single file line. Teachers and Swat line the walls and make a pathway to the buses. The look in the eyes of the swat member will be in my head forever. We get on the bus, and we sit there forever. I remember looking out the window of the bus and seeing a news helicopter flying over us. I just remember being angry that they were already swarming. I mean, people just died to show some respect. It was insensitive.
At around Eleven, they gave us a police escort to the nearest middle school. We took the back roads there. They piled us all into the gym and waited for our names to be called so we could leave with our parents. I remember getting home at noon, and my family had the news on. I hear them reporting things that didn’t happen, so I just go to my room. I couldn’t sleep that night, my adrenaline was pumping. My friends can’t sleep either. We all stay up and talk.
Going Back to School
I was battling anorexia at the time so I didn’t eat anyways, but at this time I go the longest I ever have without eating. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I was terrified. Going back to school, was horrible. We went back on a Friday. We all met in the gym for a moment of silence, prayer, and to hear about all the resources we had available. The school was never the same. We jumped at every dropped book, we were constantly looking over our shoulder. We were all wary of strangers. We enjoyed the service dogs that came to the school, that was the best part. We played card games to pass the time.
I always told myself that If something like that happened to me I would never go back to school, and I finished my year out there and then became homeschooled. I couldn’t bring myself to sit down in that school and worry about who was walking through the door. I couldn’t sit there and continue to jump at every dropped book. I’ve only been to the school twice since then, and I still struggle with going there.
I keep in contact with the teachers I was in the classroom with that day. You will hardly ever catch me in sandals in public because they aren’t good running shoes. Every year, I plug in my headphone and blare my music so I don’t hear the fireworks. I can hear gunshots, and I can shoot guns (I’m a pretty good shot), but there’s something about fireworks that I can’t handle. I just wish people would be more considerate of people like me every year.
Have you ever felt invisible? That no one really sees the pain that you carry around on a daily basis? Has your pain ever been so intense and you have stuffed it so far, that you are numb to emotions? Have you ever been called emotionally stagnant or unable to feel things as they happen? Well, that’s me in a nutshell.
Childhood trauma, young adult trauma, adult trauma, PTSD, whatever it is that you may face. It’s a bitch. In the moment, I feel nothing. I’m always on mode go go go go go and then once I’ve gone, I relax. Then, I cry and feel all the feelings. It’s horrible. I’m working on processing the traumas, whether big or small, past, present or what I foresee.
Have you ever taken the ACE test? The Adverse Childhood Experience study? My score is 6. This means that “People with an ACE score of 6 or higher are at risk of their lifespan being shortened by 20 years. ACEs are responsible for a big chunk of workplace absenteeism, and for costs in health care, emergency response, mental health, and criminal justice.”
Drug Allergy Testing
So, this past week, I had to take Hunter back to the allergist at Vanderbilt. This time, not for seasonal allergies but for a Decadron Challenge. Doing this definitively tells me whether or not he has an allergy to this specific drug.
Luckily, we had the same nurse as last time and the dr that we met via telehealth the first time. These ladies are so very nice. They explained things to Hunter and me very well. We had to leave a bit early and I got so turned around that we were almost lost.
This place is in a shopping mall. I kind you not. We had to go to a mall to go to the doctor. It is so weird. Add that to the fact we have to go up one escalator, down a thousand hallways, and up an elevator to get to where we were going. I was tired, he was getting anxious, we all know the drill.
10 Minutes Late
We got there, just in the knick of time. The nurse called us back and said how she remembered us from the last time. She did all the things and got us to our room. Hunter was behind me, twirling his shirt and hopping. I sat down, feeling defeated but stoic. Ready for this next test, next doctor, next hospital, next next next.
The nurse came over and asked to hold Hunter’s hands. She looked at him and told him exactly what we were going to do. That nothing, today, would hurt him. She comforted him and asked him if he was okay. He said he was scared and she softly assured him that there was nothing to fear. That touched my heart of stone.
Then, It Happened
She got him settled with the promise of Teddy Grahams and power aid. Next, she rolled back to her computer and started typing something, asking me the normal round of questions. Then, she quickly turned her chair around and looked me dead in the eye.
