I am a polymath, a scanner, a renaissance soul.
It means I have not, and likely will not, settle on one career path. I sample at the tapas of life's dinner table.
The great thing is that because I've done a lot, I can do a lot.
But it means that once I've found a niche and I am no longer challenged, I grow bored and listless.
Now imagine that with the looming threat of occasional bouts of depression on the horizon: the lingering laziness and stolen motivation, where even changing from dressing gown to daytime outfit seems daunting.
It means that while I'd like a role where I can constantly be challenged and feel like I'm worth my salt, I know my eventual limitations when the inevitable knocks on the door. The inconsistency of it means it's challenging to navigate. I could fly in my work, and my life, for months with nary a bump in the road, but at some point in the future the black dog invites himself home again, for some undeterminable amount of time.
It's things like this that draw me to factory work. The repetitive mindlessness of it all; it appeals to the safety-seeking moments when I need nothing else but steady work to pay the bills.
But when the days clear up again. I seek challenge and conquest.
I am becoming very good at playing dodgeball in this life.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Thursday, June 1, 2017
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
long time between drinks
I remember the last time I was about to write here, it had already been quite a while between posts.
Ironically, the reason I never got around to writing that positivity-filled post updating you all on my world is because suddenly the fragility of it all became apparent and the mind-world crumbled for a few days or a week and my motivation to check in subsequently died.
And here I am, between smooth sailing once again; caught in the shifting of tectonic plates as I try to calm my racing thoughts and stay grounded amongst my erratic emotions. Right now I am a little down. Winter is officially here and I'm cold and tired and it doesn't help things. I sit with a mindful smile and try to keep the negativity from sinking in.
This the most important part: knowing that how I feel right now is but temporary.
It too shall pass.
This is just a wave and I will ride it out.
It's a long way from where I started. And I guess that's something to be proud of in itself.
On that note, I will update you on one thing: I recently just passed my first year of working in a steady job. That's a big accomplishment for me in recent days. I am lucky. I have good people around me and am part of an understanding team there.
Customer service is involved too. Who'd have thunk it? Me back in the saddle.
So I guess amongst these dreary feelings I nurture a small flame against the wind. It is a tiny, ember of hope and pride and sanity. I am stronger than I ever suspected.
Ironically, the reason I never got around to writing that positivity-filled post updating you all on my world is because suddenly the fragility of it all became apparent and the mind-world crumbled for a few days or a week and my motivation to check in subsequently died.
And here I am, between smooth sailing once again; caught in the shifting of tectonic plates as I try to calm my racing thoughts and stay grounded amongst my erratic emotions. Right now I am a little down. Winter is officially here and I'm cold and tired and it doesn't help things. I sit with a mindful smile and try to keep the negativity from sinking in.
This the most important part: knowing that how I feel right now is but temporary.
It too shall pass.
This is just a wave and I will ride it out.
It's a long way from where I started. And I guess that's something to be proud of in itself.
On that note, I will update you on one thing: I recently just passed my first year of working in a steady job. That's a big accomplishment for me in recent days. I am lucky. I have good people around me and am part of an understanding team there.
Customer service is involved too. Who'd have thunk it? Me back in the saddle.
So I guess amongst these dreary feelings I nurture a small flame against the wind. It is a tiny, ember of hope and pride and sanity. I am stronger than I ever suspected.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
My Black Dog
It's been a few months since I've been motivated enough to write here. Even my personal diary hasn't seen a pen for a while.
A quick recap before I get into the flow of what I want to write about.
In the past 3 months:
So that pretty much brings you up to speed.
The weather is slowly turning Springward. I have been feeling the winter a lot more than usual this year: trouble getting and keeping warm, more joint pain than usual, and the to-be-expected Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Today I took the day off work due to a few reasons; my hip is very sore and I need to see my chiro again, plus I had a rough night with a lot of tears and a foot through the wall, plus my partner has had some bad news regarding one of her clients at her work also. So we've declared ourselves unfit for anything too taxing today.
She currently has a workmate over and they are enjoying a cup of tea in the almost-spring weather, talking about the unfortunate events. I took it as a good opportunity to gather my thoughts here, since I was overdue.
When I started working again, we made a game plan. It involved who was responsible for which bills and financial obligations, whilst also outlining what self-care measures we each must apply ourselves to. Mine were to continue to see my chiro, GP and psych, as well as trialling medication to improve my moods and mental state. Aside from the chiro visits, which were on hiatus while I predominantly relied on public transport, I have been keeping up my end of the bargain.
