First Monday of September

Today is the first Monday of September.

If I still were at my work I would at this very moment be on a stage playing, or watching children make plays.

During the summer I got fired from that place, my drama work. I know I didn't do anything wrong, the employer was just a little shit and couldn't handle the work a boss should have. Argh. I'm more sad for my co-worker, who also got the boot, than for myself. I would have handled a dismission even if I was the only one getting kicked out. But that they fired us both felt like a betrayal.

So I'm not on a stage playing, or watching children make plays. I'm at home.

I don't miss traveling 1 hour one way to the place. I don't miss having to loose one whole evening per week. I don't even particularly miss the children, because I didn't really understand them and how children work (even if I've worked for six years with children, I still don't understand them).

But....

I will miss the feeling of being on stage. I will miss my co-worker. I will miss the teenagers. I'll miss the teenagers so terribly. I will miss the outlet of emotions and creativity. I'll miss what I had at that place, a history, a status, a behaviour, a part of my fucking soul. When I got to know I wasn't welcomed back, I was angry. Furious. Then I felt nothing. Told myself my time had come and that 8 years is more than enough at one place.

And then, one evening, I cried. I cried over what I lost. I had lost one evening per week of total freedom. Of happiness, of creativity, of laughter and the feeling of collaboration.

But most of all I cried over not having a space for my emotions.

If there's one thing I'm happy about, it's that I confessed to my co-worker 1,5 year ago. I confessed what this all ment to me. I told her about how she indirectly had saved me from self hatred. I wrote to her how the plays, characters, games, everything had made me accept who I am. I stripped myself naked from all lies and facades. Not through a character, but as myself.

I didn't tell her this in person ofc. I wouldn't, couldn't. So I wrote a letter instead. I remember crying when I wrote the letter. Because I let the most hidden parts of myself out to another human.

She made a facebook-post from it. How she got a "touching letter". It warmed my heart.

I'm happy that she know what she did for me. What she probably did to more teenagers and young adults than for just me. And that I maybe did something for someone else.