This past month I worked 28 days in a row, putting in 50.5 hours of overtime. I had been “advised” by my boss that if there is ever an educational program, I had to physically be present. So I was. 28 days. I’m not writing this as a martyr or to guilt-trip coworkers but simply as a fact. Those 28 days tested me, leaving me feeling taxed both physically and emotionally. I didn’t feel the repercussions of working so many days until the third week.

I am a people pleaser. I try to help out those around me and have a difficult time asking for help myself. This is something I must work on if I am to move forward in my ability to lead. True leaders delegate. Successful people know when it’s time to let go. Unfortunately during week three of my work I was told I wasn’t being supportive enough. They needed more of me when I wasn’t in a position to give more. This upset me terribly for about three days as I had been “accused” for not giving it my all. I aim to please but am not a great communicator. This I know. And I am less likely to be cooperative when I am having to defend my actions. I shut down. Another trait of terrible leadership but a part of human nature. It’s pride. I however accepted full responsibly. I unwillingly admitted that the situation had been my fault and I apologized. This particular train of thought happens more often that not. I apologize with no remorse or sincerity. I believe I have lost the ability to know when I truly fuck up or when I am made to believe that I have fucked up. Thankfully, I had discussions with other co-workers who reassured me that I had done what I could with the resources and knowledge available to me. I am not a mind reader; therefore I cannot prediction what will happen. I cannot control other people. I cannot offer help to those who do not ask for it. I can only offer suggestions, it’s up to them if they will accept it.

I am hurting. Emotionally. I tend to keep this side of myself under “control” but I have been tired and slightly brain-dead. This of course means that I forgot to lock the gate on my emotions. They came out full force, stabbing me repeatedly. It was a fucking prison riot! Break-ups, work, and my loss have not been kind to me this year. I am still trying to comprehend why a “ten-week” romance that ended almost six months ago has had such a profound impact on my dating AND *gasp* sex life. I still miss Zach. A lot. I will lay awake in bed wishing I was in his bed. Occasionally, I cry myself to sleep. Wondering what I did wrong? Or why is it so hard to love me? I have yet to hear “I love you” from a romantic relationship. I often think that I will never hear it. Why continue to open myself up? Why continue loving people if I am not receiving love in return? I’ve gotten so insecure about the stupid word that I don’t even bother saying it. The word is inside a chest under lock and key out in the desert, the key was thrown somewhere and the map was burned. But that is only the surface of my pain.

This month witnessed a monumental victory for women’s right. As a result the claws came out to those who are not pro-choice. I was, unfortunately, the target because of my situation. I defended myself as best I could but, really, if those closest to me can call me a murderer and send me links and pictures of death children, what chance do I have against complete strangers? And of course I couldn’t think rationally. Because there isn’t anything rational about it. People are hypocritically full of malice, hiding behind a loving god, a god that I do not understand or have faith in. I have no faith. I don’t understand faith. Maybe those closest to me should not be close to me. I should surround myself with love (there is that word again) instead of those who would have me burning hell. I wish I had a mini Gandolf to explain to these people, “That wound will never fully heal. He will carry it the rest of his life.”

I am tired; so very tired. I noticed that as week four started my eating habits had changed. I needed more salty, starchy, junk food to continue with my crazy “work ethic.” I don’t think it’s so much as work ethic as much as a need to prove that I could do it. My face broke out in zits and I’ve hated looking at myself as I just want to pop them all and just have the blood pouring down my face. It’s disgusting but when the blood runs down or out I feel a sense of relief. Concentrating on dance was simply not happening nor was my training. I needed rest but I didn’t know how to get it. I looked at my body hating myself. I would stand naked looking at myself in a mirror and just obsessing over the imperfections. I kept telling myself that I was gaining weight again (I haven’t gained a single pound). I stopped combing my hair and let my eyebrows grow, etc. I just let myself go.