Rock Bottom

I stopped updating this blog last fall when I got a job - I started off as a temp and was then brought on as a Customer Care Rep at a company in Richmond. I loved the company and I loved the coworkers, but that was where this started. In a large gray cubicle, where I was blamed for everyone else's problems through both email and phone. Where I was yelled at by angry customers for 8 hours a day. Where I started on a downward spiral that led me to where I am today.

I always viewed my job at that company as temporary, as my first real world job experience. I mean, who wants to work in customer service forever, right? But I genuinely loved the company and I loved the people. I knew I'd never find that again. But the last thing I wanted to do at the end of the day was sit at a computer and write. I stopped writing in my blog, I stopped writing altogether. I stopped editing my manuscript that I really, truly believe has a chance of being published when I am done editing it.

So as the depression hit and it became harder and harder to make it out of bed and into work in the morning, I didn't give up. I told myself it would be worth it - that maybe if I could prove myself to the company, I could be transferred to another department. There didn't seem to be a lot of room in the small company for transferring from one department to another, but I was hopeful. They seemed to like me. But I heard they were on a hiring freeze. So then it became - "I just need to stay here for one year, to put this on my resume: one year of customer service."

And then, "I can't do this anymore."

*****

Of course, it wasn't just the job that got me here. I'm planning a wedding, which is stressful enough in itself, especially since everything from the dress to the invitations has been a battle with my mother. Thank god for my future sister in law Michele who was pretty much taken over and planned everything.

In December, my horse Patrick tore his suspensory which, in worst case scenarios, is a career ending injury. His wasn't that bad - yet. When we started doing his rehabilitation so that he could be ridden again, he bucked me off and sent me to the hospital. He was heavily sedated at the time.  After a few rides with this behavior we had no choice but to turn him out into his pasture until he could behave without being psychotic. Of course he broke his leg.

The week of Patrick's surgery was the real turning point. I struggled through the first few days of the week, sitting there like a zombie and not doing any work. I called in the day of his surgery and was a nervous wreck until I heard that he made it through. It was much more complicated than the vets were expecting because the suspensory had fused to the splint bone. But they were able to "fix it." At this point, we won't know what that means until he's recovered.

I went back to work the following day. And then the vet called - Patrick wasn't pooping, and he didn't for several more days. They may have to do colic surgery on him. They pumped him full of oil multiple times a day for several days and finally - miraculously - we got out of the situation without another surgery.

But then we got the bill for his vet care - and that's when I broke. His surgery should have cost around $2500 and the bill was for just under $7000 and I lost it. I had the first of many panic attacks that I've had since then. The only way I could describe it at the time was that it was just like the day my dad had a heart attack - I was on the floor, crying uncontrollably, and I couldn't breathe. Back in 2007 - while daddy was having heart surgery and I was convinced he was dying - it felt like the world was ending. And that is what it felt like when I got that bill.

I ended up taking the week off of work after visiting my doctor, I told her what happened and she gave me a note for work saying I needed the break for the rest of the week. I came back to work the following Monday and was promptly told that if my job performance didn't improve, drastic measures would be taken.

But a lot of people don't recognize mental illness as a real thing. They don't understand because they haven't ever been in your shoes. They think that you should just be able to "get over it," and be a functional person. I've never felt less functional in my life. But I kept going to work, I kept making a real effort to show that I was a dedicated employee and that I was a member of the team. I drove a coworker with car trouble to and from work - going an hour out of my way twice a day - for a whole week.

I gave everything I had into this job - what little was left of me. Right until the end. And then one day, whatever it was that was holding me together fell apart. I had three angry customers email me within the span of five minutes and I just lost it. I had done everything in my power to help these people, but I was bound to the policies of the company. People never seem to understand that, and they get pissed off, and it's all my fault. And I fell apart, right there at my desk. My coworkers came to check on me and gave me hugs, but my manager was in a meeting so I went to HR. HR sent me home for the day and I was scared to leave the office because I didn't want to lose my job.

I called my manager and told her my doctor wanted me to stay home to get myself together and that I would be back on Monday. Ultimately, however, I never went back. I had panic attacks all weekend about the amount of work I was going to have to catch up on, how mad my manager was going to be, and how I felt like the world was ending. I called HR in tears on Monday morning: "I can't do this anymore."

*****

That was about a month ago. I wish I could tell you that I am doing better, but if anything, it's worse. I haven't been to the barn since Patrick's surgery because every time I think about the horse, I have a panic attack. Every time I think about getting another job, I am full of this dread that I will never be able to have a real job. I certainly cannot work again in customer service, which is pretty much the only thing a degree in History qualifies me for. I feel like I can't do anything.

At the doctor last week, she said my goal was to get to the barn this last weekend. I couldn't do it.

I'm seeing my doctor regularly and I'm starting counseling, but I don't feel sane. I don't feel normal. I don't even feel calm without my medications. And any little thing sets me off. Last night, at about 1:00 in the morning, I got an email my dad had sent me earlier that night that had some bad news in it. Woody gets up really early for work in the morning so I don't like to wake him up when I am upset in the middle of the night. Instead I took a shower - and I sat in the tub until the water ran cold, crying my eyes out with Taylor Swift playing in the background. Huge, hysterical sobs and water so cold that I couldn't feel my legs.

And then I realized that this is it. This is rock bottom. It can't get any worse than it is right now. So I stood up and decided to make it better. I took my medicine and I woke up Woody because I couldn't figure out how to turn the AC off because I was freezing. And we talked and he held me and I watched a movie until I felt warm again. I don't know when I will be able to get to the barn and I don't know how long it will be until I am mentally stable enough to have another job. But I do know that I will get there eventually.

Little by little, piece by piece - that's how you put Humpty Dumpty together again.