TracieWrites vs. Depression: Round 2

I quit my job today.

“Quit” is such a nasty word in my opinion, filled with so many negative connotations. I could phrase the process of quitting my job in many ways: leaving, resigning, admitting defeat, parting ways with the company and so on. But the fact of the matter is: I had to do it. I had to quit, I had to leave.

I hate admitting defeat, I hate not seeing a project through to the end. Taking my degree in Biology nearly killed me, but I finished it and came out of the other end. I won’t say “unscathed” because it is highly likely that some of my current issues are rooted in those of the past, but I made it. I got my piece of paper and it is filed away with all my other certificates and achievements. But a job… it doesn’t have a beginning or an end, just one work day after another, after another. Whilst every day is different, every day is also the same monotonous drag.

Because I was working in the care industry.

And the care industry, it’s brutal. It offers a much-needed service to the people who have to make use of it, but for the staff, it is awful. It is minimum wage, menial work. As I was ‘only’ the kitchen assistant and the vast majority of my job essentially boiled down to washing up, this meant that in terms of respect from co-workers, I was very near the bottom of the pecking order. But whilst that was frustrating because so many people (namely, the carers) talked nonsense and I tried to correct them but they didn’t listen, the main problem has always been the demons in my head.

For the past seven and a half years, my health has been failing me at every single term. Chronic headache, chronic migraines, asthma, anxiety and depression only ever feed into one another in a downhill spiral. Being in a depressing environment, constantly surrounded by bitching women, spats over nothing and so much death, it’s only natural that I am in a much worse state than I was when I first entered my job.

There have been some changes for the better, mind. I’m better at organising money and budgeting now. I have come out of my shell a little bit more and am more inclined to speak my mind – even if it does sometimes feel like banging my head against that proverbial brick wall. And I am sure there are other things too, which have helped me grow as a person… but the detrimental side effects of my health were becoming far too much for me to be able to stay in the job.

The care industry requires a huge committment and loyalty from its’ staff. It literally cannot handle it if people are regularly off sick; you need to be reliable in order for the home to operate effectively. Whilst I am still more than capable of doing the job in question, my health is deteriorating at such a fast pace that it is scaring me and others around me. I am a health risk to myself and others at work because a kitchen is a very dangerous place for a semi-suicidal woman to be. As my (now, ex) boss phrased it, ‘it’s an accident waiting to happen.’ All it would take is for me to be working with a migraine and feeling low for me to accidentally spill a hot liquid over myself – or worse, a resident – and for chaos to ensue afterwards.

That, and it may go without saying, but it was really destroying my soul.

I love the residents at work and they love me. There’s some who are especially dear to my heart and I will miss seeing them frequently so much. I have been given an open invitation to visit there as much as I like, especially with the rabbits as the residents adore seeing them. I have also been told that when I have sorted out everything I need to, they will see if they can find a job for me. The boss has already started considering laundry work because it is far less stressful than kitchen work is. That is nice because it feels like when I get better, I still have a prospect of work, of sorts. So, whilst I may be unemployed now and needing to claim some sort of incapacity benefit, there is something for me to go back to when I am better.

However, there’s another, small, light which I am clinging onto. It’s something that is there for me through thick and thin, something which I find myself needing to do regardless of my mindset. It’s something that is said to be very therapeutic for seriously depressed people. And luckily, it’s the one thing I have always loved: writing.

So, I have already made a very simple mental note for myself. The time which I used to spend at work, I am going to write my novel. The rest of the time, I will spend doing other stuff, and maybe add some ‘fun’ writing to boot. Hopefully having grown used to the structure of work and play will mean I can stick to this mental promise to myself. And also, this will hopefully mean that I won’t have to return to my old job. Instead, maybe I will be able to follow these dreams of mine. That’d be nice.

I also have a cheerleader of sorts in my closest friend, who is training to be a doctor. She’s going to start coming over more often. Whilst she studies, I’ll write. That way, neither of us will be alone but we will both have somebody else being productive.

I can’t say I’m optimistic about the future. In truth, today, I simply feel blank.

