All of my ramblings on one site ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Whispers I got a job. It's mostly been good. What's been most important is not feeling trapped in my head and in my house anymore. I'm leaning toward not taking the Wellbutrin that my doctor wants me to take. Honestly I don't feel "depressed enough" to be medicated, and I'm worried that the side effects will make me feel worse. Now that my own quarantine has concluded, I'm really over feeling bad and ready to get back on the horse. What's also been helping is going to the beach and hiking every week. I've been wearing shorts more, working on something resembling a tan, as much as my western European skin will allow. It's mostly a tight-knit network of freckles. I worked during my birthday which was fine, as much as I protested doing that in the past. I now understand the "birthday blues" thing and felt it fully this year. Wanting anything more would be a lot more disappointing than accepting what I've got. Even still, it was absolutely enough and I'd rather celebrate someone elses birthday anyway. I think this is one of those things where you used to like something (birthdays) and feel obligated to act on that, but really I just wanted to do the stuff we normally do and have some cake. The next day we "celebrated" by going to a lil beach, picking strawberries, eating cake, and I had a good therapy session and that was that. All good. I've been dying to read something but haven't been able to keep interest in a single book I've tried. I like to joke that I've been reading The Trial (Kafka) for a year, but it's true. I tried One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and The Talisman (King and Straub). I'm hesitant to buy any more books until I've finished these three. I finished The Book of Joy in a few days, and an Iyanla Vanzant book the next few days after. They were recommended by my therapist so maybe I did it to impress her, or felt obligated and didn't want her to think I wasn't "doing the work". Maybe I'm just not into the types of books that I think I am, or I'm not putting as much effort into just picking up the damn book as I think I am. The things I've been doing lately to stay grounded are embroidering more, waking up at 6 am everyday to get some alone time, watching Pewdiepie, going for walks, not ghosting my therapist, and trying to work as much as I can. Part of me likes the crazy-business of work but also hates my own newness and inability to do everything myself. Relying on the guys in other departments who are busy with their own stuff makes me feel helpless and embarassed. Stepping on toes when I just want to do the right thing by everyone is the worst, and I hate being "that guy" at work. Like yesterday! A woman's order was in another department, I'm not allowed to leave my department to get it, so I call the guys in deliveries, no answer. I call again, someone says "I can't, I just made a huge mess back here". I call the guys in lumber, someone answers and says "no I'm helping someone else" and hangs up. I call and call and call. I answer the phone as I'm wait just to look busy, but someone wants to know when their order is coming, which could either end in "okay thanks, bye" or "but I ordered it two days ago! Where is it!". The customer I'm helping is getting flustered and has been waiting for 15 minutes at this point for someone to get this damn order. The line is building, the phone won't stop ringing. The unfamiliar faces in the line shoot me looks saying "you're not doing anything, you're just standing there, do something! Help me!" I see them shake their heads and hear their exaggerated scoffs. So naturally the tears begin welling, I'm trying to save face and shove those tears down, I go to tell the girl in charge of my department what's going on, as if she could magically conjure up a Matt or a Brian from some other department to come to the rescure, but the words are stuck in my throat and I begin to flood incoherently. She takes me in the back and tells me to cool off, but it's already time to go, so she lets me leave. Legend has it that that woman is still waiting for her fucking weed wacker. It was such a silly thing to cry over, and it's not like it's the first time that's happened. I think it was mostly from the embarassment of being new, and so there isn't enough (or any) rapport established for well-seasoned workers to want to help you as much as the Theresa or Karen who have been there forever. Plus they have their own thing going on, so it was also the embarassment of feeling like I was bothering everyone and them being frustrated with me for having the audacity to call them. Yet all I heard people say my first few days, spanning all departments, was "if you need help, all you have to do is ask, we're all here for each other". In the midst of it all, that old, familiar, left-out and ashamed kid in me began to manifest right on the sales floor infront of a shitload of people. The embarassment of that alone is heavy enough! In a weird way, I'd still take it over being stuck at home, in my head, not eating, sleeping for 12 hours, in a frenzy about my life choices, and wanting to run away. 8:10 a.m. - 2020-07-02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||