I have never taken anti-depressants before. I was agreeable enough to start taking birth-control pills to counter the PMDD symptoms brought on by my menstrual cycle, but I have been resistant to anti-depressants for as long as I have known about them.
If you had asked me a year ago what I thought was 'wrong with me' I would have listed PMDD, then Social Anxiety, then Anxiety, but I would have bitten your head off if you included Depression in the suggestions.
I was/am swamped in self-stigma about Depression.
"No, I DON'T have Depression"
"I'm just tired/sore"
"I was fine until *insert reason here*"
Depression, in my mind, was/is the unkempt, dressing-gown draped, sad-and-sorry moocher who sits on the couch and watches TV all day. 'Every second person has fucking Depression. I don't have that!' I would spit the word out, as if it were a sour dob of snot on my tongue. My denial would/does frustrate me into a rage, lashing out at the label, fighting with all my strength against being associated with the pathetic images of Depression my brain held.
At the same time, I was ignoring every other day that I had spent in my pyjamas eating biscuits on the couch, staring blankly at the television watching movie after movie after movie. I was raging against an image I was filling nigh perfectly.
Some days are better than others, like the adventures in Depression themselves. Some days I exhaust myself into a sullen acceptance, and I retrospectively recognise all the signs from the past 15 years that undeniably pointed to the black dog* but I had looked the other way. My first clear memory of being depressed I was about 12 or 13, but I'm sure it even pre-dates that.
I came up with a story to cover my inexplicable 'down days' growing up in a close-knit school: Someone had died, it was the birthday of a lost loved one, I had a cold, I didn't sleep well, etc etc etc. I knew that if I just said 'I'm feeling a bit down' the next question would be 'why?'... and I didn't have an honest answer. I knew that was crazy, to be sad for no reason.
Other days I lock myself up, numbing out everyone around me as much as I dared. I kept up the facades to friends and family, so that they wouldn't pry. It's something I've noticed a lot since those years: my motivation for keeping it together was/is simply to avoid all the probing questions that would follow if I didn't.
I ruefully chuckle, even now, and think "What a reason! The only reason I don't snap completely is because I don't want to have to deal with the aftermath? Meaning, were there no aftermath, I would let myself go entirely?"
It's a sad realisation, to know that you're only passing for okay because you're not committed enough to the crazy label.
I feel like I'm in a painful purgatory. The good days taunt me with the possibility that this could be a reality: a happy, normal life, I'm capable of so much. Then the bad days swamp me and my brain laughs at having imagined anything so foolish.
The anti-depressants aren't working, and I go back to the doctor in a few days to discuss another option. They are actually making me worse. I have been lower in these last few months, on these pills supposedly designed to do the opposite, than I have ever managed by myself. I had been reluctant, but had been swayed into giving them a try, if nothing else, to at least write off the possibility that this could be what I need to feel better.
It's horrible, to have to feel so bad before you can say with certainty 'I knew this wasn't the answer.'
I had rebelled against them for so long, and the possibility that I may indeed need them, and now that I had finally been convinced by my partner and my health team to give them a try, they turn out to exactly as I had anticipated: a waste of time, a waste of money, and filling my body and brain with chemicals that alter me.
I have seen too many people I know and love become completely different people whilst taking medications and it had frightened me to think the same could happen to me... and yet here I am, on the end of a 3 month rollercoaster involving meds and withdrawals and moods like any crooked ferris wheel.
I tell myself to snap out of it. The stigma and my self-talk get together and tell me that I'm just weak, and a normal person wouldn't be reacted to the things I do the way that I do. It doesn't matter what anyone else says to me to make me feel better, my spinning thoughts command my attention far more than any outside voice.
My partner tries to help, but her voice simply adds to the constant noise in my head and I am quickly overwhelmed and get snappy. All I want anyone to do is to hug me, regardless of what good advice/intentions they may have.
I am an audience of one to a very loud disharmony. Like trying to listen to a live band play a song while wearing headphone that are playing a different genre of music entirely. The constant duality is tiring, and it's hard to explain thoroughly because no one hears it but me. The word 'hear' doesn't even seem to fit because it's not how I imagine hearing voices to be, just thoughts. Like when you get used to playing a particular album, and you expect the next song before it even starts playing, so much so that your brain actually starts playing it in your head... and then something else starts playing because this is a mix-tape not your favourite album, and for a moment you get confused because your brain is singing one song and your ears are hearing another.
Sigh.
And this is where the exhaustion settles in.
