I’ve never done a post about my personal life before, so I might as well do one now, when my life is as crazy and abnormal as it’s been so far.
I’ll give you the spoiler first. I’m at home right now — my grandparents’ house, to be exact. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be working at my college’s dining hall for the next three months.
Why am I here?
Well, time for some tragic backstory, my friends.
About three years ago, at the end of my senior year of high school, my dad left our family to marry the girl who happened to be my best friend. It was a really messed up situation (although great for writing inspiration) and although over the past three years life has settled into a steady rhythm again, it isn’t exactly the type of thing you can get over. I struggled through my first year of college, then worked at the dining hall over the summer. Although difficult, it was great — just the kind of space I needed from home. So I thought, “Why not do that again this year?”
Back up again to this past Spring semester. My classes went well, with the exception of one — Writing For Social Change — that seemed to trigger every bad feeling within me. It didn’t even make sense. The issues we were discussing were LGBT equality and race relations, not anything to do with families falling apart or anything I’d really struggled with personally. And yet for some reason, I couldn’t write anything for that class without descending into pain I hadn’t felt since my parents were in the midst of their breakup.
I went to my school counselor about it, and she and my professor decided that I could extend the deadline for my coursework and finish it when I didn’t have my other classes pressing down on me. “Great,” I thought. “That’ll fix the problem.” Except…it didn’t. A few days after school ended, I went back to my old essays, and descended into the same panic I’d felt before.
We worked it out and I ended up finishing the class with a B, but I’m still not sure what happened. I thought life would be better after this class was finished and I just had work to worry about. But lo and behold — nothing changed. Maybe it had to do with the fact that I’d been scheduled 8 days in a row, working 6am every morning; maybe it was because I hadn’t gotten enough sleep since before finals week. But I started to hate work, even though I loved the people I worked with. And I started returning to damaging thoughts of self-harm that I’d been having ever since my first year in school.
Yesterday, I had a follow-up appointment with my counselor at school, and decided it was time to come clean about these thoughts. She decided that it was no longer safe for me to work at school, mostly because the school has no health facilities open during the summer. In fact, she waived the two-week notice I was supposed to give my supervisors, walked with me over to the office, and explained my situation to the supervisor present. We also called my mom and my grandmother, explaining why I needed to come home as soon as possible. All this resulted in me learning I should leave my job and subsequently packing up and moving home in the same afternoon.
Unfortunately, my head boss was not there when we explained my situation to my supervisor, so he e-mailed me last night asking me to return in a week. I understand completely — it’s hard enough over the summer with eight people, and when someone leaves suddenly that makes it harder for everyone — but I didn’t know how to respond. I don’t think I can go back. And even if I could, I would be very unhappy. So I spent most of last night thinking about it and crying. I even called the National Suicide Prevention Hotline, not because I was in any immediate danger, but because I needed someone detached from the situation to tell me their opinion. They told me what my friends had been telling me; that I needed to take a break for my own mental health, but it’s still hard to wrap my head around.
I think I might be in shock, if you can be in shock from leaving work. Sitting at home typing this is so unreal. I should be at work right now. I don’t really know what to do.
So yeah, that’s my personal story for the week. I suppose I could have started off with something a little less depressing, but oh well. Thanks for reading — I’ll be back soon with the first Broody BFF challenge entry that you may have heard about on Twitter. (Total change of pace, I know.)
Stay crazy, my friends.
Shout-out to Maggie @ Maggie’s Musings for teaching me how to make better title images.
If you or someone you know is in danger of harming themself, call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. They’re very nice and not scary at all, and it will help.