The View from a Drawbridge

For the past 3 weeks, I haven’t had the chance to blog very much. I’ve been trapped in what feels like an isolated hellscape, waiting for a sea of marauders to descend upon me and destroy everything that makes my life worth living. Well okay, maybe not quite that bad. But I have felt besieged, and it has had an awful impact on me mentally, physically, and spiritually.

I’ve spent this entire time fighting. Fighting to be understood. Fighting to explain my actions. Fighting to be seen and appreciated for who I am. And ultimately, and scariest of all, fighting for my very livelihood. I got called in for a disciplinary “fact-finding” meeting, which I spent a week preparing for. The process is still ongoing and the results are still to be determined. But the whole debacle has spawned what will most likely be several grievances that I will file with the help of my union.

I have averaged 4 hours of sleep a night. Even my days off have been swallowed up by this horror. There have been several days in which I’ve forgotten to eat and drink entirely until Dear Husband made me some dinner. I’ve had some horrific nightmares. But oh, have I built my case.

So far, I have a half inch of single-spaced evidence as to why the disciplinary thing is unjust and unwarranted. In addition, I’ve started compiling the evidence for the first grievance, and that stack is 2 inches thick already. It contains a lot of emails, so their words will speak against them. What people fail to realize is that I have had to defend myself most of my life, and I’m pretty darned good at it, even if it does suck the life force out of me.

This is definitely not my first rodeo. From my place on the autism spectrum, my sense of justice burns with a white-hot intensity. When I see a wrong, if I can make it right, I will. If I can’t, I’ll sure shout it from the rooftops and draw so much attention to it that it will have to scuttle off into the darkest corner like a cockroach. This is more than a lifestyle choice for me. It’s a compulsion.

This compulsion seems to be even more intense when the injustice I see is aimed at other people. I mean, to heck with me, honestly. I can take care of myself (although it may not be pretty). But don’t mess with others. So when you mess with others and me? Girl, hold my earrings, because this is going to get nasty. (Not literally, obviously. Because one of the many things I’ve been accused of is making someone feel threatened, because I said I might pursue legal action against my employer. Now, how does that threaten anyone, let alone an individual? Honestly.)

I succeed on one of these crusades just often enough to make me feel like it’s worth my while. You’d think that would be appreciated. Oh, the benefits gained will certainly be taken advantage of by others, but I’m never thanked or considered to be a friend. Actually, I’m the pariah that’s best to be avoided. No one realizes the lengths I had to go through to do these things, or the risks I have to take, or they don’t understand what they were about to lose in the first place. And come to think of it, I can only think of one instance when I’ve needed others to step up to strengthen my case when they’ve actually done so. Usually, they are more than happy to let me twist in the wind all by myself. And yet my compulsion is not diminished in the least.

And this particular putrid situation has turned out to be like an onion. The more layers I’ve peeled away, the more heinous misdeeds I’ve uncovered. I wish I had someone to vent to about this. I would really help. Dear Husband has been supportive, of course, but he’s not in it. And the people who are in it either don’t know or don’t want to know or have long since given up hope.

It’s really weird. I’ve made a lot of  positive changes or at least tried to, and yet I’m the goat. The very person who I feel I’ve helped the most shouted at me at the beginning of all this, and I couldn’t believe it or deal with it because I needed her to step up and she wouldn’t. I was deep in the weeds and getting deeper, and little did I know at the time, but I hadn’t even approached the briar patch yet. Not even close.

She hasn’t spoken to me since, right at a time when I could have used some moral support as well as actual activism, because even though I know I can evidence my way out of this, it’s still quite scary. But isn’t that when people usually walk away? When the going gets tough?