I'm tired of explaining myself, tired of trying to find the magic formula to 'get well', tired of labels, of justifications and explanations, of the black dog and all his friends. I'm tired of battling myself like I have these nearly-two decades.
I forget what my initial point was. Or if I had one.
For now I will simply leave you with the hardest words I have ever spoken:
I have Depression.
Black Dog Institute - What is Depression?
A quick recap before I get into the flow of what I want to write about.
In the past 3 months:
- I got the job I was interviewed for last time we spoke. My manager is nice and they are flexible with my hours, since sometimes of late I haven't been up to working (more on that later). The work is simple and repetitive. I excel in the tasks, to the point that it irks me somewhat because I see a lot of coworkers doing the same thing alongside me, but sacrificing good results for speed. It's frustrating to see products going out the door that are woefully put together, yet I've been passive-aggressively told I'm too slow. Sigh. Well, screw you. At least I can see the art in what I'm doing, and I will never be dragged over the coals for creating something sub-standard.
- My second shift in, I was carpooling a workmate and I home when a man using his mobile phone rear ended my car and shoved us into the back of the car in front of us. My car was a write-off, and after much back-and-forth between the insurance company and myself, I have finally only now bought myself an acceptable second-hand car.
- I started anti-depressants, which is much of the reason I will rant later in this post. I have tried 2 variants of pain-killer/anti-depressant drugs, and aside from having my joint pain reduced I am not thrilled with the results.
- I enrolled in an online course studying Training & Education. It's a field I've been curious about for a while now so with my leftover dollars from the purchase of my new car, I signed myself up to an at-your-own-pace 12month run. The 6month course was cheaper, but I'm a realist. I'm probably already behind schedule.
So that pretty much brings you up to speed.
The weather is slowly turning Springward. I have been feeling the winter a lot more than usual this year: trouble getting and keeping warm, more joint pain than usual, and the to-be-expected Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Today I took the day off work due to a few reasons; my hip is very sore and I need to see my chiro again, plus I had a rough night with a lot of tears and a foot through the wall, plus my partner has had some bad news regarding one of her clients at her work also. So we've declared ourselves unfit for anything too taxing today.
She currently has a workmate over and they are enjoying a cup of tea in the almost-spring weather, talking about the unfortunate events. I took it as a good opportunity to gather my thoughts here, since I was overdue.
When I started working again, we made a game plan. It involved who was responsible for which bills and financial obligations, whilst also outlining what self-care measures we each must apply ourselves to. Mine were to continue to see my chiro, GP and psych, as well as trialling medication to improve my moods and mental state. Aside from the chiro visits, which were on hiatus while I predominantly relied on public transport, I have been keeping up my end of the bargain.
I have never taken anti-depressants before. I was agreeable enough to start taking birth-control pills to counter the PMDD symptoms brought on by my menstrual cycle, but I have been resistant to anti-depressants for as long as I have known about them.
If you had asked me a year ago what I thought was 'wrong with me' I would have listed PMDD, then Social Anxiety, then Anxiety, but I would have bitten your head off if you included Depression in the suggestions.
I was/am swamped in self-stigma about Depression.
"No, I DON'T have Depression"
"I'm just tired/sore"
"I was fine until *insert reason here*"
Depression, in my mind, was/is the unkempt, dressing-gown draped, sad-and-sorry moocher who sits on the couch and watches TV all day. 'Every second person has fucking Depression. I don't have that!' I would spit the word out, as if it were a sour dob of snot on my tongue. My denial would/does frustrate me into a rage, lashing out at the label, fighting with all my strength against being associated with the pathetic images of Depression my brain held.
At the same time, I was ignoring every other day that I had spent in my pyjamas eating biscuits on the couch, staring blankly at the television watching movie after movie after movie. I was raging against an image I was filling nigh perfectly.
Some days are better than others, like the adventures in Depression themselves. Some days I exhaust myself into a sullen acceptance, and I retrospectively recognise all the signs from the past 15 years that undeniably pointed to the black dog* but I had looked the other way. My first clear memory of being depressed I was about 12 or 13, but I'm sure it even pre-dates that.
I came up with a story to cover my inexplicable 'down days' growing up in a close-knit school: Someone had died, it was the birthday of a lost loved one, I had a cold, I didn't sleep well, etc etc etc. I knew that if I just said 'I'm feeling a bit down' the next question would be 'why?'... and I didn't have an honest answer. I knew that was crazy, to be sad for no reason.
Other days I lock myself up, numbing out everyone around me as much as I dared. I kept up the facades to friends and family, so that they wouldn't pry. It's something I've noticed a lot since those years: my motivation for keeping it together was/is simply to avoid all the probing questions that would follow if I didn't.
