#never should have quit my waitress job where i was worked 62 hours a week and only given half my paycheck while my drunk boss yelled at me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brokenprimrose · 7 years

Text

#thefirstyear.

Written By: johnnyrose / ahgarose.

She stared numb at her open laptop at the blank white screen. The word cursor blinked at her. The ends of her French braids were still damp from the sudden surprise downpour 45 minutes ago. 11:51 AM, the clock in the lower right corner read. 62 degrees, 56-degree wind chill. Wet and chilly in October, shouldn't be surprising. Especially in New England. It was still coming down outside the coffee shop where she waited. He was late. A guerilla date and she had been stood up. Glancing back and forth from her screen, to down the street her mind couldn't help but wonder to the tumultuous past year. A dull ache haunted her heart. Married last winter at a courthouse in Ohio, a move to Boston three weeks later, and mere months after that ... the bright future they imagined for themselves began to unravel. They moved to Boston so her newly betrothed could begin his internship at Massachusetts General Hospital. She dropped out of her own studies so she could follow him to Boston and get a part time job as a waitress. It didn't bother her in the least at first.

She loved him. Abruptly, she was pulled from her thoughts as a waiter refilled her coffee cup for the fourth time, “May I get a blueberry muffin please?” “You sure can. I'll be right back.”, he answered with a smile a little too wide. He’s a chipper one, she thought. God, I hope that wasn't me. Though it probably was more than likely. Her first-time waitressing was long and exhausting. Getting use to the fast pace and extremely loud environment of the sports bar near Fenway was almost impossible. Tipped platters, pushy patrons, and the constant spills on her jeans. A particularly rank memory emerged of a half-drunk customer pouring a full glass of a dark hopper beer down her grey polo work shirt. Bringing that entire section of the bar to a silent halt. She quit after that incident. She lasted 22-days.

“It was fucking terrible.”, she whined to her husband. “He laughed right in my god damn face, I might as well be a side of pretzels for the table.” He turned the shower faucet on, “I think you're over reacting.” She snatched the ruined polo-shirt off, “Really? Sniff me. I'm Samuel Adams greatest achievement.” “You work at a sports bar in Boston, what'd you expect?” He added another towel to the wobbling bar on the wall. Kicking her jeans to the side of the bedroom, a bit of off white paint chipped off where the hard button hit. “.. M.I.T. Professors?” He softly chuckled at the sight of her pouting in the doorway. “My underwear smells like yeast.” she leaned into him. Her stomach to his shoulder. “Another way to make muffins.” He teased, snapping the band of her panties with his teeth. Almost mirroring the sound of creaky water pipes behind the walls. She could help but smile. “Here you are ma'am.”, the waiter placed the small plate next to her laptop. “Need anything else, let me know,” his voice about an octave higher than she assumed was normal. 11:55 AM. She sighed, and looked down the drenched sidewalk. No one was dumb to be out in this mess. Except the clowder of rushing students, late for afternoon classes. “I left school for you!” She pinched the bridge of her nose at the sullen memory of one of their many fights. It was like she could physically see time slow down. The blur of the rain outside, the hush of the café inside turning to white noise in her ears. It was their worst.

“And what hurts the most is I don't' even think you care.” The both stood in the kitchen and dining room. Tense. “I took a year off school to get a job to pay the bills. Considering interns get paid in nickels, I thought it was the right call. I thought you’d at least be grateful for that.” They’d been shouting at each other for what seemed like hours. Months of passive aggressiveness finally exploding with a grape scented haze over dinner.

“Oh my god, you don't think I know that?? As if you don't remind me, what the fuck would make you think I’m not? And I never asked you to drop out—”

“I should be studying for my finals right now, not asking people if they’d like a refill—”

“I thought you liked your restaurant! —”

“Not the point!” they yelled over one another.

His voice lowered as leaned against the kitchen counter. “You went to a community college, I doubt your missing anything worth studying anyway.” Her eyes narrowed and cheeks flushed, ignoring the shadow of regret on his face. “You wanna’ say that again?” “Just stop, okay. Every time I talk about the hospital, I see it. You may not say it out loud, but I fucking see it.” They sparred.

