The lights are spinnin’
I gotta get myself up off the floor
I had just been promoted when I quit my job. The accomplishment lasted all but 24 hours, if that. What I had worked so hard to achieve was gone within seconds. My boss and two Human Resource reps sat with their mouth agape as I told them why I was quitting.
My head is ringin’
Bet they think I can’t take too much more
“Someone at work has videotape of me being sexually assaulted.” If I stayed on, I feared, they would make it public. I asked for tissue. My boss took some for himself. The room was silent for a long time, and then I left.
The crowd is howlin’
Like the ocean’s pounding roar
I went home, elated. I had beaten them. Them. Those stalkers who felt they had control over my life. I, however, was free. In the face of fear, I chose to walk away, I chose the high road. It felt like a win. Ha.
In the middle of the night I left Colorado, running from them. See, they were still following me. I didn’t return home until I had driven 17,000 miles and the thought that someone was after me was long gone.
My legs are goin’ out
Someone up there don’t like me
“You could have been a Contender,” my brother told me.
Three weeks into severe psychosis, promising job down the tubes, life up in flames, my brother shows his compassion by telling me I’ve been knocked down. Hard. It was a short conversation. At the time I didn’t know, but it would take me years to return to work, and even longer to get my writing skills up to par for a paid position. Continue reading