No Way Out

In my quest to break out of my hellish workplace, I dumbed down my resume. Because presenting myself as I am doesn't work.

Well, anyway, somehow I must have left clicked the box that submits the resume for a resume critique, and basically they said as much.

What I am discovering is I think too much. The solution, of course, would be "professional" help that would select the right pills to numb that part of my mind and help me accept that simply sitting, never questioning, is the best way to spend the remainder of my existence. I can't do that.

I've looked for answers in the church, but no pastor wants to help these days. They want to solve societal problems, but they don't want to connect one on one and deal with the very real problems quite literally looking them in the eye. They provide rhetoric, not answers, and they're quite good at discussing the finer points of theology, quite poor at healing the wounds that infect the body.

The reason I have compassion for the homeless is because I know them. I understand them. They've learned to numb themselves from the very pain that I feel, not to run from it, but to surrender to it. And I look at them and simply wonder, how long.

This is not a "pity piece"; I don't do pity pieces. This is my journal, my thoughts. I had a meltdown at work the other day, and I'm afraid it's just the beginning. And I'm afraid it will happen at the next job. And the next. And that eventually I will run out of answers.

But the only answers people want to give these days come at the bottom of a bottle. Either prescription pills or illicit drugs and alcohol, pick your poison.

Life should not be a miserable existence.