Cold Turkey

Yesterday, I confessed to an addiction.  Today, I’ll tell you about another.

I’ve been a drug addict for six years.  It’s true.  Every single day for the last six years, I have taken mood altering substances that my body very quickly became dependent upon and without which I turned into an unrecognizable monster oddly reminiscent of an enormous ass, but one that would sooner kill you then feel like you’ve let him down or disappointed him in anyway.

I’m not talking about anything you’d snort or inject, in fact, I’d have to check with Ex Con Older Brother to be sure, but I don’t think you could even buy these drugs on the street.  The internet?  Sure.  But not the street.  No, the drugs I’m talking about are the Doctor sanctioned, Government approved, Pharmaceutical Company foisted kind.  Yes, that’s right.  I’ve been taking Anti-Depressants for the last six years.

Today, however, marks the last day of this addictive behavior.  No longer will I assault my synaptic pathways with artificial fortification.  No longer will I ingest these foreign substances to do what they will with my psyche.

[ Gosh, I feel a little like I should be standing barefoot on a couch after an overnight drinking party shouting at my friends about our flaccid penises (peni?) and making deals about losing our virginity by prom night.  And if you don't get that reference - American Pie - then I don't want to be your friend anyway.]

Today I am taking back control of my emotional well being.  It isn’t actually, really cold turkey  I made this decision back in April when I was taking 300 Milligrams of Welbutrin and 40 milligrams of Celexa on a daily basis.  I felt like I was in a haze all the time.  I felt like I wasn’t able to access my feelings.  Like I wasn’t having a genuine experience.  And I felt like this ride was never going to end unless I stepped on the breaks and got out of the car.  So I did.

This whole ordeal started a little over six years ago–  Well, really it started 33 years ago with my childhood and my genetics and my divorced parents and my general state of misery, but I don’t have all day to write and you don’t have all day to read and if I tried to put it all in here, WordPress very well might explode, but not before you found me boring and hit that nifty little arrow in the upper right corner to take you to the next random post!  So with that being said…

We’ll pick up this ordeal six years ago.  I had been working for about four months for The Company that Created the HMO and wasn’t really loving it (I was an Administrative Assistant for fuck’s sake) but it followed a nine month period of unemployment where I could barely pay for my car with the unemployment checks I received ever other week, let alone rent and utilities, or assisting Green M&M, who graciously allowed me to move in with her, with expenses.  I had been drinking a lot, and feeling really dejected because I wasn’t able to find another job and I was at a really low point in my emotional cycle.  So when the opportunity with The Company came along, I really had not choice but to take it.

One day I had had a blow up with a co-worker and I didn’t know what to do about it so I made an appointment with the Employee Assistance Program Counselor, ostensibly to talk about work relations and how I could deal with this person.  I sat for an hour with this Counselor who talked to me for five minutes about my coworker problem and then asked me all kinds of questions about my life, my childhood, how I live now, etc., etc., etc.  Then she said, “You sound depressed to me.  Here.  The Company that Created the HMO offers all these classes and they’re bound to fix you.”

OK, so that last part may not have come out quite like that, but all these years later, that’s how I feel about it.  The counselor referred me to the Oakland Adult Psychiatry department of The Company that Created the HMO where I was pared up with a Psychologist that I would get to see once every six weeks (whether I needed it or not, I guess.)  They never did offer me any assistance with the coworker and we continued to have conflict until the day she went on maternity leave and then decided not to come back.

Once every six weeks, I’d go to this appointment with this woman who looked strangely like a Yahoo Messenger avatar making the “angry” face and who always made me feel inferior and pathetic.  She kept urging me to go to this Depression Overview Class that was offered.  It was supposed to give me a better understanding of what I’m dealing with and was a precursor to the eight week Depression Management Class she also wanted me to take.  I resisted it for some time but it was obvious to me that I was not going to get what I needed from attending these sessions with Avatar Face and something had to give so I went.

Up to that point, I had been determined that I was not going to take medication and I did not want anyone else to know what I was going through.  I resisted the class because then people would know.  I gave in and attended the class and one of the things they focused on in this class (not even 2 hours) was the idea of medication, how it works, and why I should take it.  I will acknowledge that it has been six years.  I will acknowledge that I was uncomfortable in the situation and wanted to go home.  And I will acknowledge that I was desperate for someone, somehow to make me better and take all this pain away.

All those acknowledgments being put out there, do not change the fact that what I remember the instructor of this overview class saying was that I’d take meds for two to three years and that while I was taking them, not only would the stabilize my neurotransmitters but it would correct the problem in my brain that causes the imbalance in the first place.  So, OK.  Two or three years…  I can accept that.  Especially if I’ll be all better after.

