Written: 5/29/2012
I leave for camp in less than a week.
My life has been crazy leading up to this, my brother’s wedding, not to mention the merger, which has added a second summer camp operation for me to support, as well as the imminent departure of one of my bosses has created a spring I never even saw as it passed me by.
I can remember a time looking forward to going to camp to work for the summer. Now it’s something I dread.
I love being outside, I love that place. But I hate what it has made me become, what it does to my stomach, perpetually tied in knots.
I hate that I hate going to camp.
A big part of it is the fact that I’m overworked. Illegally most likely, as I’m learning. My bosses, who make two or three times (at least) what I do are at camp as well, I didn’t sign up to go back each summer. I have a life here, people that I take care of.
But instead, it’s another summer of missing so much here at home, being away from my friends, and constantly surrounded by fear.
Even those I’ve worked with for years, I am still wary of. One of these days someone will wonder why I never go out to the bar with everyone else. Yes, I am usually working late into the night (at least 9, but usually 11, just to start it all again back in the office by 6:45 the next morning), but I never go out because I don’t feel safe on the mountain, and I don’t feel safe with anyone.
This will be my eleventh summer. I am pretty far up there in terms of tenure (but there certainly are those with more experience), but it only seems to get harder.
Two years ago, I had reached a breaking point like this, I tried to leave, but my better judgement, as well as an offer by my boss convinced me to stay. I remember driving off of the property for what I thought would be the last time. And I cried so hard.
I am good friends with the rangers, we understand each other better than most since we work year-round, and I know they would let me come back and visit, but they won’t be there forever, and I would also miss them of course. But saying goodbye to what was such a big part of my life, what helped shape me, was torture, just like going back is.
I’m very tired. Tired of playing the games and putting on a show. But for now, I have no choice. We’ll see what happens, maybe something will improve soon, or maybe at least I’ll finally get some time alone where I can cry for a good hour and get it all out of my system, keeping it pent up inside me is wearing me down faster than anything else right now.
All my best,
The King of Spades
