Sometimes, I wonder how long can I keep a straight face on the outside.
It's another week, meaning another day of site manning. I wake up early. I dress up, and fix myself. I even blow dry my hair. I drive to work listening to my favorite playlists. Sing along a little bit, like I am happy. Hopefully, a good day, I tell myself. I man the site with three other colleagues on a weekly basis for months now. My manning buddies are not my friends, we are simply workmates. In a general sense, they are good people. We talk about all the random things we can think of to kill time. After all, work hours at the site is until nine in the evening—that is a 12-hour duty, excluding the travel time 'to' and 'from' our house. I share with them how I have been doing the 10K-steps daily, and incorporating low-impact exercises on my routine. They tell me about outdoor activities they have been doing, and how amazing Pilates is. I open up about realizations I have had in the past years, and how I will never put myself in uncomfortable situations again. They tell me a story about a guy friend she had liked and confessed to, but failed to make it work. I recount the time I once dated a guy who never laughs at my jokes. As the clock strikes nine, we are quick to pack. We all sigh with relief. And the three-hour journey home begins.
On the drive home, I would smile a bit. Thinking how I managed to survive another day. I would ponder, if people ever notice how hard I was trying to keep my energy. Or how faked I must have looked while cautiously sharing. Or how I almost started to trust a new person. I read somewhere though, that people do not think about other people as much as people think they do. And that soothed me. It was another night I pulled off as a functional human being.
Today was different, though.
I woke up at seven in the morning with a pounding headache. I only had three hours of sleep. And the paracetamol I took last night was not enough to make the headache go away. My head was also already oozing with too much Katinko. I had no other choice, I needed a quick fix. After fighting the urge while doom scrolling online for a few minutes, I gave in. Got out of bed at nine, and took mefenamic. It had been months since I last took Dolfenal. I was almost a new person.
The medicine worked right on time. I had a job interview before lunch. I was not too keen with this application though, because it was another Sales position. I initially wanted a brief break from Sales since I had been in the Sales industry for the past four years. And the recent distressing event brought by my current employer was still fresh as a newly-picked apple. Nonetheless, I had to ace the interview. It was the only interview invite I had after obsessively sending applications for two straight days. I finished the interview, and the entire application process in a day. All the while assisting my client for a booked sale (at my current job). Even talked to my boss, and old friends, to ask for a little help if a recruiter called asking about me. I felt productive. I tanked myself with caffeine, and barely managed to eat real food. Still, I felt I did good. My battery was running low, yet thought I had a bit of energy left to respond to some unread messages online.
Talking to friends made me realize one thing, support is different for every person. It varies depending on the situation, the individual, and their emotional capacity at the current moment.
I genuinely appreciate my very few close friends. I have not always been the best person at any relationships, nor friendships. So I feel grateful for the ones who remain. But right now, I know all I need is a gentle push, a light pat on the back, a moment to recuperate—not a huge boulder to be thrown at me. I do not know exactly how or what kind of support that is, but I am certain of the kind of support I do not want.
Internet is fun in a way it gives you endless information and suggestion. I love that little reminder I have saved so many times on my phone. It's about whenever you are at the receiving end of a person trying to open up, to save the trouble of miscommunication, ask a question before giving a response: do you need an advice or a listening ear? I have never related more. It seems like an easy enough question to remember, but is also equally easy to forget. Especially when we are too eager to speak or share after a friend reaches out.
It had only been two days since I stepped down. In that two days, I managed to schedule a tripping, booked a sale, helped my niece with a project, did the laundry, built the cat cage, and scored a job interview. I was still not okay. I still felt betrayed, frustrated, and humiliated. In the past two days, I felt like I was grasping for air. However, as an empath who genuinely fears being a burden to anyone, I refused to talk about how traumatizing what had recently happened—even though I know I should. I was ashamed enough, the thought of a possible pity remark made me want to vomit. To think I had not been eating well again, had not been exercising, had been neglecting the stray cats I had to feed, and had not been very kind to my mother. I was one inconvenience away from buying a pack of cigarettes.
I felt my head starting to ache again. I did not want to take two mefenamic tablets in one day. So I made coffee. Refused to eat rice, and had junk foods. Watched good TV for an hour. I felt productive again.
Maybe I should take a bath, lie in bed, and call it a night.
(c)