She said, “are you okay?” This was done with such sincerity that it threw me off. I was speechless. Then, I felt it coming. Tears welled up in my eyes and I gently said “no.” She rolled over to me and patted me on the leg and said that it was going to be okay and that I was going to be okay.
I Felt Seen
At that moment, I felt as if she could see directly into my soul. That she saw everything that had been stuffed down and she wanted to assure me that it is okay. I am okay. This is all going to be okay. I felt such comfort and calmness. A peace fell over me and I could physically feel my body relaxing.
On cue, Hunter must have felt something too because he did his thing. Ever since he got sick, we have listened to Ms. Debbie. She has recorded us about 8 songs. He knows them all by heart and asks to listen to her because it calms him. He turned around and said, “can we please listen to Ms. Debbie?”
We both listened and praised God together. I am learning, listening, and trying to trust in the process. It is coming up on 4 yrs and we are both just tired. God, give us rest and heal his weary body.
In the Still of the Night, The Monster Comes to Play
In the Stillness
I love the time of day when I can go upstairs and just be. For the day, I am done. I am done with school, cooking, cleaning, putting out fires, phone calls, texts, etc. My stuff, a bottle of water, and coke come up the stairs with me. I turn on all the fans, dim the lights, wash my face, and pile up in bed. Yet, In the Still of the Night, The Monster Comes to Play.
For a bit, I am good. I will scan all the things like email, Instagram, and such. Facebook is a thing of the past. I cannot stand the fakeness, passive-aggressive, political, crap that it is. A “friend” can be a friend to your face but behind your back, they are a glorified 12-year-old living in the land of middle school.
That shit is for the birds. I’m so much better than that.
Then, the stillness sets in.
My life is SO loud. I mean my son-in-law is LOUD. Everyone is loud. We have 21 chickens, 19 cats, a whiny dog, a granddaughter, and kids galore. It is always something. At night, though, other than the fans, it is silent.
That’s when the thoughts come in. These are not good thoughts. Normally, I watch the Detail Geek (car detailing guy from Canada) and talk to Donna. We talk through several of his details and giggle so much. Catch up on life, talk about our issues, and the issues of our children… all the things.
Since she passed away, in October last year, I have stopped watching him. I get so emotional when I do. Then, I go to pick up the phone and I realize she isn’t there. All of the unresolved trauma and grief floods me.
When Donna’s daughter died, I did not process her death for a year. Her death was so hard on me. I have loved LA from the moment I met her until the moment we buried her. Donna and I had always been close but our bond was unbreakable after LA died.
I remember the night that I called her. Crying. I was crying so hard that I couldn’t breathe. She could not understand me. Finally, she said for me to stop and tell her 2 things that make me laugh when I think of her.
I stopped crying and replayed that story over and over in my head. The darkness began to have a bit of light and the monster retreated for a moment back from where it came. Donna is gone. Now, I have no one to tell that story too.
So again, the monster comes out to play in the stillness of the night. When I am alone with my own thoughts and the depression begins to overwhelm me.
Bats. Hair dye. Bats. Hair dye. Monsters go away because I do not want to play.
In Lockup: Extended Stay, I just completed a four-day stay in the hospital because of my mental health. I am not ashamed to say that’s why I was in the hospital. I needed help, and I can admit that now.
Things have been bad for me for basically a month, and I had nothing left to give. It started with me realizing that even though I have forgiven myself for my brother’s death, it didn’t make it any less painful like I was expecting. I thought that if I had forgiven myself then the hole in my heart wouldn’t feel as big.
On top of that, I have started remembering things from ten years ago and that just hasn’t worked out in my favor so far. I also had the anxiety of what to do with the information I was remembering. Do I report this even if it may ruin my family?
Do I report it even if I will have no biological family afterward? That decision was made for me, but now I’m dealing with the anxiety of wait to hear from the police. Every time the phone rings, it’s like my world stops. I start shaking, and I get really nauseous. I hate this feeling.
First Few Nights
My first few nights at the hospital were very lonely. I didn’t even start to make friends until the night before I left. I only knew those people for a short amount of time, but they made a huge impact on me. I can’t help but think about where they are in the world.
