The process of working through my dismissal has been a lot harder than I imagined it would be. I think the fact that it hit me completely unawares (though, now that I look back on it all, I feel like I should have at least hinted that something was rotten in Denmark) doesn’t make it any easier. Add to that the belief I had that at least two of the people involved in all of this would never in a million years treat me (or anyone else) the way I was treated, and I find myself at loose ends.
One minute, I’ll be perfectly okay with all of it. I’m seeing proverbial writing on walls, and it is very likely that this was the best possible thing to happen to me; getting out ahead of the crash is always the smart way to go. The next minute, I’ll be bitterly angry; how could people I trusted treat me the way they did? I want to march right up to a couple of them and shame them for the lies they told me and the cold-hearted way they dismissed me without the courtesy of looking me in the eye. Then I’ll cycle to heartbreak; I made promises to those kids. I had plans for my class (I was the junior class advisor; I had ideas about fundraising and prom and senior trip and, and, and…), I had plans for the senior English class, I was putting together a kick-ass elective on the Holocaust, and now none of that is going to happen. I’m the one who was always there, who the kids could go to for band-aids and tampons and “Mrs. Chili, can you help me with this?” Who’s going to be there for them now?
I want to move on, I really, really do. I can’t do that, though, until I get a little more distance (and another job where I can feel needed and useful again).
I hate this.