Stranded

by Sarah Goodwin

Still, temping meant I was a stranger wherever I worked and people mostly left me alone to my podcasts.

It was the first time in a long time that I’d enjoyed the company of other people without feeling anxious or irritated.

Everything about her was quiet, purposeful and direct. I appreciated that immensely.

I knew how Mum would have termed me; sensitive, a wallflower, reserved.

She’s got the heart of a dreamer and the head of an old maid.

The only person I had control over was myself. I wasn’t going to be the one constantly coming down on people for their shitty behaviour. Not if no one was going to stand with me.

I couldn’t accuse them, because they were the majority. I was just one person; what they said, what they pretended to believe, was true by consensus.

I had traded time with the two people I loved most for a job I hated and people who barely knew me.

I sat down on the hard earth and raised my face to the sun. This was what I was here for:

freedom, and space to heal. I didn’t want to be angry all the time, trying to force people to listen to me, to value my input. The lonely life had driven me out here to find some kind of respite from it. But so far, most of my moments of peace had come away from camp – away from the others.

People in general set my teeth on edge, strangers in particular. It was always a relief to shut the door of my flat, slough off my work clothes and be myself again away from prying eyes.

‘Because it’s very easy to think the worst of someone you already hate. People assume that people they dislike are secretly revelling in their failures, and it’s not a huge leap to start thinking that they are causing you to fail.

Instead I did what I had always done; I found distractions. In my old life that had meant watching inane YouTube videos just to hear a voice until I was too tired to stay awake.

Monday to Friday I got up early, headed in to the office and avoided people until I went home.