I’ve made it seven weeks now.
I’m bruised. I’m broken. This time, though, it wasn’t at the hands of my mother; it was caused by the hard cement of the sidewalk I fell into Wednesday morning. I refuse to let another person ever break me like that again. The sidewalk and I will need to have a discussion, too, because this can’t happen again.
Despite my fractured foot, I’ve been going to work. I wake up 40 minutes earlier because it takes me 40 minutes to walk to the bus stop. I leave my house in the night and end up getting to the bus stop at dawn. But it’s what I have to do. Broken bones don’t pay the bills. I leave my crutches in the break room at work and shuffle around and get my job done – a little slower, for sure, but the work still gets done. I can’t not work. I don’t have time to be disabled. I’m exhausted by the end of the day, but maybe that’s a good thing. That means there’s less energy available to screw other shit up. Most nights, I just want to lay in bed and cry; but that doesn’t make the pain go away. It just gives me horrible cry face.
I got my first paycheck today. It wasn’t much, but it just feels a little better getting some sort of income in. I still need another job or two. Or a rich a husband. I’m okay with either scenario.
I’ve been socializing so much more than what is normal for me. It’s still difficult for me. I still find myself struggling to respond. But I am trying. For some reason, people are naturally drawn to me. That is the worst for someone who is socially anxious. It’s a process. It is also difficult for me to understand why someone would want to like me enough to talk to me (I know, a lot of childhood brainwashing there). It’s something I’m slowly overcoming. The other day, I exchanged jokes with a bus driver, which turned into a short, but polite conversation. Yesterday, I engaged in a conversation over broken bones with an older gentleman who had more metal in him than bone. And today, another bus driver and I talked about which place had the best cappuccino. I still let the other side do most of the talking, but for me, it’s progress. I’m doing a lot better considering where I was before. It’s almost as if the simple lack of my mother’s presence has been enough to lift some of the fears and anxieties I had in speaking with other people.
On another good note, I finally received feedback for my thesis. My grade: 99. I have been obsessively checking all week, as if I were afraid I was going to fail the paper. I didn’t expect to get a 99. One grammatical error. One point away from perfection. In a way, it relates so much to my life. As much as I strive to be perfect, my life will never be perfect. But if I work hard enough, it can be damn near close enough to perfect.