I set an appointment with a Psychiatrist at The Company and got a prescription from her for Paxil.  The prescription was, take 10 milligrams a day for the first week and then bump it up to 20.  About this time I inquired with Ex Con Older Brother who I knew was also taking Paxil and he informed me that it worked, for him, like flipping a switch.  That he started taking it and almost instantly things changed.  I really wanted that for myself so within six weeks, with the Psychiatrist’s approval I increased my dosage twice, first to 30 milligrams and then to 40.

It took a little while for it to completely kick in but once it did, I felt great.  Best I’ve ever felt.  I had confidence, I enjoyed people, I was in great emotional shape.  It was around this time that Green M&M and I decided that neither of us had anything to lose and so we decided to give a “friends with benefits” scenario a try.  This was when I found out that some of those side effects they tell you about were going to be a problem.  I was having serious sexual side effects and couldn’t’ get past them.

I asked my doctor to help me out with this problem and her solution was to take me off the Paxil and put me on Welbutrin.  Her instructions were to taper off the Paxil over the course of 10 days.  Which I did.  Which is when the aforementioned unrecognizable, enormous ass, monster appeared.

I crack jokes and be obnoxious about this because it’s easier to face, but the truth is, it was an emotionally excruciating, hold on for dear life, MY GOD HE’S GONNA BLOW, volatile two weeks and I really didn’t think I was going to make it.  It’s easier to laugh now.  I’m reminded of a Saturday Night Live commercial parody not too long ago about a Birth Control Pill that would make a woman have her period only once a year.  In the fast talking, fine print they talk about how during that one week-end out of the year you better hold on to your hat ’cause your gonna lose your shit, etc., etc., etc.  It says that you should alert your law enforcement officials as they may wish to lock you up as a preemptive measure.  That’s how I felt.

When I think about these times I feel a tremendous amount of gratitude toward Green as well as some shame over the way I acted.  In truth her actions set me off on more than one occasion but my reactions were out of control excessive and she put up with a lot of vitriol from me during that period of time.  It would probably have been easier for her to just walk away, but she didn’t.  She stood by me and for that I’ll be eternally grateful.

Anyway, once the psychotic episode passed and I was back to “normal” whatever that is, I was on just the 300 Miligrams of Welbutrin.  It’s the only Anti-Depressant with little or now sexual side effects.  What I’ve learned in the recent past is that it’s also commonly know to increase anxiety in those who are prone to it (I am.)

I took Welbutrin by itself for nearly four years, never really feeling like it was doing me any good, but afraid to say anything for fear of what they’d recommend next.  But when the time came that I couldn’t stand it anymore, this image approximates what I was feeling.  I felt like I was standing right down there at the bottom of this mammoth wall of rock, knowing that on the other side of this structure was millions of gallons of water just waiting to burst through and destroy me.  I felt like I was standing at the bottom of that wall looking up at the top, and just watching as the wall slowly crumbled knowing that at any moment the water could break through and all would be lost.

At that point my Psychiatrist recommended adding the Celexa to the mix, and while I’ll admit that it did seem to help for a time, it really just put me on top of the dam.  No longer was the wall crumbling.  No longer did I fear that it would all come crashing down on me.  Instead, I was standing on the road, looking out at all the water, all the feelings and emotions, knowing that disaster lay before me, but then again so did the potential for good.  But either way, I couldn’t get to it.  It was inaccessible.  And if I tried, I just might drown.

It’s strange, but knowing that all that was there, and that I couldn’t get to it had a two fold effect on me.  First it sent me into a deep despair.  On the advice of my therapist I took a leave of absence from work and went into an outpatient treatment program that is offered by The Company that Created the HMO.  I don’t particularly feel like the program itself offered me anything of value, other than time away from work to regroup and collect my thoughts.  But six weeks later when I was back at work full time and I was more in control again, I realized something else.

In a very real way, the meds have been that dam for six long years.  The only reason those millions of gallons of water are back there waiting to crush me, is because I built the dam and backed it up, rather than making an effort to tread it as it flowed through.

I never wanted the drugs.  I never should have taken the drugs.  I will never again take the drugs.  What I needed was therapy.  I needed steady care from someone who could help me to come to terms with my issues and help me to find that I’d be OK all the same.  I needed a life vest and a kayak, and an oar (am I over-doing the metaphor?)

I took the drugs because I heard “You’ll take them for two years and you’ll be fixed.”  I took the drugs because The Company that Created the HMO isn’t interested in dealing with life long problems, they want to send you to a class that amounts to them saying “Suck it up.  You’ll be fine.”  I took the drugs because once I started them, I was afraid to stop, lest I end up in that puddle of anger and tears and desperation on the floor in my closet that I had been during the Paxil/Welbutrin transition.  I took the drugs because I didn’t know how not to.

