Today it finally clicked why I work myself to death.

At work this afternoon, I (27F) strained my already severely injured back and it was excruciating. I said nothing, tried to stretch it out, and kept working all day, while the pain got worse and worse. I got to my car afterward and had to take a moment to sit and try not to cry on the way home.

It made me remember being about 14-15 and doing my chores (dishes at this time) and dropping a slippery teacup and shattering it. It cut up the side of my thumb pretty bad and I bled a fair bit (still have the scar). My step father berated me for breaking a cup, forced me to put rubber gloves over my fresh and still bleeding wound and continue to finish the dishes. I finished them with a glove full of blood and honestly, almost debilitating pain in one hand because of the soap and water getting into the gloves. I was forced to say nothing while I completed the task, no matter what.

It’s messed up that I’m only just realising the toll that the abuse has actually had on my body physically. We never went to the doctor either. Not when I hurt my knee, and couldn’t walk or move for four weeks. Not when I had what was clearly bronchitis. Not when I spent years crying about back pain (turned out to be a type of disease and it’s too late to ‘fix’ it) 1) because they didn’t give a shit clearly and 2) because I needed to look after my siblings no matter what.

So now I just work and work, and do what needs to be done without a word of pain, no matter what. It drives my manager so crazy, that he’s learning my subtle signals of trying to re adjust my back so he can make me sit down.

It’s so heart warming, but also such a foreign experience that it makes me uncomfortable and I need to get back to my task ASAP because it needs to be done.

I feel like I’m unravelling my whole personality and realising that even though I got out, they’re still there in me and it kills me.