“Cut the shit. I like hearing about your work. I like hearing about the new things you’re getting to do. I love the passion you have. Your ambition—drive,” she groaned in frustration. She stood exasperated, cheeks and eyes still chagrin. There was more she wasn’t saying and he knew it. “What?” He asked. His eyes steady, arms firm, and a quivering lip; often occurs in stressful situations. A nervous tick she found adorable under normal circumstances, but now only served to further upset her. She sighed, “When I go to the hospital to see you, you never introduce me to your colleagues, you rush me out of the building—” He interrupted. “Wha—I'm working. You kno—” “I'm not a fucking idiot, I knew what to expect when I married you, and I supported you. I still do.” Her voice was softer. “So, what?” He also spoke softer, his arms relaxed a fraction. “You think I’m embarrassed of you or something?” She said nothing, only shrugged. He studied her. Her eyes shifted, she hugged herself, one hand reached up to tug her ear, “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?” She pressed her lips together. Forbidding herself from having to say it out loud. “Say it,” he pressed. She shook her head. “Jesus Christ—” “I saw.” She pronounced.

“Saw what?” suddenly, she looked up to meet his eyes. “I saw you two together, the on-call room.” He froze. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. “What are you talking about?” He was lying, and she knew.

A crack of thunder brought her back. She could feel a sting in her eyes as she sipped her latte. That part of her life was over, she was determined to not let the devastating feelings of that night drag her backwards. That was over. She had to move on.

11: 57 AM. Ten more minutes. If this guy didn’t show up in another ten minutes she was leaving. Back out into the rain and make a run for the train. She flinched hearing the sky crack in fury. The rain began to come down in sheets completely obscuring any chance of seeing a soul pass by. She took a bite of her muffin and wiped the rock sugar crumbs from her top lip.

The last time she was out of the house in this type of weather was on a Sunday about 9 months ago. Before her marriage fell apart.

She traded the sports bar for a quaint artisanal restaurant not too far from the hospital. It was a quiet place with nice people. She was free to wear her own clothes and managed to waver daytime hours. Every other day she could walk to the hospital during a lunch break and eat with her husband and he’d often show up at the restaurant to see her. Inevitably he’d get a page 911. Him being an intern, every page was a matter of life and death, even if they weren’t always life or death. She didn’t mind when it happened. She had almost a sense of pride knowing her husband was running to save a life.

The only downside was having to see her. They’d never been formally introduced to one another, but she knew enough about her husbands’ colleague. The way she lingered around him just a little too close. The way she’d touch his arm for just a little too long. Laugh just a little too hard, only remove herself just enough when she noticed the wife nearby. She mentioned it to him, “Collins? No, she’s just another intern,” he laughed at the silly accusation.

She believed him. She could always tell when he was lying, he wasn’t.

This Sunday she was planning on surprising him at the hospital with food from her restaurant, but she received a text from him saying he wouldn’t be able to make it. A little disappointed, but not crushed. He’d been on a 48-hour shift already and she understood the need for extended hours in his line of work. She was even a bit thankful he canceled. The rain out was abhorrent. Dark and blinding.

The restaurant was half-full of people who needed a quick escape from the thunderstorm. She was staring out the window at the grey blur of rain when the entrance bell dinged behind her. Her eyes stayed glued to the rain that lashed against the windows, but even from the back of the dining area she could feel the rush of air from outside. A few moments later, she felt pressure on the back of her neck.

Gasping in surprise, she quickly turned around.

The sight before her was amazing. Her husband stood completely soaked as if he took an afternoon swim in the harbor. His hair stuck to his face, raincoat—totally useless—hung defeated against his scrubs that looked glued to his skin, down to his NIKE memory foam sneakers that left a puddle on the wood floor where he stood. She could see what use to be white socks that turned a sad dingy grey through the mesh of the running shoes.

“Oh my god,” she said bringing a hand to her mouth in humor and horror.

He reached inside his coat to his inside pocket and presented a pitiful looking flower. A carnation? Chrysanthemum? Rose? It was difficult to tell. “Sorry I’m late.” As he offered her the flower, the stem snapped. She stifled a laugh. “Oh sweetie, why?”

He shrugged, “Its Wednesday.” She grabbed the small towel from her waist belt and patted dry what she could. “.. and I exceeded my 60-hours apparently, so they forced me home.”

She wiped his forehead, “In this weather?”

He laughed, “It wasn’t raining when I left.”

“Poor baby,” she cooed. He took the towel and she took the flower. She snapped off the bud of the flower and stuck it in her shirt pocket, leaving a large wet spot on her chest. “I’ll order a bisque for you.”

“When’s you break?” he sat at the small table for two she was standing in front of.

“Another half hour. Coffee?”

