You try on a bunch of different, semi-cool names (that really make you sound like an idiot), and the all important TITLE. They all sound ridiculous. Names you wouldn’t attach to your pet. C’mon! I used to be creative, and I can still critique the hell out of the loser ad campaign you just put online…
There just is no job title for “I’m disabled.”
You could have been the next rising star, or on the faster track for awesome job opportunities. Here’s where it gets critical, and now I’ll just talk about me, because, I don’t even know how you eat your Oreos, for heaven’s sake.
- I was offered a lot of jobs over the years, and many of them out of state. I could have furthered my career, and I didn’t. I chose to stay where my heart was. Good decision, bad decision – it doesn’t matter because it’s in the past.
- Last June, I… well I usually just say got sick. It’s easier. I didn’t get sick. I got mowed down by the bullet train of “YOU ARE NOT WELL – NEXT STOP? ER” Screwed my whole life up even more than I could have done it myself. I don’t need to talk about what happened, or what I have to do. For the most part, that stuff is boring, and nobody likes listening to a whiner. (If they have a surgery gallery, I’ll let you know, you weirdo.)
- Just because someone loves me, doesn’t mean they like me. I was always ornery to begin with, and with a traumatic brain injury, I didn’t get less likely to “give ya what for.” For that, I am sorry. I truly can’t control my emotions at times, as hard as I try. I’m erratic, tire easily, and will often laugh or cry over silly things. At least there’s a part of my brain that realizes I’m doing and TRIES to pull back.
- I’ve been told that I complain too much, and that when I tell a friend something horrible or awful, that I am causing pain to that person too. So, I’ve finally come down to “Am I not supposed to talk about what’s bothering me, because it might bother YOU?” I bought that for about a Maine Minute, and realized – I can say whatever I want. I don’t have to be nasty about it, but I am allowed to say what I think and feel. If it bothers you, look away, don’t read, and please don’t tell me to be more positive because my post hurt you. That hurt? That’s on you. YOU figure out a way to deal with why you feel guilty or sad or whatever the hell is going on up there; I am responsible for me, my pets, and that is IT.
- That said, I would like to say thank you to everyone who has helped me. Couldn’t have made it without you guys. You have no idea how much your support has helped me.
- I’m going to try very hard not to talk about health stuff anymore. It’s a release valve for me, but I’m pretty sure nobody signs up with their email address to “Debbie Downer” unless it’s to feel better about their own lives. *grin*
I don’t even care if nobody reads this, and I’m sure actually that nobody will. I just want you to know that the person “who tells everybody about her surgery, trying to make them feel sorry for her, and complains about every little thing,” is gone. I’ll see you online, I’m sure.
Hope all is well with you – sorry for the yuck post.