Saturday, January 21, 2012

Like a piece of flotsam washed up on the beach by the fierce waves, unable to pick my direction, at the mercy of the waves alone, I floundered through this time.  Through my thoughts.  Through my emotions. Each day brought new challenges.  Yet, each day was the same.  Depressed.  Sick.  Unable to enjoy life.  Unable to do the things I had once enjoyed.  My life was coloured battleship grey.  Constantly.  I longed to see colours in my soul again. Bright colours.  Reds.  Yellows.  Greens.  Blues.  I longed to regain that sense of excitement that I had had but a few short months prior.  I longed to enjoy life again.  I longed to feel good about myself.  I longed....

But first I had to muddle through this time as best I could.  To grasp the full extent of the horror.  To find out who I really was.

Who am I?  Who am I really?  A small group of significant, very vocal people negatively influenced my thoughts, perceptions, assumptions and opinions of who I was.  Like the waves in the sea, they were relentless.  Merciless.  Never giving up.  Never backing off.  Always on the attack.  Always looking for ways to devour me.  Were they family?  No.  Were they friends?  No.  Who were they then?  They were a group of people I spent eight hours of every working day with.  According to them, I was:

Is that it?  Is that what this was all about?

When was I rude?  The way I talked to others.  Not to them.  Not about them behind their backs.  But to unnamed others.

When was I disrespectful?  I am a passionate person.  I talk with my hands.  I talk with my body.  I have a slight hearing impairment.  All of which cause me to talk louder than someone else might.  That was the purported cause of the disrespect.  I was loud on occasion.  Aren't we all?

When was I confrontational?  Ahhhh, now that's a good one.  By nature I'm not a confrontational person.  I learned early in life to be quiet, to shut up, to never voice my feelings.  In fact, I was the proverbial doormat come to life.  Lying on the floor to be walked over.  Passive.  Yet, I was finally growing up.  Growing out of these behaviours.  Into healthier behaviours.  Learning to cope with life.  Learning to stand up for myself.  Learning to voice opinions.  Most of all, refusing to be a doormat any longer.  I was in a catch 22 situation:  if I said nothing, the situation continued; if I said anything, I was subject to gossip, slander, being reported to those above me.

Was I destined to crash and burn like the kite?  Or could I learn to soar above the ground?  Above the situation?  Could I learn to walk again emotionally?  To fly again?  To laugh again?

Could I?

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