(This blog is first in a three-part series, "Confessions of a Bad Mood")Earlier this week, I got a call from the company that laid me off back in April. It turns out that the woman who had taken my position had gone back to her old department, leaving no one available to do my job. It was the Human Resources folks who called, asking if I was available and willing to come back on a temporary basis. I told them I was. They contacted a temp agency, set everything up, and today I went back to work at my old paygrade--less than a week later.
It was really strange, sitting in my old cubicle after three months off. Some might call it a miracle, a gift from God. That's not where I'm at with it, but I don't want to get ahead of myself here.
A number of people were glad to see me back. I got some hugs and lots of smiles. Things weren't as bad as I'd feared they would be, in terms of chaos, disorder, and backlog. My boss gave me some very explicit instructions on what my priorities should be. I sat down and set to work. Falling right back into the swing of things, it was as if I'd never left. It didn't even feel like I'd had time off--that's how quick it all came back to me. There was plenty to do and I knew I wouldn't be sitting around idle.
As I worked, though, the mood of the environment set in. I began to remember in earnest all the things I had hated about being there. Once again, I was surrounded by people who have given up, to a certain extent resigned themselves to the hopelessness of an unchangeable situation. My job isn't one that requires a lot of brains to do, and I know that I'm looked down on a little for doing it. My political beliefs are very different than the other people in that office. It's kind of a go-capitalism, yeah-money, if-you're-poor-you're-a-lazy-sack-of-shit kind of place. What I'm trying to say is I don't fit in there all that well.
What I find lacking is a sense of compassion. There's no recognition for what seems to me to be an important truth: that not everyone in life is given the same opportunities, and that the pursuit of wealth is not the be-all, end-all of existence. There's some racism, some sexism, and a lot of just plain judging. I kept my head down, focused on my work, and tried not to think about how miserable I really felt.
By the time the end of the day rolled around, I was so glad that it was Friday. My AA homegroup is Friday evenings, a place I love going to because there's such good recovery there. There's a lot of joy, too. The chair tonight was one of the group's regulars and I hadn't heard her story yet. One part of her experience that really resonated was her time trying to die and how she didn't succeed in her attempt. I've never tried to drink myself to death, but I know all about the demoralization of trying to kill myself and failing at it. It's an overwhelming weight of, "fuck, I can't even get this right."
Even so, I was having a hard time at the meeting. Recovery is recovery, and a meeting is a meeting, but alcohol wasn't my drug of choice and I sometimes feel not a part of at an AA meeting. I walked in there feeling less-than from my day at work, and felt even more less-than as the minutes clicked by. Soon enough, I felt the need to leave, so I took off and went to a meeting where I knew they'd be talking about an addiction I could really relate to.
Pulling into the parking lot, I saw my ex-best friend and his girlfriend--my ex-girlfriend--sitting together in his car. The secretary was late and the door locked. The sun was setting on my dark mood. Before I knew it, I hadn't even the strength to go into the room. My room. My homegroup where I'm the flippin' treasurer. The secretary arrived, opened up the door, and I got in my car and left.
I went home and changed clothes. In the bathroom, I looked at my reflection and realized it had been a long time since I told myself, 'I love you.' So I stared back at my own eyes, tearing up with sadness from the day, and said this: "I love you. It's okay. Go do whatever it is you need to do." A few minutes later, I was at a local coffee shop writing this blog. I couldn't sit in a meeting, I couldn't call my sponsor, but I could write. I can share here what I didn't have the strength to say to others' faces: I'm sad.
I'm sad because I hate doing that job, because I hate putting myself inside that cage. I feel trapped. I'd been so happy for a few months. I'd been doing what I loved, making music, writing, working with others. And today felt like such a step backwards. I felt like for the first time in my life my soul had started to truly shine, only to have my sunlight of the spirit covered up. I feel like I had just begun to experience joy and it was snatched away.
I'm sad for some other reasons, too, that aren't appropriate for this space. I'm still trying to trust in God. He's been telling me to have faith. And so I continue on, trying to have faith. Remembering that I'm loved, that I'm cared for and guided. Even if I don't understand, even if I don't want what's happening with my life right now, I'm trying to trust that it's what I need.
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