Well, it’s Thursday night. One more day until the weekend, and another week closer to the final curtain on 2016.
Working in this factory for the second week, I’ve gotten gradually more used to the place. To be honest, there are some genuinely frustrating things about it. The angle at which I have to work when sitting is killing my back, and the way everyone talks is fucking awful. Old bossy people with sharp tongues shouting things at me never really did make me feel very good. I always have a problem with authority, and well, playing well with others in general. However, apropos of nothing, I’ve decided to make this time I have working at the factory a learning experience.
I grew up in a house where anger wasn’t just anger. Anger was followed by shouting, and shouting by beatings. And I don’t mean “hahaha my mom used to smack me with a cheap rubber flip flop” beating. I mean wooden dowels and wire hangers and broomsticks and anything else they could get their hands on. I remember my backside being pretty much covered in black. Sometimes I would get beaten extra just because I didn’t take the beating well enough the first time ’round.
That’s not counting the church. The church was also terrifying. The preachers screaming at you, the people judging your shabby poor clothing, everyone knew we were really poor. I always felt so embarrassed. My pants the wrong size, my suit the wrong size and my collar really high up on my neck on purpose to hide the damage that had been inflicted to my neck. As a teenager it only got worse. We went to one church where the huge 300 pound (135 kg) pastor got his rocks off by terrorizing everyone. He was a completely controlling, egomaniac fuckhead. 100% pure distilled asshole.
Then I finally get out of the house and that damn cult, and what do I do? Join the fucking military. So there’s 4 and a half years of being bullied, screamed at for hours, fucking psychological abuse. One guy thought it was funny to call me a faggot every time I walked into the workplace. It’s no wonder I ended up having social anxiety BUT
I realize as I am on this path of healing, that I can change. I can’t change the horrible shit I have been through, enough shit to fill a book. But, I can change how I react to things. I can change my own mindset, and I can change how I handle life. Instead of running, cowering, getting angry or sad, I can start acting to make things better.
It’s as simple as smiling to myself when I’m getting yelled at. Instead of getting defensive about criticism as a self-preservation technique I have developed, I will be open to it and unafraid. I can let the ego go quiet, tell fear to take a seat and just smile. Today when I felt stressed or angry, I laughed and smiled to myself, behind my white mask. I hummed songs, thought of novel and poem ideas. I stared at the bright blue sky through the far away window. And I let my hands work while my mind wandered.
I’m feeling better than ever, mentally. The future is finally looking bright for me. And next year at this time, I will be overseas in grad school. Maybe I can write a book of poetry before then.
Don’t worry, I’ll still post here too though. Keep reading. Keep smiling. Keep on living life.
I can’t change the world yet, I can’t change the past, but I can change my heart.
Let’s start there.