Did Katie and Michaela get out today? Did Jamie’s mom ever pick him from the hotel room? Did the other Katie get the Job she interviewed for right after she got out? Did the girl with super long hair throw a chair through the window? Where are they now? Are they doing okay?
Dawn, the Night Nurse
My night nurse made the biggest impact on me. Dawn deserves a raise because she doesn’t make enough money for what she does. From the moment I met her, she was nothing but caring. She answered any question I had. She got me food from the fridge when I was too anxious to do it myself. She treated me like I was her own child.
On my last night there, she shared something with me that she has never shared with anyone. I won’t say what it was because that’s not my story to share, but it made me believe that I can talk to the police. That I am strong enough to get through this.
I am Home Now
Now that I’m out, I feel like there’s this pressure that I have to be good now. Like I feel like I can’t be anxious or depressed. Don’t get me wrong, I am the best I have ever been, but it’s still not great. If that makes sense. The bar was literally on the floor before now. I feel like I now appreciate the people around me a little more now.
Looking back, I know I wouldn’t have made it through the past month without them. That’s not something I’ve been shy about either. I’m so grateful to Bart (you guys may know him as “Big Daddy”) and Brandi. They have completely changed my life. I love them with my whole heart and I could never thank them enough for what they’ve done for me.
This was written by one of my favorite people. She is so precious to my soul. I am so encouraged by the strength that it took for her to admit that there was something not quite right. There have been so many days and nights that I have seen her struggle to just maintain. The dam broke. With the help of her medical provider, his nurse, and my son…she would have never had the strength to stand up for herself. She would have never sought the help that she needed.
Since doing that, it was discovered that she has Serotonin Syndrome. There are many symptoms that range from excessive sweating to goosebumps. All of this is caused by an accumulation of serotonin. Some, your body produces, some is caused by antidepressants.
Thankfully, she is on the right medication. She was on too many SSRIs and now she has completely leveled out. There is no shame in getting help. Had she not gotten the help she needed, she would have never discovered the meds to help her were actually hurting her.
In this piece, my guest blogger talks about how she is healing through anger. Anger is a valid emotion, as Jesus was angry when He turned over the tables in the temple. Anger is secondary to fear and/or sadness. In this piece, you can see her fear, clearly. Also, you can feel her sadness. Please pray for this young girl as you think of it.
I Am So Angry With You
I know I have said it a million times, but I am so angry with you. If I were in the business of hating people, you would be first on my list. The thought of you makes my blood pressure skyrocket. Why couldn’t you be a normal stepfather? Seriously, why did you have to abuse me? Why me? I was a child. What kind of man likes children?
I wish my mom would have never met you. Honestly, I wish I did not blame myself for what you did. I know I was young, and I know it was not my fault. It’s yours. You are the one who abused me not the other way around.
Tell the Truth
I have had a few opportunities to tell you the truth, to say whatever I wanted to you, but I did not. Part of me wishes I would not have been such a coward. I want you to know how much you hurt me. The other part of me knows that it would not matter what I said you would not care. You would enjoy the attention, you always like all the attention being on you.
What I Want to SCREAM
I want to scream at you and tell you that you hurt me. To tell you that you traumatized me. I want to tell you how I cannot even change clothes in the comfort of my own home without feeling uncomfortable or like I am being watched. To yell that you took my childhood and my innocence away from me. That is something I will never get back. I cannot go back and act like a child again. Not all of that is your fault, but a big piece of it is.
I am never a violent person, but I would like to punch you in the face a few good times. I bet that would help me release some of my anger. That sure would make me feel better. I do not understand how you can have four different types of cancers, and still be alive. I guess that is just how my life goes.
Papa T is Crossing the Line
I heard a phrase today that I had not heard in a long time. A phrase that makes me nauseous. “Daddy T” I never understood why you made us call you that. Mom does not understand why that name makes me uncomfortable, and to be honest, I don’t completely understand it myself. All I know is the name makes me physically sick. My sister told me today that you want her daughter to call you “Papa T” And it incited some rage in me.
