Follows from I know myself and I am a mess., warnings still apply (yes, it’s long, I talk a lot).
First, I have two letters from the chemist – they’re really sorry and hope I go back so they can give me better service. I got my meds without being questioned at other locations, thank you but no.
I sent a letter to the security firm (again), which will go about as well as last time. Fortunately, I have one more ticket for a thing there, and I will never have to go again because rumour is they’re shutting down, which I can see why – I also saw a staff member smoking an actual cigarette inside the venue before they opened, and the sound is terrible. It wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t hear, apparently. It wasn’t even my brain – the mix was that bad, and the speaker set up is not conducive to standing people.
But the real thing is that a combination of further events have reinforced the This Is Not The Best Environment.
I have a pattern of staying until things become irretrievable. Somehow, I have to either fix this, or extract myself without being exposed to consequences (either the forced therapy or the hurt-feelings-not-ex-ex routine). I don’t know how to do that.
What happened yesterday was that I was in the waiting area and a loud person came in. It was loud. He knows me, and he greeted everyone else but not me. He’s done this before. Apparently, not being able to talk means I am not allowed to participate in conversation or other social niceties like a high-five or waving hello.
I raised this, because he brought it up. “I didn’t know how you would cope,” he said. I don’t know what that means. Five people talking at the top of normal speaking volume is nothing compared to a metal gig.
I told him what happened. “You should have a little light that you flash to get my attention. If I saw that, I would have come to help.”
He saw me crying and did nothing.
I did a small revengeful thing. I took in songs from musicals, because he hates musicals. Apparently my technique is almost perfect, but instead of working on that, I get to take in more songs from musicals, because he likes when I do musicals, just not, you know, musicals.
I want things to be better, but I don’t know how. I don’t know if longer lessons would help, so there’s time for that. I’ve tried to get in elsewhere, but they’ve been worse.
I’ve already decided to stop going to his shows. If I deliberatly skip a lesson, I’m afraid I won’t go back. If I don’t go back, I have to go to speech therapy, which I do not want.
I feel trapped. There is no good outcome. I am heartsick, but this cannot continue.
I still don’t know what to do.