I ruefully chuckle, even now, and think "What a reason! The only reason I don't snap completely is because I don't want to have to deal with the aftermath? Meaning, were there no aftermath, I would let myself go entirely?"
It's a sad realisation, to know that you're only passing for okay because you're not committed enough to the crazy label.
I feel like I'm in a painful purgatory. The good days taunt me with the possibility that this could be a reality: a happy, normal life, I'm capable of so much. Then the bad days swamp me and my brain laughs at having imagined anything so foolish.
The anti-depressants aren't working, and I go back to the doctor in a few days to discuss another option. They are actually making me worse. I have been lower in these last few months, on these pills supposedly designed to do the opposite, than I have ever managed by myself. I had been reluctant, but had been swayed into giving them a try, if nothing else, to at least write off the possibility that this could be what I need to feel better.
It's horrible, to have to feel so bad before you can say with certainty 'I knew this wasn't the answer.'
I had rebelled against them for so long, and the possibility that I may indeed need them, and now that I had finally been convinced by my partner and my health team to give them a try, they turn out to exactly as I had anticipated: a waste of time, a waste of money, and filling my body and brain with chemicals that alter me.
I have seen too many people I know and love become completely different people whilst taking medications and it had frightened me to think the same could happen to me... and yet here I am, on the end of a 3 month rollercoaster involving meds and withdrawals and moods like any crooked ferris wheel.
I tell myself to snap out of it. The stigma and my self-talk get together and tell me that I'm just weak, and a normal person wouldn't be reacted to the things I do the way that I do. It doesn't matter what anyone else says to me to make me feel better, my spinning thoughts command my attention far more than any outside voice.
My partner tries to help, but her voice simply adds to the constant noise in my head and I am quickly overwhelmed and get snappy. All I want anyone to do is to hug me, regardless of what good advice/intentions they may have.
I am an audience of one to a very loud disharmony. Like trying to listen to a live band play a song while wearing headphone that are playing a different genre of music entirely. The constant duality is tiring, and it's hard to explain thoroughly because no one hears it but me. The word 'hear' doesn't even seem to fit because it's not how I imagine hearing voices to be, just thoughts. Like when you get used to playing a particular album, and you expect the next song before it even starts playing, so much so that your brain actually starts playing it in your head... and then something else starts playing because this is a mix-tape not your favourite album, and for a moment you get confused because your brain is singing one song and your ears are hearing another.
Sigh.
And this is where the exhaustion settles in.
I'm tired of explaining myself, tired of trying to find the magic formula to 'get well', tired of labels, of justifications and explanations, of the black dog and all his friends. I'm tired of battling myself like I have these nearly-two decades.
I forget what my initial point was. Or if I had one.
For now I will simply leave you with the hardest words I have ever spoken:
I have Depression.
Black Dog Institute - What is Depression?
Monday, May 12, 2014
A booster (and thoughts on work/working)
I'm happy to report that between my lovely campy weekend which, as you may've read in the post prior, I enjoyed greatly, and being invited to a group info session and subsequent individual interview for a new factory/store opening in town: my self-esteem, and consequently my mood, have improved greatly.
My girlfriend has noticed it too. This week I've been more like myself and less like the angry Hulk monster that comes out at the slightest provocation, simply because I'm over all the stress and the worry. It's good to feel like I'm back in my own skin again.
The mix of having some time away from the house, which my comfort-zone and finances can sometimes trap me within, and feeling like a company is wow'd by me and thinks they'd be stupid not to ask me onboard - yes, I really am that cocky that in a few days I will have a job offer - has been a much welcome change of pace.
Even if I don't get the job (another processing factory style which I do enjoy), I won't mind toooooo much. I'll be surprised yes, as so far they seem thrilled with my application, but really what I'm enjoying right now is simply the feeling of being (highly) considered. I know that for the right roles, when they're available, once I get to the interview stage I can all but walk into a job. But the challenge over the past year has been getting to that interview stage. I haven't changed much in my jobseeking or even application process/approach. I think it's just a horribly accurate demonstration of the job drought right now. Remember, I was looking for different work before I even left the call centre. That means 18(ish) months of barely anything more than a sporadic booking.
I couldn't keep up the brand ambassador stuff long term. It was almost the same vein as what I was trying to leave - high customer interactions; face-to-face this time making it worse for my anxiety. I occasionally pick up bits and pieces with them still, but it's very low key stuff.
