Every morning about this time
She gets me out of my bed a-crying
Get a job

After breakfast every day
She throws the want ads right my way
And never fails to say
Get a job

Get a Job – The Silhouettes – 1957

This month marks 5 years since I finally gave up trying to work due to my illnesses and applied for disability.

I haven’t had to wake up, slug down a couple of cups of coffee, get my groggy ass dressed, deal with traffic and contend with other people in order to make a living for 60 months.

Another way to look at it, the last time that I was gainfully employed was when I was 38 years old, pretty damn young if you ask me. Some would say in the prime of my life.

I’ll still wake up some mornings with my knickers in a bunch, panicking that I overslept, before the realization comes that I don’t have a job to be late for anymore.

I’m a combo of relieved and angry. Relieved because I don’t have to push myself so hard anymore or deal with pissy coworkers and mean bosses.

Angry because this isn’t how my life was supposed to turn out.

This is bullshit, man. Um…can you pass me a tissue?

I’m not the same person. I mean, technically I am. Shit, I don’t know how to explain it.

Sigh. Okay, here it goes…

Pain changes you. It chews you up and then spits out a completely different version of your prior self. I’m talking about both mental and physical pain, the two often go hand in hand. It touches every aspect of your life, not just being unable to keep a job.

It tries hard to ruin relationships and trust me on this, it does succeed.

I know that things will never go back to the way they were. I think that I’ve come to accept this and now I’m working on cleaning up the debris that these last few years have left behind.

All I really want is to be loved for the person that I am now.

Maybe that’s too much to ask for, but the thought continues to pop into my head, especially when I’m trying to fucking fall asleep.