Culmination

16 June 2013

What am I to do with my life? This valid question looms large above my head. There are greater chances for me to get axed in my current, much loved, but ultimate struggle of a job.

What difference would it make? My every waking workday feels like I was going through a beheading sentence. The pun rings undeniably true. Beheading in a sense that I had to hold on everything I think of inside my head because nobody listens and by doing so I lose heart and my capacity to think. If they do, it’s for nothing but show. It became so repetitive and continuous I had developed mental quietness. I no longer think about what we were discussing. I was simply there to sit and agree with what they say though I really disagreed and at most times, especially now, I no longer feel anything; I have lost my power to decide and to judge. Whatever I say was used to my detriment and I, the poor flopping fish was caught by the mouth with a hook. I have been stumped by being cut short even as I was only about to say something. It was no empowering experience but a life sentence of ironic silence. The weak-hearted falters. By that, I am weak-hearted.

Mulling over the truth that I am about to be jobless surprisingly was liberating. My sense of self was soldered together again and I am excited. I still stand by the truth that I love the team – all of them whom I worked with. I hold all of them in high esteem – they are professionals of an extensively magnanimous quality. It was I who was not ready for them. I found the environment oppressive and smothering. I remember again the convenor’s words, “You are holding back.” So you’ve noticed. Ever wondered why?  I can’t keep up with them, it’s too confusing already. How much more when I have to keep up with them, it’s too confusing already. See how confused I am? How much more when I have to keep on repressing myself to fit in when I still do not fit in even if I tried to? That made me doubt myself, as if I was always in the wrong. I know clearly well that I cannot change any of them, it is better if I change myself. Then my self goes on strike, waging sullenly before my face the ‘I quit!’ placard. If my occupation were very mechanical, I wouldn’t find that much of a problem. Well, it might still be but a troubled and deranged mind was not something I want to live with every day. It was difficult to be an HSP who cringes at conflict, is over-respectful and considerate of other people at one’s own expense.