“Ah, tea please. If I have any more caffeine today my hearts’ gonna’ stop.” He said half joking. He peeled off his rain coat and ran the now soaked towel through his hair. He was as handsome as when they first met. She tapped the lobster bisque and his favorite hibiscus tea on her touchpad as she headed toward the kitchen when she heard the first sneeze behind her. She stopped in her tracks. Crap.

“Robin? Robin?” The barista behind the counter shouted into the coffee shop holding a grande cup and small to-go bag. Although it was clear no one was planning on exiting the shop with the rain outside. There was no longer a Nor’easter out, but it was still coming down hard enough to garner caution. She sat her cup down on the table and mindlessly scrolled through the ESQUIRE website, loitering from her intended studies. The only thing that had her attention now were the happy memories of her marriage. It wasn’t always so grim. They both genuinely loved each other.

He had always been sweet to her. Even in their most heated fights his natural humor kept the situation from escalating further. He was naturally funny, and she loved it. He was always the more romantic of the two. She had her moments, but he had a real talent for it.

He would always come home with her favorite snack, no matter how strapped for cash they were. He was a great cook. When they were both still in school, he’d always be the one to cook dinner. An olive oil and butter pasta dish was her favorite. He loved to snuggle. When he would be at the hospital for overnight shifts, he’d plant small love notes for her to find. In the bread box where she’d grab a morning bagel, or on a random banana she’d find in her bag. She hated bananas, but accepted his. An inside joke between the two. And flowers. Lots of flowers. Just because. The little things he did for her is what she loved the most.

12:00 PM.

She looked around the small shop. There were quite a few couples around. Embarrassed, she couldn’t help but feel a little green in the face that she was still sitting there alone. For almost an hour. The nervous ball in her stomach made her push away the muffin she barely touched. She didn’t handle rejection well. She looked out the window again at the now much gentler rain.

“With this ring, I promise to love you, comfort you, help guide you. I vow to ease your burden. To share your pain, and hold you up when you can’t. With kindness, trust and unconditional love, I take you to be my lawful wedded wife. Through good and bad, sickness and in health. As long as we both shall live.”

Her eyes were closed as she clutched her coffee. A laugh escaped her as she remembered that morning.

She sobbed quietly listening to him recite his vows, and then... Panic. She forgot her own vows.

Another laugh escaped and quickly dissipated. To ease your burden. To share your pain. To ease your burden. To share your pain. She mauled over this. The same man would later bring up the word divorce. They married young, but they weren’t naive to the meaning of marriage. They knew what it meant, and they took it seriously; but life happens; and some things can’t be helped.

His parents were particularly pleased with the news of the annulment. They were never her biggest fans to begin with. Unfortunately stemmed from the fact that they came from different backgrounds. Both financially and ethnically. His parents had a plan for his future she didn’t fit the image for. Luckily the indifference she had for his parents was a mutual feeling that brought them closer together.

12:04 PM. She sighed heavily and shut her laptop. This guy wasn’t coming. She huffed as she shoved her computer into its case and pushed her physics notes in there with it. The rain softened to a pitter-patter. She should leave now before it started storming again.

As she was shoving her things in her bag, a shadow fell over her table. She looked up.

She felt a strong sense of déjà vu looking at him standing in front of her. His wet hair tousled and a smile, almost shy. A mirror of the day they first met.

“Excuse me?” She looked up from her text book to see a brown-haired, brown-eyed, very good-looking guy teetering in front of her. “May I sit here?” he asked.

She looked around the Starbucks connected to the Barnes &. Noble. It was basically empty besides three other customers. The comforting sound of the rain on the windows and the clanking of coffee pots behind the counter created a soundtrack to the meeting.

Confused, she looked at him again and noticed he was wet from the rain outside. He had a small smile on his lips. Shy, but not quite. For some reason, she found the stranger endearing. The brightness behind his eyes seemed almost mischievous. There was a magnetic pull in her gut. “Sure.” She answered in a small voice. He smiled a beautiful smile, and just like that, she was already swept away. It’s a difficult thing to explain. How do you explain such a personal connection upon a single look of a stranger?

She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear and gestured to the seat across from her. He felt a sense of accomplishment as he sat down. He had seen her around the Town-Centre a total of three times that day, but she’d disappear in a blink. He saw an off-white knee-length sweater at the corner of his eye as he was walking past, he knew it was the girl, and walked right in. Trading his evening biochemistry class for a chance to say hello to a beautiful stranger.

