ONCE YOU KNOW A THING, YOU KNOW IT. For a while, after I’d given up the wardrobe, the screaming stopped. However, in the spring of 1989, as I again took up my pursuit of Allen and developed a new wardrobe plan, using different colors, of course, the screaming started again and has never let up!
A few months later, after suffering through three more months of that constant pornographic howling, I was transferred to a new drilling group – The Western Gulf of Mexico Group. Since the Central Group of Mexico Group was the premiere drilling group, I was essentially demoted.
Before being transferred, my supervisor in the CGOM had informed me that I was falling behind in my work and that the work I was doing, was sub-par and not up to the new work standards.
I didn’t necessarily disagree with her. But because of my embarrassment over the sexual harassing comments being screamed at me by ‘The Voices’, I’d stopped attending training classes and had fallen behind in learning the new computer systems. (My Stalking Blog – Fear). The only time I left the twenty-first floor, during a workday was at lunchtime, and then only to go for a solitary walk at the Superdome.
Add to that, the guys in my work group were all given those new desk top computers and were learning how to type their own drilling programs and send their business correspondence via email. I was told they no longer needed my help in those areas. I was to answer phones and concentrate on my training duties. I was also given a new office and the seldom used end of the hall.
A few months after being transferred to the new group, I was called into my new supervisor’s office for an unscheduled performance review. He told me that lately I seemed distracted by unseen forces. And that he’d also noted that I was having trouble performing even the most basic of tasks correctly. Couple that with the sub-par review I’d received from my old supervisor, I should not count on receiving my yearly raise.
He recommended EHAP counseling to get my mind back on track. I refused! I knew my mind and myself. And ‘The Voices’ were NOT of my imagination, and I wasn’t going to allow anyone – not even the best psychiatrist Exxon could afford – to tell me otherwise.