Yet, That Baby is Safe From You
Luckily that baby lives far away now so you cannot get your hands on her. If she were still around, I can promise you that you would never meet her. I would go to jail before that happened and I would be okay with it. You will never get the satisfaction of her calling you “papa T” which I feel is WAY too close to “Daddy T”
You will never get the satisfaction to take that baby’s innocence away from her, and that brings me just a little bit of you. Your abuse ended with me, and I will do everything in my power to make sure it goes no further.
Working on Forgiveness
I know it does not sound like it, but I truly am trying to forgive you. It is just a slow process. The thing is, I am not forgiving you for you. I am doing this for me. To heal. I am doing it so I can put you in the past and finally move on. To better myself and be the best person I can be. I know in the end you will get what you deserve, and I will not even have to lift a finger.
In this piece, Three Words I Can Say Could Make You Hate Me, my guest blogger begins to outline her life when she was younger. What a powerful voice she has, yet still too scared to let it out loudly. Time and Jesus will cure that. I’m so proud of her and all that she has been doing to heal.
A Born Fixer
Every since I was a little girl all I ever wanted to do was please you and to help you. All I have done my whole life is what you needed. You needed someone to bathe a kid, I did it, you needed someone to help feed a kid, I did it, you needed someone to complain to, that was me.
I grew up listening to everything wrong in your life, your husband or ex-husband drama, your “my kids hate me”, my kids are terrible, my kids don’t love me. Did you forget I was your kid too? Or am I just an ear to listen and a body to help work? You’ve definitely groomed me well for the job I would like to have one day. If anything I am a listener and I like to help others to the best of my ability. So at least there is a positive within all the negativity I have listened to and experienced during my life.
This Thing Called Life
My life has been a series of what does mom need me to do next? What does my youngest brother need? Or even what can I help another brother with? He may have had most of the attention from you growing up but that also meant that he got the attention from the men in your life too. So there was a lot of negative things going on in his life as well. As much as I don’t like him I do love him so I didn’t like to see him so upset.
You have complained to me so many times about so many different things that it makes me scared to share anything good or bad with you because I am afraid it will upset you. I feel like if I tell you some things you’ll stop caring, stop loving me. In fact somethings, I would rather just bottle up or ignore because I know that you wouldn’t approve or would hurt your feelings.
What About Me and My Feelings
Like sometimes I want to point out that I have feelings too and I’m tired of having only one-way conversations about you and your kids like I’m not one of them. I know you don’t mean anything by it towards me but it still hurts me. Especially when you say we are all unmotivated kids that’s don’t care about you. Maybe not in that order but they have both been said. I am motivated, I work, I’m trying to move out, I do love you. Stop putting us all together like we are all the same.
One day I would like to have a conversation with you about me. About my life, and about things that I am learning about myself. Like I remembered what it was like to be motivated to finish something. Sure it’s just a sweater but to me, that is an accomplishment. To be able to wear something that I made. Just because it’s not interesting to you doesn’t mean it’s not important.
The same with schooling, just because it’s not what you want me to do doesn’t mean that it’s not something I can do. I want to work in the psychology field with kids. But that’s not good enough for you. You want me to be able to support myself and I get that but why can’t you support me in my decision on what I want to do it just might take me a while to get there.
The Truth About My Engagement
I would love to be able to sit down and talk with you about why I truly didn’t get married. How it was a lie to begin with sure it wasn’t intentional but a lie nonetheless. I would like to tell you that I have recently learned that I am not interested in men but more confused than anything. I’d like to have your support while I try to figure everything out all the way. But you’d disown me for that thought or try to shame me out of it.
I have listened to everything you have had to say about everything and everyone. I have supported you through good and bad decisions. In short, I have loved you and accepted you as you are. But you would not do the same for me I am sure. You would just hear the words and then you’d be done. Done with me and done with everything else because without me who will you talk to?
Three Words I Can Say Could Make You Hate Me
Without me who will help you when you’re down? Without me who will help pick up the pieces that are left and glue them back together when anger or sadness strikes?
I love you and I worry about you more than I worry about anything or anyone else. So me keeping this one thing from you. Keeping it under lock and key may hurt me but at least I know you’ll be okay. Cause I’ll still help you. The sad thing is there’s not anything you could do to make me stop loving you but just three could make you hate me.
