Limbo

I’m sitting at my desk at work while I write this, but it’s short-lived, you see. I’m quitting, or have quit — depends on how you look at it, I suppose. My papers are organized, references made for tricky processes, emails have been publicly archived, papers filed, and an away message set to begin in 30 minutes telling my customers that I no longer work here.

So, you see, if intentions count for anything, I have already quit but I haven’t managed to say the words to anyone of the faces milling about. I continue to take calls and process accounts while I sit here and muster up the courage to do it, to end this stage, this job that I’ve done well with, but that has been slowly sucking the enjoyment from my life for the majority of the two years I’ve sat in this chair.

I’m still sitting in this chair. My thoughts are screaming and my heart is pounding and the time is running out to muster the words to express my completion of employment. I’m in limbo and it’s eating me alive.

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You / Us / We

It’s an odd gesture to be writing to a mass of cells that will likely fall away as quickly as they have managed to take me captive, to wrap my mind in a tangle of hope and worry; to wholeheartedly want this future and to plead for the universe for more time, more preparation, more stability.

We haven’t been here, at this particular juncture, in quite a while — near about five years, if I remember correctly; but the base of my fear is the same now as it was back then: I’m not ready for this. He’s not ready for this, he doesn’t even know about this. We. are not. ready. for this. But we may have to be. Soon.

Even then, all those years ago, I wrote to the transient cells. I wrote out my hopes for the future; I wrote out my excitement, despite the fear, at what my world could quickly become. I scrawled page after page of my worries for futures, more often for the one belonging to the eventual You. I wrote out my disbelief, my trepidation at the fact that this was happening, that I would fail, that I can’t give all that’s deserved — required, even.

No matter the outcome, no matter whether they grow or go, we’ll get by. We will. We can’t let it be any other way. I’ve never wanted a lot but I’ve always wanted You. I’ve always wanted Us. Someday, I’m reminded. Someday soon or further away, we’ll share in the creation of this newly formed We.

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A Seemingly Impossible Escape

I thought I was doing well.
I thought I was getting back to the point where work was something other than a 9-hour torture session.
But no.

You see, the tasks aren’t difficult.
The logistics aren’t a struggle.
The people are tolerable — for the most part.
But I hate it.
I’m not fulfilled by it.

I’ve had worse and I’ve had better.
But I’ve never struggled with fulfillment quite like I have here.
It wouldn’t take a lot, I don’t require much.
But I do want to work someplace that inspires me.
I want to work for a company I can see a future with.
I want to work for a company that isn’t constantly creating unnecessary barriers for itself out of fear.
I want to work for a company that listens to and values what I have to say.
I want to work for a company who pays me what I’m worth.

I want to get away from here. Now.
I want to walk out the door.
I don’t ever want to come back.

I know it could be worse.
But I know I could have so much better.
And that is what makes me so crazy.

I don’t like being set off by the first asshole to make demands.
I don’t like being angry and quick to explode.
I. Don’t. Like. Being. Like. This.

I want out.

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I Can Feel You Falling, You’re Slipping Through My Fingers

I’m not an easy person to be in a relationship with. At the start things are fairly light, we’re getting to know one another little by little — but things don’t stay light for long. My thoughts wander to serious and sometimes gloomy places and my reactionary attempt to wade through the mess of feelings often does more to muck things up than before. I have no doubt that my sudden onset of worry and lack of emotional regulation is difficult to deal with, and it’s near impossible to predict, but please don’t be discouraged.

Inevitably, we sit down to talk things through. Things become tense and we’re suddenly both on edge. I start to feel shaky and I lack confidence in my ability to communicate all the thoughts that are swirling around inside me. I want a chance to write it out and deliver it, a chance to organize my response, but we need to take care of this, we need to hash it out on the spot.

The words come out too quickly and in all the wrong order — just like they always do. They’re not reassuring and seem to fly in the face of your desire for clear answers and a definite resolution. As words fly across the chasm, I become defensive and you let go of my hand and start to pull away, but please don’t pull away from me.

When the distance between us grows, I panic. My mind begins reeling and I worry that this is it. I am not a rational person, I am quick to jump to conclusions and my emotions have far more sway over me than they probably should. When the cascade of words begin their descent from my mind, when they round my shoulder and roll down my arm, when they pour from finger tips and are turned to ink against the page there’s no stopping them. The worry and panic fill the pages and I’m left with a sense of resolution because it’s done, they’re out and all I have to show for this process is the written representation of my fears; certainly not a flattering or reassuring sight. Where there wasn’t any doubt, I may have just planted one.

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Just Yet

I want to press my forehead against yours.
I want to place my hand beneath your ear.
I want our scared and ragged air to mix upon our lips.
I want to tuck beneath your arm.
I want to fold myself into you.
I want our panicked hearts beating to calm.
I want to wrap your arms around me.
I want to release the weight of these worries.
I want you to wring them from my frame.
I want to pull you closer in the night.
I want to whisper my love into your chest.

Don’t give up on me just yet.

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