I have been a little too busy fighting for my livelihood and my good name to try to figure out why she seems to think I don’t merit an apology for shouting at me when all I’ve ever done is try to help her. I can’t really remember what I said, other than something along the lines of, “If you don’t want my help, then you’re welcome to figure it out on your own, but I’ve got way too much to do and I’m not going to be shouted at,” and then hanging up and plunging right back into the fray. And given the fact that that was the one and only time I stopped helping her, I think that shows that I can’t be all that bad.

But meanwhile, evidence gathering. Sleep deprivation. Not eating or drinking. Splitting headaches. stress-induced back pain that has prevented me from raising my left arm or moving my head on and off for days. And an ever-growing mountain of outrage at the injustice of it all. I’ve been forced to become a forensic accountant, and the rest of my life has fallen by the wayside.

And yet more things are getting piled on. I feel like I’m being beaten with a baseball bat. I literally ache all over. And I’m being told I’m overreacting. And in the midst of it all I’m being asked why I can’t be more, do more, change more, handle more… I’m so tired.

I stopped mid-sentence today while writing yet another evidence summary. A thought practically knocked me over. I miss my blog. I miss writing what I want to write, rather than what I have to write. This gigantic stack of bitter truth that I’ve produced  isn’t cathartic. It feels more like a police report in the aftermath of a burning bag of dog poo that someone left on my front porch.

I can pour my heart out in this blog. This must be what it’s like to have a really, really good friend. The kind that’s there for you, always has your back and emotionally supports you though thick and thin. The kind that helps, supports and listens because they can see that I always try to help, support and listen.

I’m sure my dramatic writing style will make anyone who might read this think I’m being a drama queen, or that I’m full of self-pity or horribly narcissistic or something. I’d probably think that myself, but for one thing: I really don’t crave attention. Honestly, I’d much prefer to be left alone. Now and then, I might clear my throat and say, “I sure could use a little help here…” but that’s about all the attention I seek, and apparently I suck at that because it usually doesn’t work.

But you, dear blog, know me well. You know my intentions are good. I talk, and you listen. That helps. Sometimes by blogging, I clear my head and get ideas that help me move forward. You allow me to have some peace and quiet. I get to focus on things, and revise and refine my thoughts. You don’t judge, or tell me I shouldn’t think or behave or live a certain way. You take my word for things, and you don’t make me defend my interpretations. All those things create space for me to dig deeper, and sometimes that results in change. You bear witness. You’re always here when I need you. You give me a voice that so many others try to suppress. This is why I can’t quit you.

Heck, dear blog, you are me. So you know that I just want to be treated fairly, and be supported in the ways that I try to support others. I want to be understood. I want people to understand that I speak up because I care, and because I think things can be even better than they are. I want to be given the benefit of the doubt so that I don’t have to waste so much time defending myself, and we can get right to the meat of the issue and make positive changes together. And if things work out, yes, a thank you for my part in that would be nice.

I’m really starting to get cynical, though, to the point where I’m going to try to only step up if something impacts me personally. I’ll make suggestions, but I’m not going to take on the misery of others that is a direct result of their lack of standing up for themselves. Not stepping up will drive me crazy, because I hate being selfish when I can see a clear path to a solution, but I only have so much energy, and I think if I need to cut back on anything, it should be on those things that result in zero benefits to me, and, quite often, a negative number in the appreciation and/or friendship column. That’s it. I’m done.

And before you tell me that people don’t like to be told what to do, please understand that my need to be an advocate only kicks in when I see that a problem has been identified and yet no one is doing anything. I’d be thrilled if someone else took charge for a change. It just drives me insane when people complain but don’t try to fix what they’re complaining about. Do something, even if it’s a small thing. But, “Let’s tell Barb. She’ll stick her neck out so we don’t have to,” is no longer an option.

I know I’ll come out the other side of this. I always have. I persist. I just wish the process didn’t have to leave me feeling so lonely and beaten up. It shouldn’t have to be that way. It’s one of the things I tend to fight against.

I think I need a pint of ice cream. But I just thought I should tell you, dear blog, that I love you. Thanks for listening.