But I finally made a decision.  The best decision I’ve made for myself in a long time.  I will not take the drugs anymore.  I started this process in April.  I was taking two tablets of each medication.  So starting on May 1st, I took one and three quarters.  On June 1st, I reduced it to one and one half, etc., until today, Friday, October 31, 2008.  THE last day, I will take my drugs.  Starting tomorrow, I will be drug free.  Starting tomorrow the last brick will have been removed from that dam.  The waters will flow freely and I will wade through them until I’ve learned to swim peacefully from shore to shore.  It may be a struggle sometimes.  Some days will surely be worse than others, but so far I’m strong and steady.  The current isn’t that bad.

You Can Check-Out Anytime You Like, But You Can Never Leave

Some of my recent posts have had to do with my sucky job and how I hate my boss, etc., etc.  I’ve had this job longer than any other job I’ve ever had, six and a half years, and I wish that could be something I could be proud of, but I have long since come to feel that I’m trapped and doomed with this job.  Many times the last line of the song “Hotel California” by the Eagles has resonated with me, as applies to my employer.

It’s been such an apropos analogy that I couldn’t resist any longer.  Please enjoy my rendition below of “The Company that Created the HMO”:

On a dark desperate highway, urgent need, I don’t care
Warm smell of dark side cookies, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, was shone a shimmering site
My heart grew hopeful and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for my plight
There He stood in the doorway;
Where I ignored alarm bells
Well I was thinking to myself,
’this could be heaven or this could be hell’
Then He lit up a smile and showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say…

Welcome to “The Company that Created the HMO”
Such a lovely space
Yeah, you’ll like this place
Plenty of room at “The Company that Created the HMO”
Any time of year, yeah you’ll like it here

Your mind is definitely-twisted, he’s got a Mercedes Benz
She’s got a lot’s of expensive, pretty toys, and climbs over her “friends”
How they dance in the graveyard, sweet victim’s regret.
Some dance to remember, some would die to forget

So I called up the boss man,
’please grow you a spine
He said, ’I haven’t had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine’
And still those voices are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the your day
Just to hear them say…

Welcome to “The Company that Created the HMO”
Such a lovely space
Yeah, you’ll like this place
We’re livin’ it up at the “The Company that Created the HMO”
What a bad surprise, kiss your hope good-bye

Mirrors show reflections,
of something you’ve grown to hate

She said ’we are all just prisoners here, you’re just one more inmate
And in the boss’s office,
They gathered for relief
He stabs you with his steely knife
In the back, your defeat

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I have to find a way to get back
To the place I was before
’relax,’ they all told me,
We are programmed to receive.
You can checkout any time you like,
But you can never leave!

A Turning Point, Part 1

If you read this post then you know that there has been trouble brewing in my relationship with Vengeful Mother for a very long time.  What follows is a re-visitation of what brought that trouble to the fore:

In September of 2004 I was halfway through my third year working for The Company that Created the HMO (just ask ‘em) and I had been working as an “Assistant Project Coordinator.”  This was a title that was very much a misnomer as, I hadn’t coordinated any projects.  I was really a lot of things.  I was in charge of safety training for the building.  I had oversight of our Janitorial Contractor.  I was the de facto supervisor of my office when the Facility Services Manager (Douche Bag) was out, I was the guy that everyone came to when they had questions or concerns or needed information.  I was “the man”.  I had been told by Fantastical Engineer that, if The Company that Created the HMO had such a job title, I’d essentially be the Assistant Facility Manager.

Douche Bag had been working on promoting me, but there were some issues that were complicating things.  The promotion he was trying to give me was to “Project Coordinator” (logically).  Only problem was there was a $10,000+ difference between my salary and the minimum salary of that position which meant a 24% raise, which was not going to happen.  At the time it was looking like my choices were to accept the promotion with a 10% raise which would make my salary more than $6000.00 less than the minimum (and I’d never catch up) or they’d attempt to put the promotion through with a 15% raise and  be only $4000.00 short.  But, there was no guarantee that raise would be approved and then they couldn’t resubmit it for 10% meaning I’d been screwed out of the promotion entirely.  In retrospect I realize that might have been the best thing but at the time it certainly didn’t seem that way.  When all was said and done, I was promoted to “Project Specialist” which was in intermediate step that DB didn’t even know about, and I received a 14.5% raise that put me into the appropriate salary range for that position.  Before that happened I was really praying for something to come through and looking for support.  I’d had previous conversations with Vengeful Mother about it and wanted to fill her in on what the developments were.  This conversation took place, via instant message on September 15, 2004:

Self: So the latest is, I get 10% now, I’m still eligible for a merit increase at the end of the year and in march the position gets reviewed and I get bumped up whatever amount to get me to the minimum.  Nothing is definite yet.  Nothing is in writing yet.  But that’s what it looks like.  With the paperwork he’ll (Douche Bag) be submitting a 90 day action plan and goals for me to accomplish in the first 6 months.  If for any reason the position doesn’t get reviewed and bumped up, he can give me an evaluation and another 10% raise.