“Sorry I’m late,” her husband said landing a soft kiss on her cheek. She giggled to herself at the all too familiar sight of him drenched from head to toe.

“Took you long enough, I was about to leave.” She took another sip of her drink in relief. He took the empty seat across from her.

“Did you not see the monsoon outside?” She was suppressing a smile as she slid the napkin dispenser towards him. Not much good the paper napkins would do. It would be attempting to dry a large husky with a cotton pad.

“—I resented you. Not—” she paused, looking to clarify. “I was jealous. I am jealous. You’re.. you, doing incredible things. You’re going be a pediatric surgeon, and me? I’m still asking people if they have enough ketchup.” She saw the look of remorse in his eyes and quickly continued, “I don’t regret moving here. I really don’t. I’m so proud of you. It just felt like you were off accomplishing these great things without me. I’d see you with the other interns, everything’s’ so important. I mean of course it is, it’s a hospital,” she chuckled to herself absently. “I’m waiting for my turn.”

“But you don’t have to wait.” There was a small pause. “About Jennifer.”

“Who?” she asked confused.

“Collins.”

“I thought Collins was her first name.”

“No, it’s Jennifer.”

“Oh. You don’t need to—”

“I never had sex with her.” It was silent. “I never touched her.” He repeated. She inhaled sharply. She could always tell when he was lying, he wasn’t. “I thought we were exaggerating when you said she was interested in me. It honestly never crossed my mind that she would be.

“What you saw that day, she kissed me. We were in records looking for a diagnosis for a patient. We just diagnosed a patient successfully and we both won the chance to assist in a surgery, and she went in for the kill. Normally when I do notice her flirting, I would just end it quickly by talking about you. No different from normal conversations with me honestly,” he laughed, “I always talk about you. They hate me for it.” He smiled thinking about the bored expressions on the other interns faces when he gushed about his wife. He had become that guy. “But I would be lying if I said I did everything I could to stop it,” he continued.

He sighed and paused for a second and looked at the crack in the ceiling above the bed. She laid next to him with the sheet up to her chest covering up the evidence of their make-up. “I was..” he chose his words carefully, “I was flattered.

“I spent my entire college life in books, I didn’t experience much in high school. So, when women flirt.” the corners of his mouth turned, “I’m needy.” He said in a pathetic voice, and with instant regret when he saw her close her eyes in the darkness. It wasn’t the right moment for humor. There was still so much that laid in between them. “It’s no excuse at all, but I’m not always smart. Clearly,” he looked for a way to express his feelings, but couldn’t, “I’m a fucking idiot okay. I have no idea what the hell to do—how to say it. I knew better. I fucking knew better than to encourage it, but we were fighting. All the time.”

He ran his hands over his face, trying to erase what happened. “The biggest mistake I made, was bringing up the word divorce.” He looked at her, “that’s my biggest regret.” Images of their separation flashed between them. Her in the bedroom, him on the couch. Both in the kitchen unacknowledging of each other. Late nights of dinner alone. Nights when they would both lie awake for hours staring at their respective ceilings. The divorce lawyer sliding annulment papers across the thick wood table.

His breath hitched in his throat as he tried to control his emotions that were becoming more and more erratic. “I am so sorry.” He sat up and leaned over his wife and looked her straight in her eyes.

Even in the dark she could see them. She could always tell when he was lying. He wasn’t.

“You hurt me.” She said finally.

“I know. You hurt me too.”

“..I know.” It was hard for her to admit, but she knew she wasn’t exactly innocent. Things she did didn’t make an already devastating situation any easier. Whether it be picking meaningless fights, pushing her own insecurities onto him, intentionally or not, or flaunting another guy in front of him to see him hurt the way he hurt her. Something she deeply ashamed of. He was even more sensitive than she was. She knew how something like that would affect him. “I’m sorry.” She choked through silent tears.

He wiped away at the corner of her eye as one fell from his. He as he laid back down, he brought her to his chest. A few minutes passed in silence, “So what do we do now? I, um,” she rubbed her nose and continued, “I got a voicemail from your lawyer the other day... You signed.”

A minute passed before he confirmed. “I got a call from my lawyer too. He congratulated me on my new-found freedom,” he spouted the last sentence in unintentional bitterness. “What?” he asked when he felt her muffled laughter. “What’s funny?”

