I imagine a few of my co-workers are watching this site to see if I'll say anything about quitting yesterday. I probably should, though nothing anyone can file suit over. That part is easy--there's no grand conspiracy, I'm not mad at anyone, and I miss you all. You are great. The job was great, too. Programming, teaching, managing and organizing things is a drool-worthy job description for me. I had a lot of fun.
So what happened?
Well, if you read this blog, then you know I have a pretty crappy mental illness. This job was the first I'd managed to stay at for any length of time. Ten years is a miraculous run for me. It's very, very difficult for me to face an office full of people five days a week, week after week. I was out a lot--I had to be. We were trying to make accommodations for my illness, but they just didn't work in the end. I was getting sicker and sicker.
And yes, I appreciate the irony of losing my health insurance for the sake of my health.
I weighed my options, and decided it was time to find another way to pay the mortgage. Something on my own terms. What is it? I have a bunch of ideas, and we'll see where I go. I have a few months to figure things out.
Finally, I'm okay. I've had a few concerned emails, and I just want to say I'm good. It's really weird--I've never done this before. It's a little frightening. It's a lot exciting. I feel like I'm 25 again, and my life has blown open in front of me. I have my anchor, Bill, and together I know we'll be okay.
I love you and miss you all. You have my email address. You better write.
I'm always looking for ways to explain this. So let me try again.
Every adult I know has had their heart broken. Maybe someone died, maybe someone left, but there you are, left in little pieces. Can you remember the last time your heart was broken? You recovered over long days, maybe sometimes being able to smile, mostly looking for distractions or solitude or both. Maybe you wanted to die, because it hurt so bad.
Okay, now imagine feeling that way say, eight days out of ten for your entire life. Got that? Heart broken. No end. The only thing that helps the balance is drugs, and those aren't perfect. Your heart is still broken for a little under half the time. Say, three or four out of ten days. Each time, you know you'll feel better later. You know you'll be happy again. But you also know the happiness will go away. In fact, your happiness is tainted at every moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I'm just. so. fucking. tired.
KATUMeetup: Portland bloggers group photo
Originally uploaded by Brian M. Westbrook.
Here we are. Bill and I are in Blogathon t-shirts, down in front. I know it's hard to spot me with dark hair--my shirt is dark blue, Bill's is royal blue, both with pink text. Yeah, I look like hell. Sue me, I didn't primp. That's JD to my right. He says he doesn't smile in pictures because his eyes get squinty. C'mon, look at this--everybody's eyes are tiny. May as well smile for a group shot this big.
While I'd like to say I had a good time, well, it was a lot of strangers. Bill and I clung to poor JD like a couple of lampreys. It was nice to talk with him--we don't get together nearly often enough. But yeah, awkward. Bill only had to give my hand a gentle touch once when I got too hyper, and my voice started going up. Sigh. At least I wasn't the only freak in the room. Someday, I'd like to be suave.