Today, I am thankful for the bravery of this young lady. She certainly has powerful emotion behind her words. Also, she is using them to help her sort through the muddy water. She is loved and a treasure. May she be blessed in her courage and continue to speak for those who do not have a voice.
In Ending the Stigma of Mental Illness, my guest blogger shares her thoughts on this subject. I have a mental disorder that can be crippling at times. When I say crippling I mean I cannot get myself out of the bed. I have thoughts in my head on a continuous loop that should not be there, to begin with. Those days when I don’t call, text. or even speak to people. Hell, I don’t even come out of my room. When I say I can’t get myself out of the bed, I mean, I literally will stay in it for days. I will only leave to go to the bathroom or to eat.
The “Happy” Place
There are also days when I am “happy” these are the days when I can really get myself into trouble. when I talk ninety to nothing and spend all of my money in one place. Or I could get in the car and just drive in one direction not knowing where I am going but going anywhere is better than where I am. These are the days when I bombard all of my friends that I haven’t talked to in days that I want to do something. On these days I don’t sleep, I could be up for days at a time and it wouldn’t bother me one bit. I make poor choices when I am like this.
This is Bipolar Disorder in a Nutshell, at Least in my Case.
I am tired of the stigma on mental illness or mental health in general. If you have asthma, everyone can tell by the physical complications that you have. However, when it comes to mental illnesses we dare not speak of them. They don’t exist to people who don’t have them or at least they perceive it as a negative.
You don’t see people not talking to people with asthma so why shouldn’t they for people with mental illness. Honestly, I should feel free to share that I have bipolar disorder without having people think that it means I’m crazy. Furthermore, I shouldn’t have to own that lie but yet here I am pretending it doesn’t exist or calling myself crazy.
I am Tired of Comparing Myself to “Normal” People
What does that mean anyway? To be “normal”. The definition of normal is conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected. So what I’m seeing is that everyone is supposed to be the same, act the same, and do the same things the exact same way? Maybe I’m looking at it in a negative way but it sounds to me like normal people are nowhere to be seen. Because no one is the same no one is conformed to the same standards.
So why do we make ourselves feel less than just because of a mental illness? Bipolar disorder is my normal just because it isn’t yours doesn’t mean that you have the right to tell me that I am wrong, not to be trusted, or dangerous because of it.
Today, I am thankful for modern medicine. It has helped me look at life a bit more clear. God is bigger than all, but He created man to create medicine to help. Never feel weak because you need a medication to help you even things out. You are not weak! Honestly, you are brave and strong.
My guest blogger writes a letter to her mom. She is working through How to Separate the Good Mom from the Bad Mom. Her path of healing has been long and difficult. She is wading through the good memories and the bad. Right now, sadly, the bad memories are more prevalent. I pray that one day, she will remember the good memories she had with her mom. Somehow, someway, it makes the bad memories more bearable.
My Dearest Mother,
My Dearest Mother, you have caused me so much pain for the past ten years of my life. I cannot count how many times I have laid in bed at night and cried because of you. Sadly, I have cried because I was not good enough for you. I have cried because at the times I have needed you most, you were not here. Also, I have cried because when I have had a hard day at work or school, I cannot call you. It is so frustrating to me that you are so thickheaded that you cannot see what you did wrong. I have written you numerous letters in hopes that they would somehow reach you, and you would come to your senses.
Spoiler alert, you have not.
For years, I walked on eggshells just to be sure I did not hurt your feelings. At this point, I do not care. I am fed up with the lies you feed everyone. Imagine saying that your eleven-year-old daughter made up a story about how you locked your sick son up in his bedroom and would not give him food. Like, I did not just wake up one day and say ‘Hm, I think I want to make up this lie and make my mom look bad today.’ Imagine trying to blame you and your husband’s actions on CHILDREN. Honestly, I have not asked you for much, just for you to admit what you did and apologize.
I know that is something I will never get.