She laughed harder. “Did you see the manila envelope on the coffee table?” He hadn’t. With the ferocity of their earlier screaming match that turned into a passionate ‘lovers reconcile’. “I sent mine in, but they were sent back.” She laughed more. “I forgot to sign it.”

He was stunned. “We’re still married?”

“We’re still married.” She parroted in giggles. “Oh god, your mothers’ gonna’ be pissed.” His own laughter rocked the bed.

A large cup of tea was sat in front of her husband by the chipper waiter, along with a chorizo-egg sandwich. Her anxiety finally eased, she watched him eat as she sipped her brew. She felt happy. Content in this moment. The shadow that was their first year of marriage was a large one. Difficult to ignore. But she didn’t think they should ignore it. Not completely. If she had to go through this first year all over again, she would. To arrive at the place, they were now in this coffee shop. She wouldn’t change a thing.

She was about to have another bite of her muffin, and she noticed a small bird chirping on the window sill near to her hand.

Oh? The rain stopped? She thought to herself.

She was still looking up at the dark clouds over head when—

“—Achoo!” he sneezed.

She froze in her seat. Crap.

12:08 PM.

+ Thanks for reading. <3

“Blue Ocean Floor” “Mirror” “Another Song” “Not A Bad Thing”

— Justin Timberlake

#thefirstyear #writing contest #short story #romance

1 note · View note

mavwrekmarketing · 7 years

Link

Image copyright Raluca Enescu

Three million citizens of other European Union countries live in the UK. Many never sought British citizenship because they never imagined Brexit would happen. Now that it is happening, how do they feel about a general election dominated by Brexit, in which they cannot vote?

‘I desperately wish I could vote’

Romanian citizen Raluca Enescu, 27, lives in south London

On Facebook, people were talking about the election. I said: “I’m an immigrant, I have no right to vote. If there are any people who are too disgusted to vote, please vote for me.” So I now have a guy in Manchester who will vote on my behalf.

A lot of people are complaining immigrants are not integrated into society. But political participation is part of being integrated, isn’t it?

It does mean a lot for me that I’m disqualified from voting. I have no idea how my status in the UK will change as a result of the referendum. I’m one of those people who is facing uncertainty about whether I will be able to secure permanent residency or not.

I came here as a Masters student about five years ago. I think I chose the university rather than London – the London School of Economics had the best programme in my field. But I settled in right away. I met my friends, my boyfriend, and I work in public health policy.

Now, I don’t have the same sense of loyalty to this country that I used to have. If I hadn’t met my boyfriend I might have already moved somewhere else. London feels very sympathetic, but smaller, monocultural towns are not safe places to be immigrants.

EU migrants didn’t vote in the referendum either. I feel like this whole situation has happened because of how disenfranchised immigrants are. The person who has been given the biggest voice and listened to the most is the small-town working-class person who doesn’t like immigration.

I remember feeling angry when Russell Brand was saying: “I can’t be bothered voting.” As someone who couldn’t vote, I desperately wished I could.

‘I feel like a second-class citizen’

Polish-born Michal Siewniak, 37, lives in Watford, Hertfordshire

I remember well, as a child growing up during communism, when my parents were not able to freely cast their vote. I was 10 when the Berlin Wall collapsed. I remember my parents then being able to express their views in the democratic process.

So for me, not being able to vote is like going back 20 years.

I was proud to vote in the council elections. I must admit that I love doing it. But I won’t be able to vote in the general election. As a local activist and former councillor, I now wonder, will I be able to vote again, or stand in the local elections, when the UK leaves the EU?

Voting, standing in any elections – local or national – is such an important part of being a fully integrated part of any society. So I do feel like a second-class citizen. I’m seen as a burden and my contribution is not recognised.

I’ve been here 12 years. I have a life here. My kids, aged 11, eight and two, go to school here. Working in the charity sector, I do my best to help others to integrate.

We know that we are leaving the EU. The fact that we are leaving gives me and my family uncertainty. I am worried that many EU citizens, who come here for good reasons, will face discrimination in all walks of life just because of where we come from and irrespective of what we bring.

There was a lot of hate crime last year. People felt ignored and expressed their frustration in an unpleasant way. A friend of mine opened a Polish restaurant and it was vandalised.

I know people are concerned about immigration. I read in the newspaper the other day that in Boston the number of migrants was up 460% and that has changed the local community. I’m not surprised people are upset.

But migrants are here to work. If British people don’t want to do fruit-picking jobs, who’s going to do them? They aren’t coming here because they want to take jobs away from British people. There’s a demand.

