Chasing Understanding

I haven't really been feeling all that great lately. I had to reserve a crying day to rid myself of some of what's on my mind. And I felt completely stripped afterward, needing a few days to recover. Deep in the throws of re-evaluation, hard pills have been swallowed. The conclusion: I need to walk away. That just isn't something I do. I don't just throw in the towel the first, second or third time around. I stick shit out, fight to the death, and even when its clear that I've done all that I can do, and been all that I can be, I still hold on for a little while longer. However, there isn't just a thin line between love and hate, but also one nestled between loyalty and stupidity. Like I said, hard pills.

Being Expendable

I wonder what all of this means. What does it all really mean?

Another rejection. It would be nice if the rejection could at least come after the interview. I've never even made it to the interview stage. They don't have to see me in person to know that they don't want me working with their establishment. No matter how much I try to prove myself on paper, its just not enough. How can I be what these people want when I'm not even sure what they are looking for? I illustrate all the ways that I can meet their needs, all the ways that my skills can be beneficial to them, the ways in which I can do the job, and their response is that they went with someone whose skills better fit their needs. Why can't someone just give me a chance? With each rejection I fade more into the background. With each week/month/year that passes, my resume becomes less desirable, less relevant.

Was I really supposed to be working in an office - gaining experience, while going to school full time, raising my daughter on my own, dealing with death consecutively, never making a full recovery from being raped, in and out of depression, already not getting the most out of the education that I was getting? Did others around me do it because they were "only" raising children while doing school and work? Or because they had a boyfriend or husband living at home, bringing in the money, leaving them to focus more on family and academics? Did I not try hard enough? I did try! I did more than just try. I went to work. Sometimes forfeiting my classes and school work to be in the office longer, so I could see more money on my paycheck, to feel like it all was worth it. I felt like I had finally found my "place" when I was in that office. I felt like a contributor. Like I made a difference and was needed. I had made friends, was a part of the pack, or so I thought.

A year passed, and still, I was thinking ahead, about how I could be of service to the company. I was nearing graduation, so then I would be available full time. I was looking at housing closer to work for when it was time to relocate, I was even thinking about how my first love of journalism and my interest in photography could benefit the company. Since "I" was already the Marketing Department, I wanted to apply myself more during showroom travel. Photographing the showroom for the company website, making a suggestion to the CEO and COO that we should become a completely electronic based office where documents were concerned. I never got the chance to make it known that I saw myself as a permanent part of the company. I had started sensing that there was something not quite right with my scheduling. I had tried making myself more available, and would be told that I wasn't needed for the number of hours that I was available, when months earlier, my availability was welcomed. Then the day came. I was asked into the CEO's office, he gave me a speech about no longer being able to afford to keep me (due to the economy), told me I had two weeks, and if I needed a letter for my next job he'd be happy to write me one. There was no farewell party for me, like there had been for a coworker who had left the office. No one said anything. No one emailed me when I didn't return. It was as if I had never even been a part of the company. As if I had never shared anything with the people in that office. It was such a hurtful ending. I'm obviously still affected by it.

And now, as I search for a comfortable, fulfilling office assistant job, I find that companies are looking for people who have all of this experience. Asking a minimum of 2 years, which isn't much to someone who actually has worked for 2 years. My last experience was the longest that I have ever been at any one job. One year and 5 months. I feel like, in every aspect of life, I always come up short. Like, no matter what I do, how hard I may work or fight, I come up short. After everything that I sacrificed to be available for my company, my ass got kicked to the curb, and my time there isn't paying off for me in the way of experience, I still come up short. I'm reminded of that every time I open a new job ad or apply to one.

For anyone who reads this, I already know what you're probably gonna say. "Its the economy." Yeah, I know all about the economy. I'm sick to death of the fucking economy, and being told repeatedly that its the economy. Its worst than being told, its not you, its me. Which brings me to a random thought: What the fuck is Arnold doing making an appearance in a movie? With the state of California, his ass should NOT be on any big screen unless he is gonna be putting the money from the film into the pockets of Californians! AND, its not essentially just the economy. People are getting jobs. I know this because I am friends with some of the people who are getting jobs. So, what the fuck am "I" doing wrong? Perhaps you will suggest that I do more, such as take another class, take a different kind of job - anything that's available, go to a temp agency. Simply put, I'm really doing all that I have the capacity to do. I just really need for things to change. I deserve for things to change. Nobody deserves to invest so much of their time and money into a University, believing that in doing so they have insured a future free of poverty, only to end up homeless, with no possible leads to employment. So many that I know chose to go to grad school because of this very reality. They didn't want to face it. I chose to face it head on, because I desired to work. I needed to work - a change in my routine, a new direction in my life. I've been in a classroom for 21 years straight, I'm fucking tired of that lifestyle! I believed that I would find something.

