Second Chances

So, what have I discovered about giving second chances? That's right, boys and girls. I end up getting slapped right in the face.  Why do I even keep bothering? I think that, at this point, I'm some type of masochist.  I must be because I keep doing the same thing over and over again.  Oh wait. Insane. I'm insane.  Einstein's definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results. I am really sick to death of getting the same results. So, guess who's going back into seclusion? Yep. Me.  Sometimes, I think that I am the most difficult person in the world to please.  Other times, I think that I am simple and only need the basics.  Unfortunately, I think that I am neither. I think that I have a strong moral and ethical sense of being and that contradicts about 99% of the world.  Add in the fact that I used to have a strong personality type (before life beat it out of me, right along with being caring and giving and sentimental), then you have a recipe for disaster.  A recipe for being alone the rest of what's left of my life. 
I hate feeling like I have to bow down or feel stupid or say I'm sorry for things that I have a right to feel.  It's ok for other people to feel those things or say those things or mean those things, but me? Nope.  I detest that I have let myself get to the point where I just let people crap on me while I just stand there and take it. 
My job. Geez.  I get crapped on constantly.  I get so sick of that feeling of ALWAYS being wrong.  I screwed myself over, though.  I'm stuck until they fire me.  It's fine. I feel like that's about to happen anyway.  It's only a matter of time before I roll in one day and they say, "We just don't feel like you're a fit anymore."  The battle cry of people who want to give you the ax but don't want to take responsibility for their own crappy messes.
And, to add insult to injury, I'm back on meds for stress and sleep.  I feel like a walking zombie with a screwed up stomach.  I wish that I had just stayed at East and never left there.  At least there, I was a peon. I went in, did my job and went home.  It was stressful.  It was unnerving.  But, it stayed at work.  And I had every other week off.
I am just broken.  I feel like nothing I say, nothing I do, nothing I think is good enough for anyone.  I don't know what purpose God has for me (other than being a mom to the 2 best kids in the entire world), but it would be nice to know what that purpose is because I have grown weary and I want to quit...