I want to have a platform to raise my concerns. I also hope that the prime minister will recognise that many EU nationals in the UK are keen not only to work in Britain, but also to shape the future of this country by being part of the political process.

‘British people’s opinions should be prioritised’

Mirjam Kaerma, 22, originally from Estonia, is a music technology student in Cardiff

In some ways I can understand why British people want to leave. The EU used to be all about free movement of goods, services and people – these are positive things. But the EU has become more and more controlling. You can’t elect commissioners so they are untouchable. If I look at it from my own country’s perspective, I see how laws are forced on Estonia. So I think the UK should try to negotiate a better deal – for example, follow a similar path to Norway, staying a member of the single market.

I think most British people are tolerant and are OK with immigrants who offer some sort of value to the system. Talent is always valued and with British people it’s always easy to make friends.

What annoys people is immigrants who are disrespectful towards their country’s culture, laws and customs. I think if you don’t like these then you should go back to your home country or move on to somewhere else.

I moved here in 2014 to study and experience the UK’s culture. As an international EU student I am not eligible for a student loan for living costs. Nevertheless, I am able to support myself by working in a hotel as a waitress and giving piano lessons because free movement includes the right to work. Also, last summer I set up a business with my two sisters and my brother, making healthy refreshment drinks based on birch sap.

At the moment, the business is based in Estonia and our idea is to bring it to the UK.

However, Brexit really makes us think twice. How would we be able to sustain the business if Brexit happens without a deal? It might be hard for us.

It’s quite frustrating not being able to vote, especially if you like being here and you are helping the economy to grow.

Of course, British people’s opinions should be prioritised as this is their home, after all. Maybe there should be a separate vote for British people at the general election and another for the EU citizens who live here. I think it’s very important their opinions are heard – as well as those of British people who live in EU countries, what about their opinions?

‘I haven’t come here to steal someone else’s job’

Italian Maria Iacuzio, 45, Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey

I had a good job back in Italy but I left it for love.

I studied at Reading University, then I went back to work in Florence and Milan. But I kept in touch with John, who would later become my husband.

We had a long talk. Because my English is good and my husband’s Italian is not we moved here. I have been here 19 years.

It wasn’t easy – I have all my family there. If I had known that England would come out of the EU maybe me and my husband would have made a different decision. We feel betrayed.

After 19 years I’ve not got the right to vote. It’s very frustrating.

So I talk to people. It’s the only thing that’s in my power. I try to make the British people aware of what it’s like for us, because they are not aware. They don’t know how hard it is just to put all the documents together for the permanent residency card.

My children are worrying about what will happen to me. They are bilingual, aged 10 and nine. They understand what’s going on, especially after the referendum. They ask: “Mummy, are you going back to Italy?” They go to a Catholic school, there are a lot of Polish parents there. Lots of children there are worried about their parents too.

I haven’t come here to steal someone else’s job. I teach Italian. Who’s going to do my job better than me?

There’s many English people who feel frustrated and want to come out of the EU. You can want to come out but why are you trying to affect people that have been here and have been producing for the country? We haven’t done anything wrong. We have just followed the rules of the country.

‘I live in fear of what’s in store for me’

Finnish Ari Luukkonen, 50, lives in Manchester

I have been with my British boyfriend for 12 years. He suffers from a terminal illness called COPD and I am his carer.

I’m doing the job of three nurses who would have to look after my partner 24 hours a day if I left. I’m doing that job for 62 a week.

Before I became a carer I worked hard in this country and paid my taxes. I’ve been living here for 16 years.

I’m quite an outgoing person, but recently I have stopped talking to strangers in the pub because my accent always gives me away and people ask where I’m from.

I get weird looks and occasionally a comment like: “Why don’t you just go back to your own country?”

At the moment I live in fear of what’s in store for me in the future – deportation perhaps, because the government isn’t telling us what their plans are concerning EU immigrants. Furthermore, I feel more vulnerable because of the fact that I am only a carer.

I, like the other three million EU immigrants, didn’t have a vote in the referendum. I can vote in local elections but not in national elections. It’s frustrating because I can’t get my voice heard. I’ve been living here for 16 years and I still can’t do anything.

The only thing I can do is be more vocal on social media. I can get other friends to see my point of view.

I’m applying for permanent residency. It’s really, really difficult because I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. And I still need to look after my partner. What’s going to happen to him?

As told to Jon Kelly

Join the conversation – find us on Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat and Twitter.