perishsong
it/she
- Sep 10, 2025
- 49
It's yet another day of experiencing the circle of hell, called Job Market. No matter how much I put myself out there, I'm either left with no response or annoyed, rushed "I'll check your resume when I have time". Really makes me regret getting my degree. 5 years gone down the drain, just to get a piece of paper that qualifies me to work in several very specific branches. The whole environment is hermetically shut too. Those in the circuit just swap places, the number of workers remains more or less constant - but less is naturally preferred - it means less money lost on labor, after all. If you land your first, very likely shitty spot, you're at least in the circuit! You'll swap your shitty job for a different flavor of shit!
I don't have the capacity to stay in the circuit. Previous bosses have been giving me repetitive, mind-numbingly trivial tasks, no feedback whatsoever, and then slapping me right in the face with The Talk.
"Perishsong, you're not learning/you're too emotional/you don't try". Yeah. Bosses host ass-licking Olympics and my tongue is too short, if you catch my drift. The additional labor of being social is far worse than any work tasks. Somehow, the most fucking vile and punchable people you've ever known are all your co-workers, and they can't wait to spread rumors about you. Sit with them, and they're all saccharine, leave and the gossip begins immediately. Come back to middle school, apologize to your parents and teachers, and drop the pathetic act.
I couldn't care less about bogus "social" activities with people that at best have net zero impact on my life. I'm autistic, and the environment is notoriously neurotypical. I've worked with one autistic dude - he was the kindest soul in the depths of this hellish workplace, a string of pearls dropped in the trough of manure. Needless to say, he was targeted the most by ass-licking medalists.
Even during one shift, I'm actually juggling many more "shifts" alongside. I'm tasked with regular work, but also making sure I catch the unspoken nuances of instructions, masking my stims, my impending shutdowns or meltdowns, compensating with eye contact, mirrored body language and rehearsed dialogue options, handling the fluorescent lights, the machine noises, the phones, the smells, the un-ergonomic furniture.
I'm thoroughly, overwhelmingly, bone-deep exhausted, and it's not the type to fix with a week of PTO. I'm running on synthetic energy and likewise, I'm synthetically sedated. Even with meds I'm crumbling.
I'm really sick of platitudes, usually said by well intentioned but misguided non-disabled people. "Your worth isn't measured by productivity or money you made", "You're so artistic and compassionate and understanding", "You're so strong", well guess what, dipshit. I can't go to the store, grab whatever and say "oh, it's 5 bucks, I have no money but hold on, I'm gonna write a limerick for you real quick, that okay with you?". Money is everywhere, and sustenance without it is a nightmare to achieve, if not entirely impossible.
I'm stuck in a perpetual limbo between planning to CTB and living. One minute I'm sending résumés, another minute I'm researching rope materials. And my time is ticking. I've planned to CTB in the early 2026, and the date becomes more of a reality than a pipe dream.
I'm far too deep in the self-pity territory to deny it. In my defense, I don't really have anyone to talk to, as most people would proselytize some fictional hope, or straight out lock me in a grippy sock jail.
I don't have the capacity to stay in the circuit. Previous bosses have been giving me repetitive, mind-numbingly trivial tasks, no feedback whatsoever, and then slapping me right in the face with The Talk.
"Perishsong, you're not learning/you're too emotional/you don't try". Yeah. Bosses host ass-licking Olympics and my tongue is too short, if you catch my drift. The additional labor of being social is far worse than any work tasks. Somehow, the most fucking vile and punchable people you've ever known are all your co-workers, and they can't wait to spread rumors about you. Sit with them, and they're all saccharine, leave and the gossip begins immediately. Come back to middle school, apologize to your parents and teachers, and drop the pathetic act.
I couldn't care less about bogus "social" activities with people that at best have net zero impact on my life. I'm autistic, and the environment is notoriously neurotypical. I've worked with one autistic dude - he was the kindest soul in the depths of this hellish workplace, a string of pearls dropped in the trough of manure. Needless to say, he was targeted the most by ass-licking medalists.
Even during one shift, I'm actually juggling many more "shifts" alongside. I'm tasked with regular work, but also making sure I catch the unspoken nuances of instructions, masking my stims, my impending shutdowns or meltdowns, compensating with eye contact, mirrored body language and rehearsed dialogue options, handling the fluorescent lights, the machine noises, the phones, the smells, the un-ergonomic furniture.
I'm thoroughly, overwhelmingly, bone-deep exhausted, and it's not the type to fix with a week of PTO. I'm running on synthetic energy and likewise, I'm synthetically sedated. Even with meds I'm crumbling.
I'm really sick of platitudes, usually said by well intentioned but misguided non-disabled people. "Your worth isn't measured by productivity or money you made", "You're so artistic and compassionate and understanding", "You're so strong", well guess what, dipshit. I can't go to the store, grab whatever and say "oh, it's 5 bucks, I have no money but hold on, I'm gonna write a limerick for you real quick, that okay with you?". Money is everywhere, and sustenance without it is a nightmare to achieve, if not entirely impossible.
I'm stuck in a perpetual limbo between planning to CTB and living. One minute I'm sending résumés, another minute I'm researching rope materials. And my time is ticking. I've planned to CTB in the early 2026, and the date becomes more of a reality than a pipe dream.
I'm far too deep in the self-pity territory to deny it. In my defense, I don't really have anyone to talk to, as most people would proselytize some fictional hope, or straight out lock me in a grippy sock jail.