One time you told me you were raising us the way you wanted to be treated. That just does not make sense to me. Who wants to be sexually abused by their stepfather for years? Because I certainly did not. I did not want him to watch me every time I took a shower. Also, I did not want him to watch me get dressed. I did not want him to put his hand on my butt every time I stood remotely close to him. Furthermore, I did not want him to take me and my sister up to the garage that day and assault us. I did not want all this trauma you gave me. All I wanted was a mother.
At this point
I do not even try and wonder what my life would be like had you not met my stepdad because it tends to hurt my feelings. Why wasn’t I good enough for you? Honestly, why? Why? Just why? I have so many questions for you, and I know I will not get a single answer. All I want, is a mom. Someone to look out for me, give me advice, and most importantly I just I want to experience a mother’s love.
Every night, when I pray, I pray that I am not like you. I pray that I never cause my children pain. Also, I pray that my kids will NEVER lay in bed at night crying because they feel I do not love them. I will be nothing like you, and that is a promise. Maybe one day you will come to your senses, but that is doubtful.
No Thanks to You Part 3. It was such a shock to me. It came without warning. I honestly don’t understand. Because that morning, it was business as usual. We were doing quality assurance and fixing simple mistakes on the computer. What was that you said to me?
If you would do your job right the first time, your mistakes wouldn’t be on this list? I could count maybe 5 mistakes out of hundreds that I could claim. And they were as simple to fix as checking a box. But you felt the need to point that out to me. You worked me to the very end.
That was hurtful.
When you said that to me, I cried silently at my desk. It wasn’t the first time. I cried silently a lot because of the stress you put me under. That this job put me under. The anxiety and the depression were insurmountable at the time. I put on a brave face, as one does, and carried on. I didn’t let you see me sweat.
His face, as you fired me, was that of sorrow. That he didn’t want to be in this position. He looked at me with pity, while it seemed you were doing a victory dance. Was I that bad of an employee for you to find joy in letting me go? You were so callous it was almost cruel. At least he had some sense. He knew I was a good worker and I don’t even think he truly understood your decision.
Because she was always in your ear about something. She was intimidated by me. She hated me. Therefore, you had to hate me. I blame you and her. I do not blame him, he did nothing wrong. He was just a poor, unfortunate person to be in that situation.
I can’t believe that you joked and laughed as I was cleaning out my desk. I was crying and you were laughing. That is unbelievably cruel. He walked me out, and he was genuinely sorry for the situation. But you, you were cruel.
What Happened Next
So, I feel the need to educate you on what happened to me after you fired me. The aftermath of your decision. It’s no wonder that people hit such deep lows when they lose a job. If you put 100% of your efforts into a career and you are just dumped, that hurts.
I had very little money. What money I did save went to get a new apartment. I had to move, I couldn’t stay where I was anymore. It took everything I had. I didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. I felt like such a failure. Even with the meds, I was depressed. I didn’t know how much longer I was going to be able to live with myself.
Choices are a funny thing, we make them every day. But our choices affect those around us. Your choices affected me negatively. In a bad way. I was already depressed and your choice made it so much worse. When it rains, it pours, and you were the last thundercloud. The straw that broke the camels’ back.
I was a broken human. Frankly, I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. I just remember being so sad. So numb. I didn’t feel anything anymore. Nothing made me happy. I was in such a deep pit I didn’t think anyone could save me. Honestly, I want you to know that. I hope my life will be a lesson to you, what man meant to do harm, God intended for good.
It wasn’t good for a long time.
God knew that it is only by His grace that I survived that period of my life. He knew that was the worst possible job I could be in. He knew that was a bad fit for me and my personality, though I was good at it. So really, it became a blessing. But don’t think for one second that I don’t still hold resentment towards you. Even my ex-co-worker can’t stand you. No one can. Because you are rude, you talk over people, you rub people the wrong way, not many people like you.
Without your poor choice
I would not have made it to the job I have now. I wouldn’t have met my forever love. My job now is awesome, and I am very good at it. I am highly respected by everyone that knows me. And well-liked by many in my profession. I tell people how it is, I do not judge them, I do not micro-manage, and I am not micromanaged.
I am free to do things my way. And my way works. I am still medicated, but it is for the best that I am medicated. It helps me cope with those dark days. Those days that are so uncertain, I never know when one is going to come up. But they are manageable now.