Looking at the medications in my medicine cabinet was a wake up call. Remeron (for sleep and depression), Prozac (for anxiety and depression), Wellbutrin (for depression and smoking cessation), Xanax (for anxiety – those lovely panic attacks that have increased over the past year), and Celexa (dropped that one, but it was for anxiety and depression).
As if I hadn’t woken up enough, the next step was onto the scale. Not 10 pounds have been gained since I started trying to save the world. Nope, this hurts to write, but it has been 42 lbs. The cost of “helping” for me has been 42lbs. I could blame it on the desk job, as the majority of these pounds have crept on since moving to a more sedentary position. But the truth is that in trying to do a job well has been killing me. My own attitude has been killing me. The fact of the matter is that I am angry and my anger has been turned inwards, stuffed down with each puff of a cigarette, each bite of a calorie-rick snack from the vending machine, and each glass of wine (because I need to unwind).
Because I am still in my position, I’m not going to name names or really make a serious complaint for now. It’s really not about them anyways. It’s about how I tried to enter the “mainstream” and maintain a sense (or create a sense) of security in my own life. So, I make close to $30K more than I was when I cleaned houses, but my life is not as rich as it was then. I have another degree, a startling amount of student loan debt, and some experiences that may have been worth the endeavor; but, I have once again misplaced myself. I have once again put my own dreams on hold to “make money and create a stable life for my children.”
Here’s the real irony – it didn’t work.
So, back to the drawing board. Maybe I can make those letters after my name worth something without getting as involved with “the system.” My new beginning will be titled “One Flew Out of the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
Part of me worries that this is just a sign of depression, but past experience reminds me that I have these urges periodically, when the job begins to work me and I am no longer able to work at the job. How much of my expenditures in time and money are directly related to the dis-ease I have with my job? More than I want to admit. Honestly, I worry about my liver now. This from someone who easily adapted to a boyfriend in AA and had no problems going to shows and hanging out without a glass of wine in her hand. Who am I now? Well, we know already that I’m 42lbs heavier and have a medicine cabinet of a true psychiatric patient. Who was I then? I was a younger, thinner version of myself pursuing a master’s in social work, practicing Reiki on my pets and friends, and dancing at night with ecstatic joy and freedom.
Even better, I was the mom who went to the pool with her children and spent time doing crafts with them. I was the mom without cable TV who cooked meals every evening, even though they were frequently “cheap” meals (frittattas and stir-fries).
Yes, I still had a temper sometimes and I certainly suffered from quite a bit of self-doubt and recrimination. I don’t think the depression or anxiety is a product of the job, as I have had these twin beasts on my back for as long as I can remember; but now it is so much worse.
So this is an experiment and I’m going to document the experiment and even share it with the world.
Once upon a time a woman in her mid-thirties flew into the mental health system. She stayed for five years and flew back out again. Maybe she was confronting fears or healing her own wounds. Maybe she was getting experience that would help her in the next phase of her life. We don’t know how the story ends because it is just beginning.
Quit date: November 2, 2009.
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