Challenging

0600. Outside, wind and rain.

I can't sleep. 

Anxiety reached untenable levels yesterday morning and I had to waive off. 

I've reported the abuse at work. For months I've tried to rally the other victims, but they were either too beaten or too fearful to come forward. So I acted on my own. 

History tells me that I will be punished now. I've reported bad behavior before and always suffered as a result. So now I wait. Waiting for the axe to fall is always the worst part. Already I've heard rumors of the credibility attacks. Fuck. I hate those. How the hell do you fight lies, rumor and innuendo? I've danced these steps before and know that I will be danced off the cliff. 

I came here with the hope of starting something fresh and new. I wanted the opportunity to leave ugliness behind; to build a beautiful life. Instead, I found the Bonny and Clyde of covert aggression, so entrenched and sophisticated in their technique that I didn't detect it for months, and only later found the trail of bodies they've left in their wake during the past decade. By then I had already unwittingly revealed my ability to resist - at first, I countered their behavior with earnest, open conversation and argument. But this only warned them that I was more of a challenge than their other victims and they intensified the clandestine hostility and aggression. 

Marie said, "Give them New York Nice. Smile, but don't give them anything to latch on to." 

This was the saving technique. It's preserved me for months. Even in the middle of intense stress and ugliness, I smiled and talked about U.S. Politics and the weather. Hopefully, this has also prevented giving them any personal data they might use to harm me. 

I'm not the type of person to stay and be abused, but it's difficult when I don't have a way out that won't harm me tremendously.  I've applied for other jobs; I've visited legal advisors. But I've lost so much already and if I lose my job, I am too financially screwed to help myself, and I lose my right to stay. 

I'm not the picture of cool as I wish I could be. I wish I could say that none of this has affected me - that the past six years of horrible hasn't gotten to me. But I can't say that. I'm seriously fucked up and this last year has been the most recent fight to this embattled analyst and I'm tired of fighting. 

The wheels are starting to come off. I'm exhausted all the time.  I have a perpetual tightness in my chest, nausea in my gut, and I can't keep ahead of the inevitable anxiety and depression.  Bicycling to work has been my saving grace for months because the physical activity and time outdoors gives me just enough relief to keep going. But with the winter cold and rain, I can't do this as often as I need. I don't have attention to give to any other projects or friendships.  I've dropped everything because I couldn't carry it in my arms. 

The weekend isn't enough time to recover. And this past weekend was particularly bad. Monday morning at work again and I felt that there hadn't been a weekend. I looked with dread at the next days. Yesterday morning, I was a disaster. Asleep at 0200 and awake again at 0400 I despaired of getting the rest I needed to survive the week. 

Willem called the doctor, then took me to the beach. The sun was surprisingly bright and the day was warm. We walked along the waterfront for hours, listened to the waves, climbed the pier wall, and ate sandwiches and chocolate. 

The flag

Dinner at an Italian restaurant tonight. Not so much Italian food as pasta. But okay.
And wine.
Walking home with Willem. Past the U.S. Embassy. There is an American flag. I watch it as we walk. They did not take it down at Sunset as they do with the flag. On the military base in Naples, there was a ceremony, colors, at sunset, as they drew down the flag, folded, and saluted the stars and stripes before taking it indoors. So I'm struck by this flag at midnight. It flaps in the high night wind, a spotlight fixed on it.
There has always been a flag, and in every Embassy I feel the relief of being on American soil again. I remember the sensation. In Sekondi, in Lagos, Dakar, Monrovia, Limbe, After days ashore in a foreign land, every time I returned to the port and saw the grey hull ship my heart thrilled with pride and relief when I saw the flag. And I always felt the gladness of being home.
I stopped, and tried to sing the national anthem. Quietly so as not to embarrass Willem. He's a little drunk and hums along raucously for a moment, not knowing the significance to me. It's been a year since I've been home.

concert and candy

It was Willem's birthday yesterday. In the morning I made him crepes and he opened his gifts. Then we took the train to see his bro-in-law in concert. It was an orchestral performance, with a brass band thrown in for fun - a fusion of Americana folk music and jazz and 30% improvisation.
Willem's youngest nephew, six-year-old Paul, climbed up on my lap and we went through my purse, looking for anything sweet. There were a handful of individually-wrapped hard mints from a restaurant. There was also one piece of chocolate. We unwrapped the truffle slowly and quietly - during the louder parts of the performance. Eventually, it was freed from the wrapper. Paul crammed the whole thing in his mouth and rested his head back on me in an affect of utter bliss. It was too late that I smelled the distinctly strong odor of liquor. Apparently, the truffle wasn't caramel filled - but, rather, rum-filled. Of course it was too late to do anything except feel incredibly guilty for feeding a preschool aged child alcohol. I watched Paul like a hawk after that to be sure there were no lasting effects - but whether his goofy, naughty behavior was due to the truffle or due to the 2 hour concert, I can't be sure.