“Put the Gun Down”, Andy Black.

(TW: Mental Health, Abuse)

          Would you believe me if I told you that I haven’t been doing much writing lately?  Shocker.  Right?  I remember there was once a time where I could barely go an hour without wanting to write something down, or get my thoughts down on paper but, that changed years ago.

          When I was younger, like most people, I wanted to be a lot of things.  At one point I thought I wanted to grow up and become a doctor; I wanted to find a cure for cancer, the disease that my grandfather eventually died of.  I wanted to be an artist because, I loved drawing, and color.  I wanted to sing or write music, until I realized that my social anxiety was far too great.  I guess you could say that I wanted to be a lot of things.  Instead, I wound up getting sick, and leaving school early, and after that it was just a bunch of odd jobs until I found one that I thought I loved.

          I gave away almost 5 years of my life to the gambling café, and for a while, I loved it.  I was allowed to wear what I wanted for the most part, dye my hair whatever color I wanted, and showcase my art on a chalkboard.  During my time there, I could also read the books that I loved, or work on my writing.  However, at the time, I didn’t realize how toxic of an environment that it really was.  Some coworkers did not respect me, or the guests that came in, that eventually became like family- some of which I wound up taking the fall for.  The boss would sometimes not answer the phone when they were needed and expected us to handle our own problems.  Things like the heat going out in the dad of winter, or the door rusting right off the hinges, as well as unsafe guests who would abuse certain policies that left myself and others in feat of retaliation from them or the boss.  (Including but not limited to when the sewer backed up through the floor, and I was made to deal with it in a leg brace, as well as my doctor’s notes and accommodations for my disabilities being ignored.  The list goes on, and yes, I do still have the text messages, timestamps, and receipts to prove it.)

          Still, I didn’t want to leave.  Like most neurodivergent people, I’m more comfortable staying in an abusive situation, rather than moving on from it, and I don’t know why.  Hell, there are some days where I’d go back if you gave me the option, all for what?  To see the regulars that made me smile, to talk to the people who were genuinely happy to see me every day, and that’s basically it.  I guess I miss having people who want to sit and talk to me or spend time with me.  I don’t know.

          I don’t know what it was about that place that made me stick around so long.  Maybe I liked the people, and the environment, when things weren’t so bad.  Maybe I liked the escape it gave me, or the power that I had in that position, however little it was.  Maybe that makes me a masochist, and maybe it just makes me an idiot.  However, since it has been a year, I thought it was time to speak out on the situation if only a little, to remind you that sometimes you leave an abusive situation on your own, and sometimes you have help.  But no matter what, you will always take things with you, scars, trauma, and sometimes physical things.  There may even be parts of you that miss the abuse, and that’s okay.

          However, at the end of the day, you need to remember your worth and know that even if it isn’t much to you, there are those out there who are going to love you, value you, and cherish you if you only give them the chance and opportunity to do it. 

          Love yourself because you are worth it, even if you haven’t seen it yet.

          -Sky