But I know there’s something out there for me.

For now, I need to keep reminding myself that I haven’t failed by admitting that I can’t work anymore. On the contrary, this is my way of claiming my life back. Or at least, I hope it is.

Related articles

• TracieWrites vs. Depression: Round 1 (traciewrites.wordpress.com)
• Why people neglect treatment for depression (anchoredinknowledge.wordpress.com)

don’t dream it, be it

“Can’t you just see it? Don’t dream it, be it.”
David Bedella as Dr. Frank-N-Furter in Richard O’Brien’s The Rocky Horror Show

Since my (re)diagnosis of anxiety and depression, I’ve suffered from a lot of little (well, to me they’re little) niggling issues that have all built up into one massive issue that has prevented me from focussing on my writing.

Firstly, the diagnosis has knocked me for six. Not because deep down, I didn’t know I had anxiety and depression, but because it has brought all those thoughts that I believed I had compartmentalised into the very forefront of my mind. Barely an hour goes by without me thinking about it, about how much I need counselling and how the heck I am going to afford it. In addition to this, I have had a ten day migraine and attempted to work through it. (For reference, bad idea. I do not recommend it in the slightest.) However, work is still annoyed that I have had to take any days off sick – despite being fully aware of my health compromises and previously accepting of accommodating it – and is now pushing me to the very bone. I have been given several additional shifts  I haven’t been asked to do (and one I have because a co-worker has received a serious burn injury), and no choice but to attend. For a woman in her twenties, my health is frail and I physically cannot cope with being worked so hard. But what can I do but try and accommodate it? It might make me sick again, but what can I do?

So where has writing fitted into all of this? In truth, it hasn’t at all. It’s not an issue where it comes to creativity. I’ve been having very vivid dreams lately, all of which could easily be plot bunny fuel, both for fanfiction and original works. I have also had absolutely no problem thinking up turns of phrase and putting words together in a legible state which makes sense and tells a story. The problem has solely come from actually getting it out of my mind and recorded somewhere, whether that be in a notepad or on my computer (or another electronic device.) Due to the ill health, work and a couple of other things, I’ve felt continually tired and drained, hence my severely reduced output.

But, this post is meant to end on a more optimistic note. Well, at least optimistic to me, anyway. After all, this is what I feel like I was born to do. I have stories to tell. I just need to find my audience.

Recently, I revisited one of my absolute favourite musicals: The Rocky Horror Show. Whilst I like the film version well enough, I always believe that the stage show is what really brings it alive. And yet again, it did. I had a fabulous time, a well-deserved break from the drudgery of real life and a couple of hours of escapism with something I like. Rocky Horror is many things to many peoples. It’s subversive, a pastiche of 1920s to 1960s B-movies, a representation of alternative lifestyles, an exploration of sexual fluidity, sheer escapism and so on. Despite how frivolous it can be, this time, it really got me thinking.

Actually, two things got me thinking. My frustration with work, and how I’m stuck doing menial labour despite having a degree from a top ten UK university and how all my dreams still feel so far out of reach. And that is exactly where the lyrics from Rocky Horror come into play. Especially so after they were used in the programme to reference how an out-of-work Richard ‘O Brien created the beloved rock-and-roll musical which is now celebrating its fortieth year.

Don’t dream it, be it.

If I want to be a full-time author who is recognised for her storytelling capabilities, then I need to do something about it. I need to stop hiding back in my comfort zone of fanfiction and actually write my original novel. Because, without a first draft, I’m never going to have a first, second, third, and eventually, final draft of my book. It doesn’t matter what state the first draft is in because very, very few people are going to see it. And by that, I mean two people and one of them is myself. Besides, there’s some utter dirge out there, some great stories badly in need of a good edit and even some books considered to be classics can be very rough around the edges. I know my first draft can at least be as good as some of those, and maybe, just maybe, even better.

I just need to stop with the excuses, ignore my near-constant exhaustion and write my damn book.

It’s that easy.

Right?

Credit for photograph: Here.