Taking Stock: Where Were You 1 Year Ago?

"Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday, and all is well." - John T. Tindsley


1 year ago....

I wasn't sure I was going to be able to get out of bed and get to my new job every day.

I wasn't sure I was going to be able to fake it well enough to get by in the company of other Homo sapiens.

Would I randomly burst into tears and humiliate myself?

Would everyone see right through to my broken insides?

Underneath it all, the overarching fear: This will all end in one more failure.


But it didn't.


As I was moving through Module 2 of my friend Therese's Unlost E-Course, I started to realize that things weren't as bad as I seemed to be telling myself they were.  Therese had us compare six key dimensions of our lives from a year ago to now.  What dawned on me is how the life-and-death worries that plagued me then are not even on my radar today.  For the most part;)

1. Relationships

Ugh.  Why not start here?  For sure, for sure I have a loooooooooooong way to go in this realm.  I didn't trust people a year ago, and I don't trust them now.  But I'm starting to.  I'm letting (some) people INTO my life, instead of cutting them all out.  I'm going out instead of shutting myself in, and that's really all I can ask of myself at this point.  When you've been let down, and lied to, and trampled on by so many, it's not necessarily a good thing to let any idiot into your life willy-nilly.

I'm in a happy living situtation instead of chaos-filled negativity.  I have healthy boundaries between me and toxic family members.  Is it perfect?  No.  It never WILL be.  But you start somewhere, because ANYwhere is better than letting things go on the way they have.

2. Health

I lost 40 pounds this past year.  That has to be the first thing I write, because it freaking amazes me. I still can't jog, and there are a lot of days I can't walk over 20 minutes without problems.  But I've maintained a vegetarian lifestyle, started my days with raspberry-spinach-chia smoothies instead of processed cereal, and made other gradual changes that added up over a year's time.

And pain.  I couldn't tolerate stairs or driving, nor could I sit in a chair all day last year.  I wasn't sure how that was all gonna go down with a new job!  I had some really, really bad times.  But I made it through one day at a time.  When I injured my back on top of everything else, I made "getting better" an absolute priority above all else, including this blog.  I went back into Physical Therapy, started Rolfing, found an herbal anti-inflammatory that miraculously works, and took a week off work to purge built-up stress.

Shit doesn't get better on its own.  Sometimes the first or second (or thirtieth) things you try don't help, and you have to dig deep to keep seeking out alternatives.

3. Career

Ouch.  This was a sore subject not so long ago. Anyone who has suffered through unemployment, financial ruin, and fruitless job interviews knows how hard it is to maintain hope in the face of what's been lost.  You hold on one more day because tomorrow could be the day it all turns around...and sometimes, that actually happens.

I just had my 1-year anniversary at a job that gives me a sense of purpose, along with decent pay and hours.  I could still be filled with bitter resentment over the career I lost, but instead I am happy to have -A- job, because I remember what it's like to be endlessly job-hunting.

4. Financial

Let's just say I was still sleeping on an air mattress last year because I was too afraid of buying a bed and having to move it again.  If that doesn't tell you everything about how precarious my financial situation was, I don't know what will!

Having a nice balance in the savings account is a huge relief.  So is having a big girl bed.

5. Spiritual

This one isn't easy for me, because I can't feel the hopelessness that enveloped me a year ago.  What's more, I don't want to try to remember.  The simple fact that I am not in complete and utter despair every waking moment says it all.

I know what it's like to have every single one of these 6 domains come crashing down at once, and I'm sure many of you have been there as well.  Grasping to find something - anything - worth getting out of bed for is a shitty place to be in.

I haven't found any answers, and I haven't found God.  But I have found meaning again through helping other people who are in the place I was.

6. Personal Development/Hobbies

Thanks to A.R.T. treatments, I was able to get back on the bike a little bit last summer.  I can only hope that my leg continues to progress.

And blogging...I'm writing this post, aren't I?  I bought a domain, spiced up the look of DFTL, and increased my posts to an average of twice a month.  Have I done all I set out to do with this space?  Ab-so-lute-ly NOT!  And yes, I could easily focus on how far I have yet to go.  But now, just for the moment, I have to be grateful for what steps I've taken.


Think back to your biggest problems 1 year ago today....

