It was not an easy decision to make; in fact it was one of the hardest. I had wanted this job. I had done everything I possibly could to achieve it. I had drawn it to me because from the instant I read what they were looking for and saw that I could be placed in Atlanta, I knew I would get it. I had moved all the way, back, across the country for this job. I had suffered through weeks of what I can say without a doubt was the hardest experience of my life, otherwise known as training. I had even lived for three months without pay and therefore spent nearly all of my “cushion”, the remainder of my school loan money.
I had received exactly what I had wanted and worked so hard for. And now all I can think about is how badly I want to quit. I hate saying that. Even more, I hate admitting it to myself. I am not a quitter. In fact, I’m the type of person who will quietly and slowly suffer through a painful situation because I refuse to let go of the little piece of vain hope that somehow, someway, it will get better. If I just hang on a little longer, the clouds will magically lift and blue skies will show through. Some may call this masochistic, but I’ve always considered it an attribute. I don’t give up on people; I don’t give up on my goals; I don’t give up on… my job.
Yet here I am – a quitter.
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