An astrologer told me, back when my daughter was 6 (she’s 27 now), that I would one day write a book that would change the way people see relationships.
That hasn’t happened, and I think about it all the time but am not compelled to do it. I do want to tell everyone that the world isn’t what our society says it is. I do want to tell everyone that the societal pressure to conform is why we have so many problems; because of it and in spite of it. Attempting to conform to our model of success is the source of depression, addiction and violence.
Personally, conformity for me takes the form of attempting to survive at an office job by not saying anything about all the shitty treatment from the hierarchy. Just typing this sentence has me hearing the judgements that I’m a whiner, that I need to shut up and put up. The power of our cultural conditioning is overwhelming.
So recently, I was let go from a temp position that I had been at for over a year, where I thought I was successful, and where I was in such deep denial I spent the last three weeks telling many people how much I would miss them and the position.
Now that I’ve had the distance and safety to be honest with myself, I am irate. Again, starting to think about listing the litany of offenses has me redirecting the abuse at myself; I caused the problems by not accepting the culture and environment.
In fact, it was a sick place, as are almost all offices that I’ve ever worked in. There are twisted dictates about whose behavior is acceptable. There are distorted dictates about the distribution of compensation. Despite the company sending a firm-wide memo about their excellent profits and financial health, I was refused a raise and worked for the full year with no paid time off and no offer of permanent employment. In the end, my position was outsourced to their contractor who would cost them half what they were paying my agency. I was released in November. Happy Fucking Holidays.
So, although I feel completely liberated from that sick environment, I’m angry. Today I’ll be working as a background actor (shhhhh. it’s a tabu in the entertainment industry to work for a paycheck even though no one is hiring you for a real acting job).
Already I’m anticipating a day of being treated like a lowly life form. My experience on set, with wardrobe in particular, has been traumatic. I’m actually not being dramatic. I will detail those horrifying stories in another entry.
Today I am anticipating an encounter with a certain security guard. On the set of Okja, this particular asshole assaulted a skinny, homeless guy. I happen to be nearby and started demanding that this asshole keep his hands to himself. This asshole is about six feet tall and probably at least 250 lbs. He had such a problem with five foot, one hundred ten pound me, that he sought me out on set afterwards (there were 400 extras that day). “Where is she?!” he was heard demanding.
He approached me and started confronting me with “don’t you ever. . . “. I immediately told him “don’t you yell at me. You have no authority. ”
“What’s your name?” was the only question necessary to end the confrontation. He immediately left. Fucking coward.
I do not have excellent facial recognition, usually. Most people are types to me, and if there are a lot of people around that are the same size, shape and coloring as you, it’s going to take me a few encounters to delineate you all, one from the other.
On subsequent sets, this asshole would appear. Although I felt a similar energy, and contemplated that I might know this person, it never occurred to me that it was the asshole.
On every set, he stalks me and has to say something about this Okja incident. The last time we had an encounter, I tried to be friendly, but he was a stony asshole and demanded, “I’m still waiting for an apology.”
My Complex-PTSD has me already being hyper-vigilant about today’s set. I have already decided, however, that if the asshole is on set and makes any attempt to harass me, I’m simply getting his last name and filing a complaint.
Which is a sign to me that I am making progress. I don’t feel a need to educate him or engage. I am going to protect myself through the proper avenues and I am not taking responsibility for his bad behavior.
This attitude, that I am not responsible for anyone else’s bad behavior, has been a saving grace for me.
I may not write a whole book about relationships, but if you continue to read my blog, little pearls such as the one above might dribble your way from time to time.