Had a bad day again,
Said he would not understand
She left a note and said "I'm sorry I
had a bad day again."
Stream of consciousness follows:
Last Friday I was working at a warehouse (temp work), and it was the end of the day. I was driving through the aisles in a forktruck and I began to cry.
No big reason. No one had yelled at me. I hadn't gotten any sudden bad news.
I just realized that I'm a little over two months from losing my heath insurance. I was laid off on June 1st, 2009, and because I'd been working for the company (aluminum sheet and plate) for almost three years (and I was in the Steelworker's union), I would get one year of health insurance. That comes to an end very soon here.
I am really no closer to finding a job now than I was when I got laid off. I have faithfully sent out my resumes to several people a week since that time, and I've gotten a grand total of three interviews and about a half-dozen "the position has already been filled/you're not what we're looking for" letters. Everyone else just doesn't bother to call back. Not that many people are hiring for manufacturing positions, or if they are, they aren't hiring me. I don't have the wherewithal to go back to school and try to get ready so I could get certified in athletic training (which was my major). And not a lot of other people seem to get that just because I don't have five years to experience in this or that, I'm a quick learner and diligent employee.
Damn it, all I ever wanted, if I couldn't get a dream job, was consistency. Give me tasks to do and consistent hours to do them in, and I'll bust my ass for you. No one seems to care. When I lose my health insurance, I will not have the money for COBRA (the privilege of paying full price for your company's medical insurance so you can keep your same doctors for a while if you're looking for another job or are retired). I may be able to get premium assistance, but even if it's reduced by half, it'll be an awful lot. It may end up being too much, with the mortgage, student loans, and power bill. My doctors can help with my medications, but I just have to hope neither Mr. Chat nor me get seriously ill if we can't pay COBRA.
I'm not feeling good recently. I'm having real downswings of mood. Some of you already know that I was diagnosed with major recurrent depression over six years ago. I stopped treatment in 2006 by mutual agreement of both my psychologist and myself, but I knew I would always have to watch myself for signs. I've caught myself contemplating my suicide plan again. I'm not going to do anything, but I used to think about it a lot when I was down. I'm down.
I feel that I'm not accomplishing anything. I remember my teachers from elementary school to high school had such high expectations of me. They were sure I'd be able to do anything, even become president. I went to my high school reunion in November. I spent about a half-hour crying in the bathroom because of a theoretically well meaning but callously-spoken comment. I think I was the only one in the room, at least the only one I spoke to, that didn't have a job.
I have failure issues. I feel I've failed. I'm almost thirty years old I haven't had anything but jobs that I could, at best, muster up a vague "meh" about. I've worked with lots of decent people, but no job I really, truly care about. My sister has gone off and done exactly the kinds of things she's wanted to do and she's succeeding like gangbusters. I'm so proud of her. Why can't I do what I love?
I feel like I'm not doing anything that matters. Somebody's got to bag and box industrial fasteners, I suppose, and apparently finding people that have halfway decent math skills is tough in the warehouse industry, but still. I don't feel fulfilled. I feel pointless.
I have stories I want to write. And this damn temp job isn't letting me write them. I wake up at 4:30 every morning, go to the gym at 5am for a half hour, return, have breakfast and watch a DVRed show, get ready to go to work. Work from 8-5. Come home. Spend 45 minutes on the computer/taking a shower/talking with Mr. Chat. Wash dishes, do chores, make dinner, eat dinner and watch a show with Mr. Chat. By then it's almost 8pm, and time to go to bed. Little time to write. I want to write.
I'm under stress because I want to write. I have my au_bigboom which I clamoring to be awesome. I have two stories I was purchased for I both need and want to do. I have three other projects I promised myself I'd do. I'm having trouble finding the time, or finding the motivation when I have the time. They want to be written. They peck at my brain all the time. They want to come out. I want to write them.
I want to be an author. I friend of mine finished a novel and sent it off to some publishers. He's a good friend, and I even helped edit his first three chapters. I'll be frank, I like the fellow, but his first three chapters sucked. I wrote better when I was sixteen. I could be good. I want time to write properly. And even then I know I will pour my heart and soul into something that will be rejected many times.
My husband can't support me while I write; I'm still the primary breadwinner, even if I'm doing temp work. Thank God the union I'm in negotiated with the company for SUB pay (Supplement Unemployment pay), or we'd be in a lot more financial hardship. We'd certainly have nothing set aside. Add to which, our refrigerator is about to crap out on us. We need a new one. Suck.
I was in a whitewater kayaking club in college. One of the tricks you learn is to brace yourself while running the rapids. It means if you feel yourself going over, you slap or push against the water with your paddle to get yourself upright. Inexperienced paddlers tend to "air brace," which is flailing around with your paddle out of the water, uncertain of where to put it to save yourself. This will lead to you falling over, and if you can't roll yourself back upright, you'll have to swim.
I've done this before. Running down some rapids, came up against a huge tongue of water curling back at me, crashed into a huge wall of water. Braced against the air, water crashed into me, and I fell. I couldn't roll back up, so I had to bail, and someone else rescued me and took me to shore.
That's how I feel now. I'm braced against the air, facing the wall of crashing water, and I'm going to fall. Will the river drag me under? Or is there someone there to rescue me?
All I can see is the wall.
Brace, brace, or you’re going to fall.