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Saturday, August 20, 2016

The return of the boogyman...

 I got me a boogyman.  Here he comes.  My breath shortens.  My heart pounds. He's hidden in some brain crevice, or, attacks head on screaming:  "They will get you!  You are in grave danger!"

But why?  Why does my mind--my ruinous thoughts--define me now? Why does my spiking blood pressure twitch my body?  Why does my heart flutter and pound? 

Because I know.  I know how "the system" works.  I know that honest, enthusiastic, creative--albeit imperfect--people are not celebrated in "systems".  Ordinary, "do-what-you-are-told", data driven (or rather data stagnate) robotic people are cheered and rewarded.  

And unethical and dangerous people rise to organizational leadership positions. Yepper.  They do, they do.

Two.  Two.  Two recent incidents.  Twice slammed.  Pricking my brain. Like brackish water filling streams, my brain's fissures fill with outrage and fear.  Floods now.  Floods of the outrage and fear.  Putrid.  Stinking. 

The stench of 2010.  The boogyman is back.

In spite of six years away.  In spite of three years, now, of kind, caring, and smart leadership; in spite of perfect evaluations under that leadership.  In spite of the trust I feel for that man, my mind's "keep-it-away-at-all-cost" boogyman dam broke.  Took me right back to the war zone of that school where people literally died in the "battle field."  

The enemy is still there. And he probably still wants to "get me."  Every year I check to see if there might be a new name listed as leader of that school.  Every year I think: "Maybe this is the year of liberation." But no. He must have some powerful people beholden to him for every year since my departure, he is still there.

I fear they all may want to "get me."

Evil in the world. I got me drawers full of evidence of his evil acts.  I'm beginning to think that the evil's seeping through the drawers' crevices.  Wafting through my bedroom's air.  Filling my erratically sleeping nostrils and then my brain's crevices with its God awful stink.  

Is that my diagnosed PTSD at work?  How come the hyper-vigilance and distrust are vengefully back? Is it paranoia?  Am I the real problem?  

I remember an open casket.  My friend's inside.  It was two years ago that I received the news of his death.  Descending the stairs of my school. A colleague's "Hey, did you hear about M?" question.  That horror, too, flooding my brain.  Collapsing my lungs--dragging my labored breath from my body.  

My boogyman is back.  Apparently he never left.

11:29 am edt          Comments

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