I was offered a role a few months ago (I was one of 2 people chosen from about 20) but it was practically starting a franchise and I had absolutely zero money to spare to even start up (or even hire a lawyer to look over my textbook-length franchisee contract). It wasn't going to be good for my stress and money-worries, but it was certainly a healthy boost to my ego to even be offered.
The role I'm going for at the moment is mostly back-of-house, with (quite literally) a window to front-of-house operations. One of the nice fellows informally asked why I didn't go for a more retail role given my natural exuberant personality. I gave a half-answer, since I was around people I didn't know. I'll go into more detail when I have my one-on-one with them. But basically, the bottom line is that I am not sustainable when dealing with customers constantly. I can entertain them, I can educate them, and I can give them a great experience... but I can't do shift after shift of the 'service' part of Customer Service.
I blame my time working at a casino dealing cards, where 98% of customer interactions are negative. It has nothing to do with whether you're a good worker or a friendly person or a nice employee - there's something about casino customers that destroys your soul, like they don't have one of their own so they need to feed on yours. This is at any casino, not just my local. I've seen it in every one I've been to on holiday, or heard about from others. Career gamblers are, typically speaking, not a friendly breed.
To add insult to injury, most of the time your superiors will take the customer's side in a disagreement to save face and to keep money coming in. Basically, you're devalued right in front of your customer... and then you have to keep serving them until they leave or until you are relieved from that table.
Fun, huh?
So if you ever want a reason why I have moments where even a simple customer request can seem like the straw on the camel's back? I'd say my time there is amongst the top ten. Not quite PTSD, but enough to make me want to avoid high level customer service. I'd rather focus on quality, not quantity. Again, Customer 'Experience', not Customer 'Service'.
What sucks is that my resume basically screams that I can do such service roles with my eyes closed. And I could.... for a few weeks or months. But eventually the stress will slowly grind me down.
And here is where my loooooong time of looking for proper work drags out: a resume saying I'm suited most to one field, and me trying to apply for another. If I delete certain jobs from the work-history/experience section, I have empty years in my CV with no explanation. So the only thing I can do is/was to try and put a relevant spin on them. "I've done this high-level customer service role for X years, so you know I'm fab with my communication skills... wouldn't that be handy when you hire me? We'll be able to... y'know... talk n' stuff."
Sigh.
So now I wait, and enjoy the long-lost feeling of confidence.
It's like having an old cocktail you haven't tasted in years. You used to have it so often but then your favourite bar stopped serving them. Suddenly you come upon a place that does them again! You order one and you sink into a comfy lounge, listen to the background music, close your eyes, and sip your drink, and feel the tasty warmth travel through you.
For now, that is more than enough. It's what I've needed the most, beside the job itself.
Even if this role doesn't come to fruition, the confidence boost will carry me to the next one.
I'm tiring of that part of my brain telling me that I'm a bit useless. Times like these are a very welcome reminder from the outside world that this is not the case. It's easy to begin doubting your own positive self talk, or that of your immediate support circle when it's all you've had for a while. You almost acquire a routine response in your mind: "Yeah, but you're supposed to say that."
My girlfriend has noticed it too. This week I've been more like myself and less like the angry Hulk monster that comes out at the slightest provocation, simply because I'm over all the stress and the worry. It's good to feel like I'm back in my own skin again.
The mix of having some time away from the house, which my comfort-zone and finances can sometimes trap me within, and feeling like a company is wow'd by me and thinks they'd be stupid not to ask me onboard - yes, I really am that cocky that in a few days I will have a job offer - has been a much welcome change of pace.
Even if I don't get the job (another processing factory style which I do enjoy), I won't mind toooooo much. I'll be surprised yes, as so far they seem thrilled with my application, but really what I'm enjoying right now is simply the feeling of being (highly) considered. I know that for the right roles, when they're available, once I get to the interview stage I can all but walk into a job. But the challenge over the past year has been getting to that interview stage. I haven't changed much in my jobseeking or even application process/approach. I think it's just a horribly accurate demonstration of the job drought right now. Remember, I was looking for different work before I even left the call centre. That means 18(ish) months of barely anything more than a sporadic booking.
I couldn't keep up the brand ambassador stuff long term. It was almost the same vein as what I was trying to leave - high customer interactions; face-to-face this time making it worse for my anxiety. I occasionally pick up bits and pieces with them still, but it's very low key stuff.
I was offered a role a few months ago (I was one of 2 people chosen from about 20) but it was practically starting a franchise and I had absolutely zero money to spare to even start up (or even hire a lawyer to look over my textbook-length franchisee contract). It wasn't going to be good for my stress and money-worries, but it was certainly a healthy boost to my ego to even be offered.
