Friday, August 5, 2011


I realized last night that not only do I not like my job, my job depresses me. Badly.

I'm fairly new to this job, so I'm still learning. I've been here about 8 months, I guess. Five of those months, I wasn't able to do much of my job because I was pregnant.

I hate the way some of the people in my shop (some more than others) treat me like I'm stupid and talk to me in the most condescending tones I've ever heard, just because I'm not always confident in what I'm doing or trying to learn.

I hate that I'm always made to carry the heavy shit because I'm "new".

I hate the beatings that my body takes from the tight spaces I force myself into, the ladders I stand on for hours, the chemicals I come in contact with, and all the heavy shit I drag across the flight line.

I hate that I don't want to do anything when I get home, but sleep. I work all night and then I sleep the entire day. I see the sun on my way home and sometimes on Friday and Saturday, on the occasion it's actually not raining here.

I hate that because all I do is work and sleep, I don't eat as much as I need to. And that I have to make myself eat because I don't have the appetite for it. I don't want it. I just know I need it.

I hate being bossed around by people that are technically junior to me, because I'm "new".

I hate being talked down to for not remembering how to do something that I only did once or twice....6 months ago before I was taken off the flight line. And how much it pisses me off when I'm told to "stop making excuses."

I hate that every time that conversation comes up, that night in my bathroom instantly replays in my head, followed by the awful feeling of dragging myself into the shop the next day to turn in convalescent leave papers and feeling everyone's eyes burning through my hanging head.

I hate that someone in my shop had the nerve to tell my boss that I had an abortion one time and that's why I can't have babies now. That's both stupid and really fucking rude, as well as not true.

I hate that I can't make friends with other girls at work. One girl told me the day I got promoted that girls only make rank by being sluts. (I had been in the squadron for a week.) Another girl doesn't like me because she sees me as competition and thinks the guys like her less when I'm around.

I hate that I bust my ass to learn as much of this stuff as I can, and then someone criticizes me for not knowing something else yet. I just rewrote 3 entire technical manuals into my notes in 2 weeks, and it's not good enough because I don't know what the barometric pressure is at sea level? Seriously?!

I hate that I have such a hard time getting up and dragging myself into work and trying to force a fake smile on my face. And I hate that no one knows or cares and that it makes no difference anyway.

I hate that no matter how much I convince myself that I am doing the best I can, that I am still getting where I need to be, that my accomplishments do matter, I still let them make me feel inferior, even though deep down I know I'm not.

I hate that no matter where I'm at professionally, I will always feel inferior in some way because I failed my babies. It wasn't my fault. There was nothing I could do. But I failed, and that's a failure I can't seem to shake.

I guess that turned into a whole lotta venting more than just things I realized last night. Oh well. It felt good to get some of that out. I tried talking to Bryan about it, but he doesn't get it. He's still gung-ho Navy, even though he got out, so we are on two very different wave lengths when it comes to any of this stuff. He doesn't understand why it's so hard on me, or why I get so stressed, or why it depresses me so much. But then I don't really understand either.

I used to work in nursing. I took care of people. I didn't necessarily "fix" them, but I made their day better and easier. I made them happy. That made me happy. I don't get that same satisfaction from fixing things. Maybe that's another part of my problem. I don't like things. I like people. People make me happy.

I've been praying for peace and clarity and anything else that will help me make sense of this mess in my life. I've been angry with God, and my faith has faltered at times because of it. But I know that eventually I will get where I need to be. And eventually I will be happy again. But I don't think it's going to happen where I am right now.

I've been debating on putting in for an early separation. I want to get out, go home to TN, and finish my nursing degree. I want to have a baby that I actually get to bring home. I want to watch him/her grow and flourish, and I want to be there to see it instead of working all night and sleeping all day. I want to work with people again instead of things. I want to kick this nasty depression and be happy.

This idea has been very heavy in my mind and heart lately, and I've been praying really hard about it. An early out means Bryan transferring schools. Breaking this brand new lease. Both of us being unemployed without our safety net built back up to where it should be. It means a LOT of uncertainty in the future. But in my heart, it means happiness. And I need that more than anything.


Shannon said...

Oops. I just accidentally deleted your comment on my Scentsy post :( Sorry! I hit publish first, then delete...thinking I was deleting the email. DUMB DUMB. I nominated you for a bloggie award this week. It will post on Monday. XOXO

Post a Comment