What questions were you grappling with?  Undoubtedly, some of your fears are still nagging you, many problems have since been resolved, and others .... are in process.

That's the real message here; there IS no endpoint.  You may be further along than you thought you'd be, or even miles off track, but it's pretty unlikely that you're exACTLY where you were a year ago.

We all know the "life is a journey" cliches; we comprehend that "the trail is the thing, not the end of the trail."  But beneath that?  We secretly long for that day when we've got our shit figured out so we can sit on our rears, put our feet up, and quit worrying about every little thing.

That day is not going to come.

That being said, you'd better start giving yourself a little credit for how far you've come.

What is the point of racking up accomplishments if you never take a breath and acknowledge how effing awesome it is that you pulled it off?

Since you're never going to get "THERE" - that magic destination - what are some ways you can begin to relax into whereever you're at right now, today, and be at peace with that?

Self-Esteem, Self-Worth...or C) None of the Above

"I'm going to ask a question that will probably shock everyone in this room that I'm asking....you know, it all sounds great on the surface, but when you look a little closer at your resume, there's a year here, a year there, and it doesn't seem like you've stayed any place for very long...can I ask why?" --Interviewer (2 weeks ago)

I have answered this question, in all its various forms, time and time again.  

I have concocted versions of the truth, and flat-out lies.  

I have summoned confidence I don't really possess to emphasize all the right things, instead of all the things that make me look bad.  


But the truth is, it doesn't matter.



The 7 years that I *was* with the same employer....they don't matter.  

Straight A's and Summa Cum Laude?  Doesn't matter.  

The 3 extra years I spent earning a Master's?  High school dropouts make more than I do right now.

Volunteering and going the extra mile?  Don't make me laugh.



It is my fault.  I am the one who left the job where I was making good money in return for being treated like shit.  It was my decision to stand up for myself, my decision to quit, and my decision to drive to Nashville to kill myself.  

The problem, ironically, is that I didn't kill myself.  

The way this has fucked up my life...well, it just makes me wish I had.  Choosing to live has ruined my life.  Years of unemployment and suicidal depression...the ensuing downward spiral....

Through it all, I haven't given up.  Through all the dismissal and rejection, I plodded through five hundred twenty-five thousand job applications until one day - yes! - one day, it all paid off....

There is so much more dignity in being underemployed, rather than just unemployed.  Even though my degree is worth twice what I am making, at least I am in the field.  I can always console myself with that when I think of trash collectors making double my income.  

It's not that I wasn't bitter before this job interview two weeks ago; it's that I forgot how bitter I was, being fortunate enough to have a job to go to every day.  I was dumb enough to go out on a limb and apply for the position my degree tells me I am qualified for....and end up rejected once again.  The irony is, I was feeling more confident than ever because I finally have 9 months of steady employment in my field with great references!  So much for that.  

At least I gave it a shot.  Yes, it made me feel like absolute shit afterwards, but what doesn't.  The important thing is that I had the self-worth to believe I deserved it...for a moment, anyway.  

Trail of Thoughts

A 60 year-old man with a thick gray mustache skateboarded by me on the trail this afternoon.

I thought to myself that this was more bizarre than the ferret I saw on the trail yesterday, which turned out to be a mink.

Then I realized that I was walking my cat, so who the f*ck am I to judge an elderly skateboarder.

Then I contemplated how walking my cat was more acceptable when I lived in the city whose motto is, “Keep Austin weird.”

Then I thought about how there’s cool-weird and there’s weird-weird, and pretended not to know which category catwalking would fall into.

Then I remembered telling my best friend in Austin that I was going to start a “PussyWalkers” Meetup group and join together with fellow freaks who push their pussies around.

Then I recalled actually starting an American Idol Meetup group at Mangia Pizza in downtown Austin and having only my 2 friends and one plump old lady named Turtle show up.

Then I recollected how this Meetup group led to me being interviewed by Nic Ciccone of Fox News Austin.

Then I cringed at what a mega-dork I was (am) and vowed to never appear on camera again. 

Then I asked myself why I continually do super-nerdish things despite knowing that they’re uncool.

Then I wondered if I would have more friends if I didn’t walk my cat.

Then I remembered that my friends still sucked even when I didn’t have a cat to walk.