The role I'm going for at the moment is mostly back-of-house, with (quite literally) a window to front-of-house operations. One of the nice fellows informally asked why I didn't go for a more retail role given my natural exuberant personality. I gave a half-answer, since I was around people I didn't know. I'll go into more detail when I have my one-on-one with them. But basically, the bottom line is that I am not sustainable when dealing with customers constantly. I can entertain them, I can educate them, and I can give them a great experience... but I can't do shift after shift of the 'service' part of Customer Service.
I blame my time working at a casino dealing cards, where 98% of customer interactions are negative. It has nothing to do with whether you're a good worker or a friendly person or a nice employee - there's something about casino customers that destroys your soul, like they don't have one of their own so they need to feed on yours. This is at any casino, not just my local. I've seen it in every one I've been to on holiday, or heard about from others. Career gamblers are, typically speaking, not a friendly breed.
To add insult to injury, most of the time your superiors will take the customer's side in a disagreement to save face and to keep money coming in. Basically, you're devalued right in front of your customer... and then you have to keep serving them until they leave or until you are relieved from that table.
Fun, huh?
So if you ever want a reason why I have moments where even a simple customer request can seem like the straw on the camel's back? I'd say my time there is amongst the top ten. Not quite PTSD, but enough to make me want to avoid high level customer service. I'd rather focus on quality, not quantity. Again, Customer 'Experience', not Customer 'Service'.
What sucks is that my resume basically screams that I can do such service roles with my eyes closed. And I could.... for a few weeks or months. But eventually the stress will slowly grind me down.
And here is where my loooooong time of looking for proper work drags out: a resume saying I'm suited most to one field, and me trying to apply for another. If I delete certain jobs from the work-history/experience section, I have empty years in my CV with no explanation. So the only thing I can do is/was to try and put a relevant spin on them. "I've done this high-level customer service role for X years, so you know I'm fab with my communication skills... wouldn't that be handy when you hire me? We'll be able to... y'know... talk n' stuff."
Sigh.
So now I wait, and enjoy the long-lost feeling of confidence.
It's like having an old cocktail you haven't tasted in years. You used to have it so often but then your favourite bar stopped serving them. Suddenly you come upon a place that does them again! You order one and you sink into a comfy lounge, listen to the background music, close your eyes, and sip your drink, and feel the tasty warmth travel through you.
For now, that is more than enough. It's what I've needed the most, beside the job itself.
Even if this role doesn't come to fruition, the confidence boost will carry me to the next one.
I'm tiring of that part of my brain telling me that I'm a bit useless. Times like these are a very welcome reminder from the outside world that this is not the case. It's easy to begin doubting your own positive self talk, or that of your immediate support circle when it's all you've had for a while. You almost acquire a routine response in your mind: "Yeah, but you're supposed to say that."
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Jekyll
I have begun a hardcopy journal again. This is something I haven't done for many years, and this kind of medium is probably the reason, but I'm using it for the cracked-pavement-honesty that I can't bear to have linger in the cyberworld for an undetermined amount of time.
Things that I know about myself, the unclear-label condition of my mind, and how I need to face these issues/how they affect my relationship.
Today I had a job interview. The first in a long time that was any kind of work I know I could do. I will know within the week whether I'll be offered the job, and I shall have to knuckle out if it is indeed right for me. Even if not, it feels good just to have the maybe.
I have been feeling very unlike myself for quite a while, and I've been trying to reconnect with that sense of 'self'. Doing things the 'old' me would (journals, job interviews, performing onstage) has felt very akin to sliding on a long-lost but well loved pair of old favourite shoes. Relief.
The sheer relief to feel like me.
I am looking into the possibility that my anxiety is not a cause, but an effect, of my upside down mind lately. Right now my doctor and I are working on finding out if Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD) may also be a factor. The more I learn about it, the more I see similarities in my mother's traits. I used to think she was just a little nuts as well as having nutty hormones, but I'm learning (both via this research, and in my physiology classes) that hormones can very well be the culprits that drives one nutty. These things deserve way more respect than we initially imagine.
They mess with my state of Jekyll.
When we were first discussing it with a new counsellor (since the last blog post re: my counsellor, I have not returned to her, instead my partner and I are seeing someone else together), I told them that once the clouds of the condition have passed and I am released from these personality-changing imbalances, I feel just that: released.
