They Just Didn't Account For Where I'd Run

I've been reviewing some older posts this week. Sitting, reading, working, chatting with other employees in between. And somewhere in that quiet routine I noticed something — I've drifted from my older voice. That realization made me sad. I loved the way I used to write.

Recently things have been different. The circumstances demanded it. But even through the shift, it's still me at the core — seeping through the sentences if you know where to look.

I've come to understand that when I'm in the middle of something difficult, my writing naturally becomes sharper and more defensive. It has to be. If I'm not sharp I could miss what matters most. And if I'm not defensive — who would be in my stead? Others may protect my words or defend my works but not me. No one has at least not to my knowledge — and definitely not for free without it costing me in some way. There was always a string attached with the intention of using  protection against me as another variable in an arsenal of tools that could be. In my eyes, including the eyes of many, being easily influenced enough by something as shallow as protection would only make me a simpler target. Who would sign up for that?

What I noticed most was where my writing lens moved. My voice was always quietest when it was observing — thoughts filtered through environments, through strangers, through the ordinary world moving around me. Lately it's been more confrontational. More external. Aimed directly at specific people rather than drifting past them in silence.

Both are me. But one feels more like home.

By now it's no secret — I work two jobs. Job A is Apple. Job B is Village for reference. Both have decent pay combined, tied with chill environments and manageable workloads. I wouldn't mind working both even if the peace is manufactured politeness. But make no mistake — the jobs were my choice once presented to me. A legal reason to stay out of the residence without being questioned or bothered. A choice built out of permission to be anywhere but there.

A residence that has sickened me for nine months and counting. One that has only deepened my urgency to never return. To free myself, that urgency never stops. It doesn't rest. It doesn't negotiate. It just keeps working — with the goal to give me back what should have never been taken in the first place.

I've only been returning to the residence to sleep everyday and take out their trash weekly. I currently have one day off per week from both of my jobs and even then I don't stay because I don't have to. I have some fun first — a research institute with actual history to read through at my own pace, or an event that doesn't involve parties, alcohol, or anything I have no interest in. I don't do drugs, I don't smoke, I won't even touch weed. I'm the only one out of my entire biological relatives who doesn't — and I refuse to be like them. If I want an addiction for fun while thinking chaos is cute then it can be a useful one called freedom and a hunger to learn and progress and upgrade myself through all actions I do with nothing holding me back to anything. Then I return once more to sleep and that's all the residence gets of my presence. I even stay out longer than I need to — so that by the time I sleep, there is only room to wake up for work. I wake up at 4 a.m at the earliest and at the latest 5:30-6 a.m for my two jobs by discipline alone — with the full knowledge that I will never compromise my time for any biological. Not one. I like arriving early to both jobs — especially when staying means becoming a potential unpaid victim for the day. I refuse to slow down long enough for anyone to catch my peace between bleeding, gnashing teeth. That will not be how my life goes or ends.

I thought I'd have to break my body and mind beyond repair just to keep my limbs moving towards something greater. I was bracing for that price with every step forward. But the progress I'm making — slow as it is — is faster than anything I thought possible when I first got here and is most certainly faster compared to when I had the help of my relatives. Maybe I won't need to break this body too much before I achieve my goal. Two incomes. Two reasons to leave early and never have to look back.

It looks like progress toward a better life. Proof that I won't fail where everyone else repeatedly never could succeed. 

Surely I can give myself that much.

Apple has been a good experience so far. The employees are respectful — and even if I may never know anything about them beyond a smiling face, a badge and a name, that's enough for now. As a newbie I've been slowly getting around to remembering the managers, though they have a habit of disappearing from sight at convenient times. Like their badges could teleport them somewhere just out of reach.

Everyone was so nice that I almost forgot there are VIPs in the area I work around.

In the beginning, some of their resting faces were something to get used to reading. A little scary looking if I'm being honest. But no one ever came after me with aggression. It was just exhaustion — coffee not yet in their system. Now it's mostly smiles my way from them getting to know me a bit more. I'm just glad that what I'm getting isn't volatility and just tiredness. I know that difference well. It was a relief to find out that they aren't the same thing here at Apple. If it is, then it isn't obvious to me. Besides, why would I care to look?

The work itself is hands on. I don't mind that. There's something grounding about using your body for something far more purposeful rather than just existing in an unwanted space.

A note from Sabbath. The day before my phone interview with him was a disaster — multiple interviews happening at once, no real plan, nothing landing the way it should. So I cleared out my entire next day just for him. Studied, practiced, gave it everything I had going in. I wasn't about to let another one slip. Getting that job meant getting out of the residence. It meant never having to stare at a low balance alert and wonder how much longer I could hold on without needing to use them. That was what I was counting on.