Then I remembered that I got a cat because some new-agey chiropractor lady put colored sunglasses on me and told me that if I was lonely I should get a kitten.

Then I recalled thinking that this was the most expensive retarded advice anyone could give an abandoned unemployed suicidal person.

Then I realized that my pussy is still here with me, and not one person from the past 4-odd years of my life is still around.

Then I decided that I should hate that rich chiro bitch a little less. 

Then I wondered why I spent 40 minutes straining my eyes, unable to see sh*t on this laptop outside just so I could sit on my new chaise lounge. 

Then I told someone off in a really catty way and wondered if that made me a pussy. 

Then I decided that my cat is the only egotistical pussy I have to accept dealing with.

And then I decided this would be my last post written at a fourth-grade level. 

Dry Ice

So last week on my way to sign paperwork for a new job, I drove by the grocery store that, in late fall of 2009, had dry ice in stock when I called every place in town trying to find it.  It seems a little surreal that I actually did that, you know, plan my death down to the last morbid detail of calculating how many dry ice packs would be required to preserve my body X amount of days so that it wouldn’t be AS awful when somebody found it.  As a courtesy (I feel), you should do that.  You should know what day you’re going to eat last, so that you can know there won’t be anything inside you.  And for Christ’s sake, you shouldn’t be found naked.

A week prior I had to get an I-9 notarized, which triggered a 2009 flashback to my “witness” questioning me admirably for being so responsible as to write a will at my young age.  Standing outside the notary public in Austin’s blazing July heat chatting with this stranger, I *knew* she wanted to know the dirt…does this chick have cancer?  She looks fine to me.  What in the world does a 27 year old need a will for?

Two weeks before that I was packing boxes to move and came across the shard of glass from a broken mirror, two packs of powdered aspirin, and the stashes of pills I still have stockpiled for some reason.  What, really, would be a good reason to hold onto your means and your backup plans for your backup plan? 

Luckily I’m not in therapy so I don’t have to answer that.  Sadly, I’ve never been to a counselor-psychologist-psychiatrist with the depth or skills to even GET to a question like that.  Even the people who are supposedly TRAINED to “go there” can’t actually do it, because it’s safer to talk about why you don’t have a job or how your family’s so screwed up.  But I digress.

My first suicide plan back in 2007 (link) was too hasty to encompass such minute details.  It was thrown together in half a day.  The second and third time around, the plan evolved to be more exhaustive.  I mulled over the minutiae laboriously as my cash ran out and an upcoming eviction notice loomed over me.  With the same furor I usually summoned to plan my life, I instead planned my death.  I reveled in having something to focus on besides the aching hole terrorizing my insides.

I stopped short of buying dry ice on my step-by-step plan, and still to this day have never stepped foot inside that particular store … have never even laid eyes on the place until the other day.  Life sprinkles all these coincidental little reminders in periodically to ensure you can’t escape from the memory of almost.  Almost not here. 

Once you’ve been suicidal, you can’t not be the person who went off the deep end.  You don’t get to be the stable, rational one with a good head on your shoulders anymore.  People view you as the equivalent of the hairline fracture in their coffee mug; for the most part you’re functional and they can sometimes hide the imperfection, but every once in a while the leak betrays itself and they’re never quite sure when you’re gonna up and crack bigtime.  And to be honest, I feel the same way about myself.  Even if you glued me or something, I’m still convinced I could bust open at any given moment. 

I remember Rappaport’s proposal from In Her Wake that people plan suicide as a way to cope with life.  If you perceive your situation as inescapable, you are trapped.  There is a perverse comfort you indulge in by planning your way out.  “If this gets to be too much, I enact the plan,” you tell yourself.  “If I can’t take it anymore, I know how to make the pain stop.”  (This is my grotesque version of paraphrasing a book I read almost three years ago).

Though a year’s gone by since my last serious inclination towards suicide, I think Rappaport might understand better than I why I still harbor the means to my demise.  Not a day goes by that I can’t find a book or soup ladle or other random possession I’ve forgotten I got rid of that summer in Austin.  Sometimes I think parts of myself were discarded along with my belongings, and I’m not allowed to forget it.

Unemployment … and the downward spiral.