The cool, soothing wave of cold water that floods over me, like a shining, silver, fish that has had that searing hook removed from its mouth, and handed back out of the burning, dry air... slid back into the stream.
That is the feeling of finally waking up after a week or more, and finally feeling back in my own skin. It lasts only a moment, but it has built up... making the short transition something to savour as much as can be done.
Until then, I simply watch from the shadows, as the Hulk smashes and yells and sets fire to the forest around me. I barely choke on the smoke. I'm cloaked in apathy, straining against a chain as a tiny sliver of me tries to scream and tell the Animal to stop. I see my hands but they are not my hands, I hear my words but they are not mine, I feel the anger but I know that way back here in the shadows I am not angry. I try to plead with the Monster, and tell it to stop, to look at who you are hurting but it shouts back at me that it does not care. It douses me in apathy again and numbs me down as best it can until only the innermost core of me mourns.
And this is the unfair part. Between the rampage of the Hulk, and sweet release of the Silver Fish, that innermost core - the one most like myself, with my values and my beliefs - has her shackles removed and is finally allowed to see and feel and touch the damage. She dips her hands into the embers left behind and cries like her soul is ripped out. As she picks up the remains and tries to mend all that's broken - and it can take some time... at any point Mr Hyde can re-erupt - she slowly turns into the Fish, and hopes that the stream is not far away.
Then that morning comes. A brief release as the Silver Fish swims away. And Dr. Jekyll is back.
This is me every other lunar.
At this stage there's not much else I can do but to know what's coming and prepare for it, stay as conscious as I can, and plod forward.
Things that I know about myself, the unclear-label condition of my mind, and how I need to face these issues/how they affect my relationship.
Today I had a job interview. The first in a long time that was any kind of work I know I could do. I will know within the week whether I'll be offered the job, and I shall have to knuckle out if it is indeed right for me. Even if not, it feels good just to have the maybe.
I have been feeling very unlike myself for quite a while, and I've been trying to reconnect with that sense of 'self'. Doing things the 'old' me would (journals, job interviews, performing onstage) has felt very akin to sliding on a long-lost but well loved pair of old favourite shoes. Relief.
The sheer relief to feel like me.
I am looking into the possibility that my anxiety is not a cause, but an effect, of my upside down mind lately. Right now my doctor and I are working on finding out if Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD) may also be a factor. The more I learn about it, the more I see similarities in my mother's traits. I used to think she was just a little nuts as well as having nutty hormones, but I'm learning (both via this research, and in my physiology classes) that hormones can very well be the culprits that drives one nutty. These things deserve way more respect than we initially imagine.
They mess with my state of Jekyll.
When we were first discussing it with a new counsellor (since the last blog post re: my counsellor, I have not returned to her, instead my partner and I are seeing someone else together), I told them that once the clouds of the condition have passed and I am released from these personality-changing imbalances, I feel just that: released.
The cool, soothing wave of cold water that floods over me, like a shining, silver, fish that has had that searing hook removed from its mouth, and handed back out of the burning, dry air... slid back into the stream.
That is the feeling of finally waking up after a week or more, and finally feeling back in my own skin. It lasts only a moment, but it has built up... making the short transition something to savour as much as can be done.
Until then, I simply watch from the shadows, as the Hulk smashes and yells and sets fire to the forest around me. I barely choke on the smoke. I'm cloaked in apathy, straining against a chain as a tiny sliver of me tries to scream and tell the Animal to stop. I see my hands but they are not my hands, I hear my words but they are not mine, I feel the anger but I know that way back here in the shadows I am not angry. I try to plead with the Monster, and tell it to stop, to look at who you are hurting but it shouts back at me that it does not care. It douses me in apathy again and numbs me down as best it can until only the innermost core of me mourns.
And this is the unfair part. Between the rampage of the Hulk, and sweet release of the Silver Fish, that innermost core - the one most like myself, with my values and my beliefs - has her shackles removed and is finally allowed to see and feel and touch the damage. She dips her hands into the embers left behind and cries like her soul is ripped out. As she picks up the remains and tries to mend all that's broken - and it can take some time... at any point Mr Hyde can re-erupt - she slowly turns into the Fish, and hopes that the stream is not far away.
Then that morning comes. A brief release as the Silver Fish swims away. And Dr. Jekyll is back.
This is me every other lunar.
At this stage there's not much else I can do but to know what's coming and prepare for it, stay as conscious as I can, and plod forward.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Checking In
So, it's a new era. I guess. Of sorts.
I figured it's time to update some folk.
