“I’m sorry but only the account holder can make those changes. Sir, you are not able to make those changes”.
“But I am a woman!” came a shrill but yet deep voice.
Leaving home I had no social skills and couldn’t even make an appointment – phone, face-to-face or email. I couldn’t do anything that involved me having to potentially talk or make eye contact with another person. I’m not sure why it was such a surprise to me that after years of abuse and being locked away that I wasn’t a people person.
If I did muster the courage and interact with someone I would hit myself in the head over and over again as I played it back in my head. I must’ve sounded stupid and that poor person who had to have me anywhere near them. I avoided eye contact and even got married without telling people I worked with because I was convinced they would think I was stupid and say things about me behind my back.
I agonised over telling my work I was pregnant with my son. They’d think I didn’t deserve to have the baby and they would punish me because they thought I wasn’t as competent as somebody else. I was already lucky enough to have a job. I’d have to go for appointments and that was time away from work. They’d be mad at me.
Every year I have gotten a little better at talking to people. These days I make myself talk to people for work. It’s draining for me to have to pony on up like that every day but I do it. I come home tired and unsure if I was able to do the act well enough.
I’ve never found making friends to be a natural thing. I tend not to invite anybody to anything because I have a crippling fear of them saying no. I live in constant fear of the word ‘no’. I live in constant fear that I’m not good enough.
I then met Katherine. She was my boss and encouraged me to share more of myself with her and friend Bec. Soon I felt like I belonged and had people to go to if I needed it. Katherine and Bec were never far from my thoughts. I got mugged at knifepoint and those are the two people I thought about which makes it all a little pathetic now.
“Isn’t it wonderful to have friends,” Katherine would boom as she would read my mind and smile.
Katherine decided I was too much. I was too intense. Too broken and not somebody that she wanted to be around or even look at. She deleted me off social media and seemed surprised when I asked why. I guess she was thinking I should’ve just crawled away. I thought I could fix it. I thought I could make her want to be around me. I quickly realised that like always I had been moved aside on the shelf, forgotten and sit there as some dust covered memory.
Katherine had at this stage moved in with Bec and she was the ultimate and best so I had no say in it. I had to just stop talking to a friend that I love dearly and still cry about losing. It makes me angry but then I hit myself in the head and tell myself that I’m not good enough.
I do things alone because I have nobody to do things with and don’t want to be rejected. I keep to myself and rarely leave my house. I have to pay somebody to talk to me. I make an appointment and talk to a doctor, therapist or whoever. That’s where the Medicare money is going – to a sad, lonely person who is desperate to fit in and be good enough.