Can’t believe I haven’t written in a month! Holy crap! I thought it’d been maybe two weeks, but no. A month. Wow.
The last few weeks have been kind of bizarre. I interviewed for two positions within the company. I completely bombed the one interview (it’s okay; I think we were equally disillusioned with one another). The second interview went well enough that they offered me the job. It’s an actual IT position, and they want to take one of my projects from my current job and expand it. I, of course, accepted without a second thought.
Beyond that, I’ve done sort of well with my writing. Devin and Patrick are both annoying me, so I keep revisiting old manuscripts to figure out what’s going on. I think I need to do a short time jump because Devin’s currently having the most mundane conversation with her mother. I have to remind myself again and again that I’m not actually starting this story over, that I’ve actually completed it a few times and there are things from previous manuscripts that should be saved.
Most of my journaling has been in a paper journal or in my head. I’ve not reflected much of my life in the last month just because I want nothing to do with most of it. I’m sincerely trying to do this one-day-at-a-time thing, but it’s hard. I’m programmed to focus on the future.
Currently, I’m in Dallas with my mom and a good friend I haven’t seen in years. I’m learning a lot from him that I can use toward my writing. In fact, this entire trip has been filled with things I can use toward my writing, including a fortuitous seating assignment on the plane ride over. A deep conversation with my neighbor taught me a lot about being a good leader, a good supervisor. Again, I may never use these things in my life off the page, but I can certainly apply them to my stories.
That’s the nutshell of this last month. I’m waiting on a start date for the new position. I’m excited to be starting the next phase of my accidental career. I also have an impending deadline to complete my manuscript. Wherever I happen to be by that date is where the story will stop. I have a goal in mind and it’s going to take some considerable sticktoitiveness to get there.
I hope you’re all having wonderful Aprils. We’ll talk again soon.
Day 14 (Monday)
“Don’t be public.” — don’t write blog posts about the games your mind is playing with itself.
“Don’t be weak.” — don’t cry, don’t bring your teddy bear to work.
“Don’t be vulnerable.” — don’t send a text message to someone who has the power to hurt you by choosing not to respond.
I’m tired of the don’ts. My anxiety levels are at record highs. I took another sleeping pill last night so that I could fall asleep even if my mind didn’t turn off. Spoilers: my mind didn’t turn off, so I dreamed of my anxieties instead. I found myself staring through a window, watching my loved ones go one with their lives while I stood still. While I could barely move.
I’m debating on taking another sleeping pill to get through the day, another when that wears off to get through the night. What really sounds good is a medically-induced coma. The whole Avicii, “So wake me up when it’s all over // when I’m wiser and I’m older,” makes sense for the first time now.
My brother is hellbent on reminding me that this is our year, that this will be the best year ever. I still believe that, but I have to correct my mistakes first. Still have 2 weeks before I see the psychiatrist. I feel like my life is on hold until then.
Day 8 (Tuesday)
I don’t feel like reflecting on yesterday – the sleeping pill I took last night is still in my system 12 hours later.
Yesterday’s a little bit of a blur. The psychiatrist’s office called to set up an appointment, so that’s taken care of, even if it’s three weeks away. I reached out to friends, something I haven’t been at all interested in doing for a few weeks now (still wasn’t interested, but forced myself anyway). Called it a night pretty early, felt weird. Felt . . . detached, outside of myself. It’s uncomfortable. I really could use that beach right about now.
Day 1 (yesterday):
- Decided to go into work 2 hours later than originally planned.
- Had two slices of toast for breakfast.
- Cried on the way to work, listening to NPR.
- Made it through, like, 2 hours of queue training thanks to a bottle of Mountain Dew.
- Told my mentor (Diane) the whole story. Well, almost the whole story. Like, 78% of the whole story.
- Ate 4 baby carrots and a celery stick due to Diane making me.
- Cried on the way home from work, listening to NPR.
- Stopped at the mall, because fuck rush hour traffic.
- Wrote a journal entry.
- Consumed a venti Caramel Flan Frappuccino that was WAY too sugary (never again, but I got the rest of my calories in for the day. My CrossFit coach would be ashamed).
- Cried in front of a very open window. Scared off some Starbucks customers.
- Didn’t make any rash purchases.
- Did buy shoes for work (brown) and socks (polka dot).
- Did buy The Princess Bride in hardback (finally!).
- Drove home. Only cried when Arctic Monkeys came on.
- Doctor’s office didn’t call with referrals, so found the number of a psychiatrist with a name I like on the health insurance website.
- Unsubscribed from Thought Catalog and all of their “How to Deal With Your Shitty Life”-style posts.
- Took a sleeping pill.
In a non-vain vein, my heart goes out to the families and friends of the passengers on Germanwings flight 9525. There are no words to ease your pain, or that will make this tragedy make sense. May peace find you in this devastating time.
Two years ago, I was officially diagnosed with a “mood” disorder, leaning the direction of bipolar II. I have never sought professional help.
Today, that changes.
After yesterday’s post, I texted Justin about Senator Cruz’s decision to run for president. The conversation quickly went to, “Are you okay?” “Nope.” “Have you thought about seeking help for your disorder?” An hour later, I had coffee with my friend “Jenna,” one of the few with the dubious honor of seeing me cry. She asked me the same thing. I gave her the same answer. I had already started looking.
Separately, the three of us came to the same conclusion: I have to get help. If I want to succeed, personally or professionally, I can’t keep doing what I’m doing. I have to start over. I have to stop letting the chemicals in my brain win. How can I even know what I want when it changes depending on my mood? How can I trust myself? And if I can’t trust myself, how can anyone else?
It’s time to start over. It’s time to find my own two feet. To re-evaluate the people in my life, the things I believe, the passions that set my soul on fire. I think they call this a “quarter-life crisis” now, and I’m determined to come out of the other side confident, humble, and stable.
I will try to be as transparent with this as possible. I need an outlet. I may lose readers, I may lose friends, but this is a journey to regain myself without regaining my pride or my selfish behaviors.
Thank you for reading this.