* Still at school - albeit new subjects to break up the boredom. I was doing sign language. Now picking up the complementary health course I started in 2009. Had tried for a few weeks, but was still a nightshifter and in too shitty a mindspace to really do it. (Kinda strange that I choose to pick it up again now, but less mindfuckery and more support this time around).
* Working as a casual in Promotions. Basically this means working a few shifts here and there as a brand ambassador for different client companies. You know those people who hand out free samples at the shops? That's me. I'm also doing one assignment where I spend three hours chatting to the cashiers, ignoring the customers, and simply noting down the details of transactions in a particular chain.
The good thing about this job? Everyone likes free samples, the shifts are short and close to home, I bring free stuff home, and the company/client companies think I'm fab.
The bad things? I'm so not used to being on my feet a lot after more than a year of being an officebitch but that will improve, I've been warned that work can dry up in the future so I need to prepare for that, I had a random lady decide to tell me all about the second coming of Christ while I was stuck being a sample bitch in Coles yesterday :P
* Getting my house slowly in order now that I'm home more. This involves finally giving the place a goddam good clean, and preparing for a new arrival!
No, you fools I'm not pregnant. A new kitty will be coming in join our family. She's a rescue who loves cuddles. And a ginger, so I'm sold already. Hopefully existing older kitty will integrate well. We're going to set up her own room so we can slowly introduce them.
* Working on my Social Anxiety. I'm going to start seeing someone now that I have a referral to someone who's been highly recommended. Keeping things in check by using the "Irrelephant".
Concentration Meditation: a tiny metal elephant that I focus on when I can't handle situations. If there is too much noise or stimuli for example (which a main trigger of mine), I pull out my elephant (or any other small object on hand if he's not with me) and focus entirely on it. I turn it over in my hands and take in every detail, ignoring the fact that I already know him implicitly, and maintain that "Everything that has nothing to do with him is 'irrelephant' (wordplay on irrelevant)".
It's something I learnt a while back, and it helps. But leaving the call centre was definitely a good move, much as I loved my team.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
The Cloak
So it's time for me to accept that this cloak has a name: Anxiety.
Social Anxiety to be precise. Well that's what we think at the moment.
If things get too loud, or there's too much happening at once - for example: lots of people talking in one room, trying to hear someone speaking with lots of background noise from a crowd or music or tv, or a group of people coming up to me at once - I panic slightly (or sometimes not so slightly).
Currently I am working in a call centre, which was only meant to be a temporary measure but finding a replacement has been proving hard. Regardless, my girlfriend has convinced me that she will help support me if I quit. I hate knowing I will be dependent on someone financially and otherwise for a time, but I think it's a move I should make. I've only put it off this long because I wasn't sure how we would get by.
She has assured me that she will support me in any way I need. I guess I'm very lucky. I'm not used to being the one who needs support often, let alone has it there from a significant other when I do. It helps that my girlfriend is a Peer Support worker, and part of the company she works for focusses on Panic and Anxiety disorders, albeit not her particular field/department.
I won't speak much on them, because I haven't found them useful myself. However I am also lucky to have a very rad GP who worked out a Mental Health Care Plan for me and referred me to a counsellor. This is what I would recommend people do. If your GP isn't the best, or you're too embarrassed to ask the one you usually see, shop around. Book a double appointment and have a chat.
This is probably something I should have done years ago.
Social Anxiety to be precise. Well that's what we think at the moment.
If things get too loud, or there's too much happening at once - for example: lots of people talking in one room, trying to hear someone speaking with lots of background noise from a crowd or music or tv, or a group of people coming up to me at once - I panic slightly (or sometimes not so slightly).
Currently I am working in a call centre, which was only meant to be a temporary measure but finding a replacement has been proving hard. Regardless, my girlfriend has convinced me that she will help support me if I quit. I hate knowing I will be dependent on someone financially and otherwise for a time, but I think it's a move I should make. I've only put it off this long because I wasn't sure how we would get by.
She has assured me that she will support me in any way I need. I guess I'm very lucky. I'm not used to being the one who needs support often, let alone has it there from a significant other when I do. It helps that my girlfriend is a Peer Support worker, and part of the company she works for focusses on Panic and Anxiety disorders, albeit not her particular field/department.
I won't speak much on them, because I haven't found them useful myself. However I am also lucky to have a very rad GP who worked out a Mental Health Care Plan for me and referred me to a counsellor. This is what I would recommend people do. If your GP isn't the best, or you're too embarrassed to ask the one you usually see, shop around. Book a double appointment and have a chat.
This is probably something I should have done years ago.
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