Today as I drove home from work I cried. Work was especially hard and busy, today, and my manager especially controlling and demanding. At work, I've been increasingly disassociate myself from my thoughts and my actions in order to keep myself from screaming in rage or flat out refusing to work. More troubling, I've been increasingly having trouble stopping that disassociation after work finishes. This has led to me going on little adventures after work to calm myself and reassociate myself. Today was an exception, though. I reassociated just fine, but the anger and despair I feel didn't go away. The first half of my drive home I spent angry. Angry that I was being forced to work at this job. Angry that I couldn't just leave or I would go homeless and starve. Angry that my boss could order me around like the slave I essentially am. Angry that customers don't even notice me, seeing me more a scenery than people. Angry at how powerless I felt. Angry at how hopeless my future seems sometimes. Angry just to be angry so that the despair doesn't take over.
But, despite my best efforts, the anger faded halfway through my drive home, and all that was left was horrible and soul crushing despair. So I cried as I drove home. Not because of this day of work, in particular. The anger, at least, is starting to be a regular guest in my drives home. It holds the despair at bay where my disassociation fails. At least when I'm angry, I have some hope that I'll get revenge or justice or something. When the despair sets in, it's all I have.
These are the gifts of my work. These are the gifts of wage slavery. These are the gifts of capitalism. These are the gifts my boss gives me every time she yells at me to do something I know I shouldn't do, but I do anyway so I don't get fired, slowing myself down and hurting my sanity and the store's productivity. These are the gifts I get when I feel hungry almost every night as I fall asleep because I was only able to afford one meal that day, again, and I still have trouble finding the money to pay rent, each month. These are the gifts from guilt from the occasional splurges I make going to the movies or eating out with friends in order to keep my sanity. These are the gifts of when I know I'm powerless against all this. These are the only gift this system gives me. The gift of anger. The gift of disassociation. The gift of despair.
This is why I'm an anarchist. This is why I reject our current system. This is why I fight where I can. This is why revolution isn't merely a choice, it is a necessity.