So what now?

Continue applying for jobs, hoping to be chosen.

Try to think of ways to be more creative in my approach to employers.

Navigate the trap of being over qualified and/or under qualified.

Sharpen my computer skills through online program training.

All while functioning at half capacity, and being extremely depressed.

Money Doesn't Only Talk, It Walks!

Since when does 200 minus 32 equal 3?

That's what I was asking myself today, as I handed over 7 bucks to the girl working the drive-thru window. Yesterday, there was $176 in my wallet, left over from my two weekend purchases. After lunch, I was left with $3. I was absolutely livid! I pulled over, dumped my purse, went through my wallet, and nothing. No hidden 20s, just 3 lonely ass 1 dollar bills. I had plans for that little bit of change. Important plans. Plans that will not be carried out because of someone else's plans. I didn't want to think in terms of living amongst a theif, but it would be stupid of me not to, given the fact that the monies of others have a tendency to come up missing on a regular basis. I always try to keep careful watch over my possessions, especially my purse, but alas, I got a little too comfortable. Seems, at grandma's house, you have to store your shit behind lock and key if you plan on enjoying it yourself. The slightest slip up will have you parked at an intersection, nose turned up at fast food getting cold, crying into an empty wallet.

Because I have a suspect, I headed back to grandma's, packed a couple days worth of things for myself and Emma, and decided to come down to a friend's house. I can't close my eyes in the same house with her daughter tonight, and shit, she shouldn't close her eyes in the same house with me! All the thoughts that entered my mind were evil. All I could see was my fist connecting with her damn throat. As hard as the cash that I have is to come by, to have someone go into my purse and take it, and not take some - but all, is the ultimate disrespect. It would have been easy for me to forget that she's 16 years old. I wanted to be on that ass like white on rice, and still might!

After calling my grandma to inform her, she said she'd ask her about it. I'd feel a little better if she said she'd make her empty her pockets when she came home. I will surely never see that money again. When my grandma does ask her about it, she will deny it, as always. She's been denying shit from an early age - like when my digital recorder came up missing, and she swore that she was not guilty of taking it. Surprisingly, it was her guilty little voice all over it when I found it months later, hidden under my grandma's bathroom sink. Oddly enough, that is where I found my white clutch last month!

I wonder what else of mine does her ass try on when no one else is looking.

Somewhere Between Indio and Los Angeles

Is my granddad. Broke down on the side of the road. After repairing two blown out tires, his truck has now overheated. The radiator is completely dry. There isn't a service station in sight, and I am assuming that no other travelers have stopped to assist. His only link to rescue has been grandma and I, over the phone and through the net. We've relayed information for a tow service that will cost him $350. Much more than a single plane ticket for a little old man don't you think? Oh, and did I mention that the $350 doesn't include fixing his busted radiator, that's just the cost of traveling an hour out of their way to bring him an hour closer to home. He wont be joining us tonight for dinner like we thought. Instead, we'll be waiting, wondering and worrying. You know, the usual.

See, you can NOT teach an old dog new tricks!

Recognizing Triggers

Hello.

My name is Barbara.

And I have an Obsessive-Compulsive Spectrum Disorder called Dermatillomania, better known as Compulsive Skin Picking.

Skin picking as a disorder is new to me. This year was the first that I had ever known there was an actual clinical term for what has always been a part of my life. But then again, when it comes to the DSM, most behaviors fit the etiology of a disorder. This year was also the first that I had decided to do an internet search for information about skin picking. When I'm stressed I go through some really rough patches of skin picking in all of its unconscious glory. I suspect that this disorder has been with me since early childhood. The numerous black spots covering my face in nearly all of my childhood pictures provides the proof. I've always viewed my skin as acne-prone, but the truth is, the black discoloration left over from breakouts probably wouldn't be so promanent if I didn't irritate my skin with picking.

Currently, my ears hurt from the irritations of picking the skin around my piercings. My face hurts from picking breakouts on my forehead. My navel hurts from scratching and picking a spider bite. All sites of irritation have turned black, and will have to undergo a few weeks of treatment with black soap and shea butter in order to fade. And the next time I am extremely stressed out the cycle will repeat itself. I will subconsciously pick my skin, gaining a momentary sense of serenity, and then the pain and shame of the scares created by the cravings of my nervous system. According to BrainPhysics.com, the act of compulsive skin picking is an act of self mutilation, so I guess you can think of dermatillomania in the same terms as cutting.

I am not exactly sure how I am going to pursue treatment for this disorder. It is but a fraction of what ails me, but a contributor to my social anxiety, and is also born of my anxiety. As you can see, when it comes to mental illness/disorders things get complicated. Thus treatment itself is often complicated. So begins the search for an understanding and knowledgable psychiatrist who can provide some great cognitive-behavioral therapy.