As it turned out, Sabbath was the original director of operations across New York, South Carolina and Alabama as he so put it — and by his own words I made a very great impression. It ended up being the most easy going interview of my life so far. His directness was a breath of fresh air. My favorite interviewer yet. If I ever crossed paths with the VIPs I wouldn't even know  — they just seem like chill humans to work with.

One person manages over nineteen propertie and keeps track of everything she needs at all times. It's an interesting thing to sit with. I found myself wondering not how she does it but why anyone would want to. I wouldn't want her headaches. I wasn't impressed and apparently that registered as confusion on her end. I didn't praise her for what would merely be another useless tie.

Then there's Village. Things are different there. Less standards, less hospitality, less indoors, less value to me overall. Though I can say it's better than working at the gelato shop, It's not better than Apple by a long shot. Village is much bigger than both at 3 to 5 miles just to arrive at different stations within a single shift. All can be avoided in a handy golf cart. It's the biggest establishment that I've ever worked at. Perfect for much of the focus being off of me. I find that with tighter and smaller the establishments, there is more room for being noticed and often times for the wrong reasons. Here no one can actually seem to really remember me for more than 24 hours. I'm forgotten often with no worries for anything manipulative planned. Most of my team has ADHD and that's mainly a huge part of it. I don't know if I really hit the jackpot but so far, it may be so until I find a higher paying chill job to replace Village. If I even get to that point I mean.

But Village reminded me of the clock ticking in my head more than Apple ever did. The one that tells me to hurry — always against my health, even when no one requires it of me. I thought that since the job was unexpectedly chill I could afford to relax. I was wrong. Real relaxation has always felt like a crime to me. Treated like a sin by some. At Apple I felt like I could just be. Here I know better. When have I ever really rested? And even more importantly — what could ever truly make me believe that I can rest now? I genuinely don't think I can afford to. Not when I sleep in the house and neighborhood of dangerous individuals in an HOA of all things. Every time I decided to rest, someone always had an opinion — and it was mainly accompanied with a roof being thrown over my head. Rest equaled homelessness. Resting is a race against survival which for the most part was determined by someone else's approval. 

Being liked is the currency of living, even if it's at the cost of one's autonomy. Even if you make your life easier by constantly denying your autonomy for the favor of another, it's still just survival — not living. Obeying is often treated as the better option simply because following the rules comes with the promise of reward and ease. That promise was never real. It's just working harder to survive with less of yourself intact.

How many have heard and obeyed the silent expectations of someone's approval only to end up worse off than if they hadn't? If a person is merely going to live a life of survival either way, why not keep as much autonomy as possible? Losing it is worse than death. And once someone starts taking your choices, there will be nothing left — and still they'll believe themselves deserving of more to take.

Obeying without knowing how to think is just what any manipulator wants. And what else does any manipulator want? To break down one's mind and body. They couldn't break my mind. My body isn't so lucky. They rushed me. They just didn't account for where I'd run without a way to return.

I started noticing the toll on my body. No matter how much I ate I'd always feel tired and couldn't even run as far as I used to. I couldn't even make it a mile straight without sounding like I needed an inhaler. At some point I couldn't feel my body at all. Not even a week ago, I spilled boiling water from a coffee machine onto my hand. A whole pot — not a splash, far from just a mere drop. I barely responded. A steaming hand that registered close to nothing. I couldn't feel temperatures, not even while working under the cruel sun and shade. I cannot tolerate resting for no reason psychologically. I won't eat, I won't sleep, and I'll question my own self worth like I've waged a war on my own competence towards freedom. Resting feels like an unnecessary disease to me. Rest means a lack of access to what I want. More time lost— and I have less of it now by design. This body is just a suit to me — a vessel to use for my goals before I return or abandon it entirely. My soul is the only thing that matters until I know otherwise. True freedom costs money. Money needs a residence. I don't need nor care for the life that was crafted for me by design by needlessly selfish and cruel hearts that have only ever pretended to have value while never actually giving any. And I refuse to stop moving until I have one that's true. No matter what, I will earn what I'm looking for.

There was also an infection brewing in my skull. I caught it early and avoided what could have turned into another unwanted hospital trip. I'm not a fan of hospitals in general. Creepy places. Why wouldn't they be haunted with who knows what when it's a spiritual hub? I'm not a fan of astral projecting into them either. Speaking of astral projection — I found some really nice places and found out that others could see me. It made me wonder how many so called ghosts were just visible people having a dream. It makes what I'm about to say next all the more easy. Maybe in a different post perhaps. Besides, there's a lot to read for what I knew was going to happen years before I saw the events play out well over three years in their finality.