When I decided to be done with life, the job was the first thing to go.  Buh-freakin-bye.  And let me tell you, there’s a moment of pure, blissful emancipation inherent in the simplicity of the decision to not – ever – return to the place or the people that have led to your demise.  In my case, I think it was my first real act of rebellion in life.  A resounding “NOPE!” to life’s ceaseless demands and ‘musts’ and obligations. 

At the end of the day, you always have options.  Yes or no [or in Shakespearian terms: “To be, or not to be,” as Hamlet stated with slightly more eloquence than me].  If you spend enough of your life as a doormat, it’s possible to forget that, in fact, no one can *make* you do anything.  You have to decide for yourself if your life is going to be what YOU want it to be, because this isn’t a dress rehearsal.  And that’s the Sartre in me speaking…..

You actually don't have to white-knuckle it until you hate your life so much that you want to kill yourself to *finally* start saying ‘no’ to the psychic vampires who would be content to suck the very soul out of you.  There’ll be other victims around the corner for them to beat down to a pulp.  So decide it’s not gonna be you. 

   

   

Between a bullying boss, a degrading attack on my being, and a sudden personal abandonment, it was as if a switch had been flipped: I was just -done- with it all.  Tired of doing things I didn’t want to do.  If there was never going to be anything more to life than jumping through somebody else’s hoops, and going through the motions of an existence I can’t even stand, I didn’t want to be a part of it anymore.  Why stick around so other people can tear me down and rip me apart; how long are you supposed to bend over backwards doing for others, only to get crapped on in return? 

And so, on what was to be the last night of my life, I composed a bye-bye letter of resignation to my bitch of a boss.  You know, the sort of thing everybody secretly wishes they could do, but which you shouldn’t even *think* about doing if there’s even a smidgen of a chance you’re going to have to live with the consequences (HELL-O, take it from me).  The mature part of me is, of course, ashamed of such childish self-indulgence.  And then there’s the smug part of me that bubbles over in self-satisfied hysterics just thinking about that slore checking her inbox that next morning.  There are times in life when people get exactly what they deserve.  It just happened to be her time to be humiliated in front of HER colleagues in the same manner she liked to dish out.  Karma’s a bitch (and yes, I’ve certainly gotten *my* come-uppins, so don’t worry about that). 

So in my case, you could really say I brought on this whole “unemployment” situation mySELF, so boo-hoo WTF are you crying about, you moron?!?!  Yeah, yeah, I get it: there are bazillions of laid-off workers who – through no fault of their own – have found themselves unable to support their families.  Believe me, I have immense compassion for everyone in that situation.  I don’t want anyone’s pity, nor do I expect anyone to feel bad for this mess I have gotten myself into.  I screwed myself, and I know it.  It wasn’t the smart thing to do – but then, do you honestly think a suicidal person is in a rational frame of mind? 

But regardless of the circumstances that lead to unemployment, I’d wager the emotions are pretty much the same once you’re swimming (err, drowning?) in it. 

It’s humiliating.  You feel like the scum of the earth and start to believe that everyone is thinking what a lazy, worthless drain on society you’ve become, and how easy it is to just go out and get a job if you’re willing to work hard.  You’re desperate to prove your worthiness to civilization by jumping back into the swing of things … if only you COULD.  If only someone would give you the chance.  “If only _____ would happen, I could get it all back on track,” you think to yourself.  You feel ashamed of yourself (even if it’s not your fault in the slightest) because, after all, if you really wanted a job bad enough you would be working, right?  That’s the message from society.  

Well, if you’ve never been unemployed, you need to keep your damn mouth shut, because you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.  You don’t have a clue what it’s like to suddenly feel powerless over your own life and feel sick with uncertainty in the pit of your stomach.  You couldn’t possibly know how disconcerting it is to find yourself at the mercy of factors beyond your control, blowing around in the wind with your future up in the air. And you sure as f*** don’t know the existential dread of waking up wondering, “Where in the HELL am I going in this life, and WTF am I going to do to survive?”   

Next, your disparaged soul sets about to the task of job-hunting, a process my (former) friend Singlutionary at Unabashedly Unemployed once described as: “demoralizing and dehumanizing and just shitty in general. It would wear down even the strongest person into a blubbering pulp.”  She always did have a way with words. 

