#every.single.day

Dude it is super easy to miss it, I was the same way and it took 27 years to finally get a diagnosis, if you are in the doubt about it, it is worth checking out, especially as a way to get better

Customer: Coffee

Me: Sure, small or large?

Customer: Medium

Me:

Me: Yeah sorry, but we dont have medium size

Customer: Ok so what do you have?

Me: Small or large.

Customer: Urgh, small.

Me realizing I just started 10 minutes ago and have a thousand hours left of my shift:

fact: when I like a song, I listen to it on repeat a thousand times. Proof: this past week basically the only song I’ve listened to is Howl by Barren Earth.

She felt the tears burning her eyes, once more. They wanted to be let loose, but she couldn't give in. She couldn't because she knew that if she did, that'd be the end. If she cried at that moment, she would be done for the rest of the day. This would be a day in which she failed. A day that she wasn't strong enough. A day that she gave in to the dark parts inside of her. And the more she let that part win, the harder it was to keep fighting, so that's why she couldn't allow herself to cry.

Sitting in her desk, Simone looked at her computer screen without really seeing the sheets in front of her, and tried to remember how to do this. She tried to block it out, she tried to push it back to the center of her being, far away from the surface. The boss' words kept coming back to her, and every time she could hear his voice in her mind, the tears pushed back at breaking point. She thought this would be a good day, when she woke up this morning. How could she ever make such a silly mistake? When did she did it? She couldn't remember. It wasn't one of those things you see happening, and you can't fix, and you think to yourself "Boy, I will be in trouble for that one". It was rather one of those that sneak up on you, that you don't even do it consciously, you don't even remember being distracted, but clearly you were, to have done that. She could feel the pressure to not do that mistake again. But how can you avoid something you don't even remember doing? How much more attention can you pay, when you hate every second you are there? She was already using all that she had to drive her car to the office building, and sit at her desk and start the days work. To keep herself sat on that chair for all the hours that she had to, and do the job she was being payed to do. Not to throw it all away and leave.

It would be so easy. Just an email to the right person, saying the right words, and she would be done for. She could go home, to the apartment where she felt safe and happy.

But she felt that this was, too, failing. She failed to care, she failed to be better. To care more, to appreciate what she had. That was a good job in so many aspects. Everybody that she told where she worked, said it should be so great. Except it wasn't. She didn't like it, she wasn't happy there. But how can a person walk away from something that everybody think is great, except her? The problem must be her. Her mindset, her point of view. And if she was the problem, shouldn't she fix it, instead of quit? Quitting wouldn't change the fact that she was the problem, would only change the scenario, if she still felt that bad about her next job. If the problem was her, shouldn't she stay and solve it? Shouldn't she find within herself to love it? To care for it? To do a better job, to grow, to go over her own issues and put it behind her, wasn't this her chance to learn the deal with those issues and eliminate them once and for all of her life? Wouldn't anything else be a fail?

And if so, what would be a bigger failure? Staying or going? Simone didn’t knew. And that was what, above all else, kept her from making a move. Cause she couldn’t tell anymore. She was moving because she had too, and doing things cause she was supposed to, but there had been a long time since she last did something because she felt like it.

Her hands reached to a piece of paper from a note pile on her desk, and scribbled a few works on red ink.

“How did it came to this?”

She didn’t knew the answer. But she wanted to.

That day, when the clock on the right side of her computer screen marked the hour she was free to go home, she turned off the machine and grabbed her purse, but she didn’t went home. She walked to the parking lot, and entered her car, and drove until she found a stationary store. She bought a notebook and a nice pen. Not the kind of notebook you buy when you need one to note down personal expenses or shopping lists. The nice ones, with the cute covers, that are too thin to be used for anything substancial, so she always walked past them. And not a regular pen, that you buy because it’s cheap, and comfortable, or writes good. The colorful ones, that are probably going to break or stop writing after the first use, but that has shining parts and childish themes. She payed for them, and walked back to her car. She drove to a coffee shop she loved and rarely went to. She ordered a hot chocolate and a piece of cake, and sat at a round table in the middle of the room. And she started writing things down.

Simone wrote all the things she hated about her life, and all the things she wished were different. All the things she thought she could change, and all the things that she knew she couldn’t, but felt nice anyway just to write it. All the things she wanted to achieve, all the places she wanted to be in, everything that was wrong.

Then, all the things that were right. All the things that could be worse, but weren’t. All the ways in which the did things she could have not done. All the things that she liked, and wouldn’t change, even if she could. And all the things she could do about what she wanted to do differently.

For those couple of hours, she was almost happy. At peace. Everything felt as if it could go somewhere. She took her notebook and went home. She vouched to do everything different, starting the next day. She went to sleep feeling good about herself.