A while ago I posted on the big roller coaster of life. It’s funny how that roller coaster hits when you least expect or need it. How, when you’re fragile, it doesn’t take much for the roller coaster to tip and how, when that happens, your fragility escalates tenfold, so that if you have, say, an 80 per cent capacity to do something usually, and in fragile mode you only have, say, a 30 per cent capacity to do it, then when the roller coaster hits it pushes you over the edge and leaves you with zero capacity to deal with ANYTHING. I hate that. I’m sick of it.
A couple of things happened yesterday to take that roller coaster over the edge. First up, I talked to my boss about my career direction. He initiated the conversation and has said in the past that he wants to help me be happy and if that means helping me into another role then he’ll do that, even though it’s not in his interest. We talked about the things I like and don’t like about my current job and where I might head, what I might do – in my current environment or elsewhere.
What upset me about this conversation is that last week he’d said that he could sort something in my current area to make the job more manageable and more enjoyable for me. I didn’t feel like any of this came out in the conversation with him. I left feeling unwanted and upset and convinced I should take the job I interviewed for last week… only to get home to a rejection letter. I don’t take these things very well – it’s my first rejection in years. Very disappointing. I just don’t do rejection or failure.
It left me feeling flat and hopeless. Also angry at myself that I’ve somehow allowed this depression-anxiety-PTSD thing to take over and, in so doing, I’ve completely buggered up my career (and my life). I’ve gone from golden haired child to liability; from capable to completely useless; and now I don’t know how to get “me” back.
In some respects I wish I hadn’t deviated from the workaholic path. In some respects I also wish that I’d never started therapy. I’m not blaming my therapist for any of this, but… why did she have to tell me it’s ok to be depressed when you’re dealing with heinous shyt from the past? Or that there are jobs out there that people actually enjoy? Why did she have to undo some of the programming I got from my mother – keep your head down, work hard, life is something that happens to you while you’re waiting around to die, you don’t actually have a right to enjoy it, blah blah blah. Ok, so most of those things are pretty unhealthy, but I knew how to do that. I don’t know what this other thing is or how to do it or even who I am anymore. If I’m not a crazy workaholic person, then who the f*** am I?
It’s funny how it’s so incredibly hard to believe there’s a good mental space when you fall off the edge. A friend said this pretty much defines depression. I guess it does. And so does wanting to crawl under the doona and stay there in an induced sleep for the next six months. I have spent most of today in tears… either spaced out at work unable to think, or hiding in the toilets crying. So pathetic, and I’m so sick of it.
I said to this friend that I was too depressed to see my therapist this week; that I didn’t want to disappoint her. She said that’s just naughty and my therapist is there to help. It’s nothing to do with me disappointing her. I still don’t want to see my therapist for fear that she’ll be disappointed and think I’m weak and pathetic, but I’m sure Miss Reliable will show up before the appointed time. She always does.