Alas, that friendship was another casualty of my erratic, suicidal behavior.  It really bites to glance in the rear-view mirror and catch a glimpse of all your ugliest self has left in its wake.  Especially when your destructive fight-or-flight antics cost you those precious few in life who ‘get’ the floundering groundlessness of life for the simultaneously unattached and unemployed.  Add it all to the list of things that can’t be undone…  

Back to my point: There is a peculiar desperation unique to long-term unemployment that can easily culminate in surrender.  Truly, you reach a point where it literally becomes absurd to fill out the three thousand and fourth employment application, and you are absolutely convinced that you will never be a productive member of society again … so why bother to keep trying??  Then you awaken wide-eyed for the next 3 weeks and frantically search the job boards until your eyeballs blur over and roll into the back of your head.  Until you ditch the pointless effort, crash, and take refuge in your bed for a week … only to revive the panic cycle once again in a few days.  I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, yet I know there are millions in the same boat as me.     

Never in a million years would my younger self have believed that I would end up 27 years old (then 28, then 29, then 30….) and unable to get back into the workforce.  That a lifetime of striving and hard work and straight A’s would amount to nothing.  That 7 years of college and scholarships and 4.0’s and summa cum laude would bring me to: a dead end.  In one fell swoop, I rendered my entire life’s work null and void.  No one cares about the decade of solid employment with a strong work ethic; all that matters now are these “gaps in employment” I’ve got to account for.  Try conjuring up the confidence to make it through an interview after you’ve flushed your career down the toilet … good times.  References?  Don’t make me laugh. 

Thing is, I didn’t intend to be here dealing with all of this.

I’ve spent plenty of days wishing I would’ve just gotten it over with, because it feels like a trillion miles on this journey just to get back to the place where I was barely hanging on to begin with.  And that absolutely terrifies me. 

So, yeah.  Being a disgrace unto yourself certainly feeds into all the pre-existing suicidal impulses.  Unemployment is a fitting companion to the severely depressed, because your feelings of worthlessness can be reinforced on a daily basis!  

A few months ago, I purged the utter despair of my unemployment into a little ditty: 

Seasons of Hopelessness - "Rent" theme song: The economy tribute version

This, too, shall pass?

"God never gives us more than we can handle."

"What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger."

“This, too, shall pass.”

"Just think positive; pull yourself out of it."

"Everything happens for a reason."

But what if there really was no good reason for us to feel this way? And the pain never truly passed, but instead infiltrated every aspect of our personalities until we couldn’t remember who we used to be back when something meant something to us? What if our bodies turned into living, breathing evidence betraying the fact that we could not, in fact, handle it? And what if, in the end, we became deadened, weakened versions of who we used to be? Finally…what if we spat those clichés back into the face of the morons spewing them out in some misguided attempt to comfort us through our dark times?!

Oops, was that harsh? Well, if you’re the type of person who is prone to remarks like “Jesus can save you,” you will find this blog mightily irreverent; please read no further. If, on the other hand, you fear you may one day smack the shit out of somebody who utters one of the aforementioned clichés, read on!

If you can relate to these sentiments, you are probably sick to death of people who are quick to offer advice and render judgment, and slow to really listen when understanding is what you truly need. It’s easy to dispense solutions when you’re not the one wanting to kill yourself every day. What’s hard is to simply be there for another human being.

I am not writing this blog because I have the answers to everyone’s problems. I can’t pull anyone else out of a place I often can’t climb out of myself. I can, however, attempt to offer this forum as a source of support for anyone who has suffered from depression or suicidal tendencies. Because the truth is, many people simply don’t understand this scary, taboo subject. Suicide is a concept most people cannot get their heads around. If life has never brought you to your knees, what could you know of suffering?

I know firsthand what it’s like to have to pretend for everyone else’s sake, to put on the happy face in order to live up to others’ expectations, to hold it all inside so that nobody has to worry about a problem they can’t solve for you. For these reasons, I need a place where I can express what I really think and feel, without the fear of judgment.

Maybe you do, too.

Join me in the attempt to “step down from the ledge,” so to speak. Let’s get through one day, one hour, one minute at a time and live to see what tomorrow brings. Even if we think we already know it’ll only be more suffering.

"Tell your truth. You never know who you'll set free."