Work, goldfish, therapy

  
This week I’ve barely had time to fart let alone anything else. When I have too much energy outgoing, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually (dare I say without sounding like a hippie or bible basher type) it ALWAYS catches up with me. And not like a, yaaaawn, early night for me tired, like, I’m falling into a great black abyss and I feel miserable and low kind of tiredness.
My two older girls missed the first two days of their holiday program. So I had company 24 hours a day, that means tidying 24 hours a day and being made demands of. Making appointments, getting things done during the day but with the two kids promising not to get in the way. But then demanding lunch, they’re dying of starvation but apparently only Subway can cure that, who knew starvation could be so specific? And the, I need the toilet, just after we left a place with a million toilets on every corner. 

I wondered if I might be ready to get back into the workforce. My husband and I had previously discussed it but we both felt I was still struggling a bit with things happening back in the UK, working through therapy, my medication is still relatively new, I have nightmares so often so my best sleep is a nap during the day. I have so many routines and ways I’ve formed to cope with basic fears and anxieties. Moving to a work environment at this point might make me vulnerable to losing the plot – or it could make me strong. But my confidence is low and I go through periods of isolation that I can without commitments. But I don’t want to languish at home forever so I thought I might take a look and see what was out there. One job stood out. A recruitment agency designed specifically for people with a history of mental illness looking to return to the workforce. They needed employment consultants. 

I sent in my CV, a cover letter and got an interview. On Wednesday I pulled my suit out of the back of the wardrobe and went in. The interview went moderately well. It was hard to tell. I sensed the guy liked me but the woman had reservations.

I received a call later that afternoon to see if I could shadow one of their employees and meet a couple of clients.

I thought it would be a great opportunity to see the work in action.

When she called me she made the meeting on Thursday at 1pm.

I made the decision to see my therapist as usual on Thursday morning. I went in trying to keep a level of distance. It only worked for so long. My counsellor wrangled her way into my head as usual. We talked a lot about disassociation and triggers. Needing to push through it as a runner does a stitch. Blocked memories – how the brain will simply shut down on you and not let you remember the horrible stuff. 

I could feel myself getting so tired halfway through.

My brain felt overwhelmed. I felt a bit angry, why the FUCK am I going through this?? Being made to feel uncomfortable? 

We went over so it was race to get to the office in the city. 

I was introduced to the woman I’d be shadowing. Her name was Vanessa. Unfortunately she had the personality of a goldfish. Her answers tended to be one word and she wasn’t direct at all so I could only get vague ambiguous answers. 

When I met her clients I got on well with them but I sensed a ‘treading on toes’ things was happening. The goldfish didn’t like me. When I asked her for feedback on me or to be critical, hoping that might give me an in, she did her usual ambiguous thing and talked a few words about something else. I wondered if this was a real strategy. Place me with the most boring, least personality person in the world and see how it goes. Aside from wanting to jump from the moving car on a motorway just to entertain myself, I think, in fact I know in retrospect i handled myself well. I was courteous, I showed interest, I tried to show that I bowed to her superior knowledge. But getting on better with her clients probably made me fish food.

I met my husband for dinner later that evening in town. I was so tired I couldn’t even sit up straight. I couldn’t really talk about therapy or the job. Or anything at all. 

Driving home was a bitch. We had two cars and got stuck in the worst traffic because two massive houses were being moved. My husband quickly pushed into another land and disappeared. But it was raining, roads slippery and I was too tired to be an arsehole so I stayed in my lane. When I got home my husband was in bed. I got in after midnight.

My body hurt, my headached.

This morning I didn’t want to move. But I managed to get the kids ready and off to their holiday program.

I was stumbling over the place like a drunk. My tiredness effected everything, coordination, speech, concentration. And I had anxiety and a sense of doom. I was miserable, sad. Feeling awful. I know most of it is the tiredness – which begged the question- how the hell would I be ready for work?

The decision was taken out of my hands. I was called and informed and I didn’t get the job. The interview was great. It was goldfish. God knows what she’d said but it was a definitive no. I felt the sting of rejection, the rush of relief. 

I’m still really out of it. It’s going to take ages to feel normal again.

Unfortunately feeling like this means I’m more vulnerable, the triggers are worse, the world is darker and scarier. I feel more alone. 

I just need some time out.

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