…That’s all they are: words. Nothing more. Nothing less. Words. Words spoken by an insensitive male. Words being said to me. Words that would not stop. “Part-timer”, “part-timer”, “part-timer”. Three “part-timers” too many. Actually, I don’t know how many times he referred to me as being a “part-timer” but after the first time it was one time too many. Even after telling the orator of these words that “there is stuff going on in my life that you don’t have a clue about” he proceeded to laugh at me whilst blabbing on about him working seven days a week and that I’m a “part-timer”. That damn phrase again. “Part-timer”. He carried on comparing my being a “part-timer” to his life. “Part-timer”. There it is again.
I’m weak. I let the dumbass’ words affect me. I let those words make me cry. I let those words infuriate me.
I am angry. I am upset. Four hours on and I still think I could cry some more over the matter.
I went home from work early. The opportunity was there and I took it. I took it because I’m working every evening but one next week and because I’m only allowed to average a certain number of hours per week. I took it because I saw a safety net. I took it because no one else exactly jumped at the chance.
Yeah, I’m a “part-timer”. For a reason. That reason could be any number of reasons: maybe I might have a child; maybe I might be a carer; maybe I might be loaded rich and just have work-ethic…
We all know it’s none of those reasons. It’s my business though, not his.
The truth is complicated. The truth is I don’t have a tattoo on my forehead telling the world about my life. The truth is I try not to go into something complaining about stuff going on in my life. The truth is that my past is my own business. The truth is I only share my past when I am ready. The truth is that I am not accountable to anyone except to myself, my grandparents, my boss and my doctors.
It’s not just tonight though. It’s frequent. I hear “part-timer” by this guy a lot. Usually it doesn’t get to me but having my “part-timer” status compared to his seven-day week got to me. I should have just let it go over my head. I don’t know why but anger and emotion took hold tonight. Even though they are only words, they are words that hurt.
We all have our struggles. I get that. I understand that. I might not have my stuggles listed in neon lighting above my head with an arrow pointing down to me but I still have them. I didn’t ask for the situation I’ve been in. I didn’t plan for my life to turn out this way. This hell I’ve been through wasn’t a part of my “plan” for life. What’s happened has happened. What I continue to go through, at least there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Yes, I’ve come through this stronger, more mature and a little less niave about how invisible I am but I’m trying my hardest to make the best out of the hand I’ve been dealt.
Tonights words, however, make me question: is my best enough?
To my immediate family, to my closest friends – I’ve come so far. Studying part-time. Working part-time. To my consultant, I could be dead but I fought the odds. To some of the other people in my life: I’m just a lazy “part-timer”. I get that. I get that loud and clear.
Tomorrow’s a new day. I’m getting good at putting the crap behind me. These words? Hopefully by sunrise they’ll hurt less.