Vengeful Mother: Sounds like something we can get into agreement about.  Of course you can count on me to say this but…  At the same time you should be plugging the leaks in your blessing dam by getting into church and beginning to tithe and give and so forth.

This is an old song and dance and I just couldn’t take it anymore:

Self: Yep.  I know I can count on you.

VM: Do you understand that I’m right?

Self: What do you expect me to say?

VM: I expect you to answer my question.

Self: Well, I know that’s what we’ve heard all my life, but honestly?  I haven’t seen a whole lot of proof of it.  Not just in my life.  In yours too.  And in Dead Beat Dad’s.  And in CPA Sis’s.

VM: Is the Word of God proof enough?  If nobody else in the world manages to get it right (but many have), it doesn’t change the Word of God or His faithfulness.  We could argue all day about what you’ve seen with your eyes and experienced in your life – But the bottom line decision you (and every one of us) have to make is whether you will take God at his Word and move forward accordingly.  It’s very hard to believe God for His blessings on our lives, when our hearts condemn us because it knows we are not wholehearted in our pursuit of serving Him.  You’re an adult now.  You’re responsible before God for your own life.  Not for somebody Else’s.  As for me, I will never stop seeking to do better at it.  To overcome the things in my background and my subconscious and whatever else is involved that hinder me from victory.

Self: That’s not what I’m saying.  And I’m not saying it’s not true.  But the fact is, I’ve grown up watching you right your tithe check every week.  And at the same time I watched you struggle every day to make ends meet.  I’m not saying that tithing is a bad thing but when it comes down to $50.00 to either get you through the week or give away and never see again and struggle the rest of the week…

VM: I know what you’re saying.  The bottom line question remains the same.  And it isn’t to me you have to answer it.  It’s before God and in your everyday life–

Self: You’re the one that insists on asking me on a daily basis.

VM: What you don’t understand is that, without that tithe, we would have gone under long ago.  You have to decide for yourself.  I’m only trying to remind you.  Redemption is an ongoing process that happens every day of our lives for as long as we live on this earth.  The degree to which it is able to work for us is the degree to which we cooperate with the process by seeking to understand and do the things God has laid out for us in His Word.  I love you and I want to see the best in your life.

Self: Well, what you don’t understand is that I’m working on it every day.  I’m trying very hard but it’s not an easy proposition.  And you really don’t help me.

VM: “Working on it” and “trying very hard”, are so much easier when we put ourselves under the teaching of the Word.  That’s why I want to see you go to church.

Self: You don’t seem to realize though that when you say things like this you make me feel inadequate.  Like you have no confidence in me or in the job you did in raising me.  And that’s a set-back for me.

VM: Dont’ be silly.  You KNOW I have confidence in you, and you know I believe in the way I raised you.  Just put that nonsense aside and understand that putting you in remembrance, as the Apostle Paul put it, is a thing that is good for you.  We all need it, and we are all to do it for each other.

Self: No I don’t.  I never have–

VM: Well you should.  I’ve told you many times.

Self: I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that.  Words are one thing.  Actions are another.  You wouldn’t let any of us go to our Senior Prom’s because you felt like the point was to “put young people in the mood.”  But you couldn’t accept that you had raised us better.  You’ve been unsupportive of every potential degree choice I’ve ever had, because you didn’t think I could do it and stay faithful.  You were critical of my choice to live in San Francisco because of the gay community.  And this conversation that we’ve had part of over and over again.  You can say you have confidence but you don’t show it.  You have no idea how much that hurts me.

At this point she had to take a phone call at work and by the time she returned to me I was away from my desk.  When I returned she had signed off her IM but I found the following message waiting for me:

VM: Well.  I’m really sorry you feel that way.  I’m telling you now.  You’ll have to believe me or not.  The choice is yours.  But you do need to forgive and forget a lot of things.  That much is obvious.  You can’t keep nursing grudges and hurt feelings.  They just get bigger and bigger and more and more crippling over time.

And you need to try and see my side of it as well.  It would be much easier for me to not be concerned about you if I knew you were involved in things that build you up spiritually.  You’re no different from anyone else.  The fact that I’m concerned about you is no reflection on you personally.  NO ONE can remove himself from spiritual nourishment and not suffer from it.  And the simple truth is that the Word of God commands us not to neglect “the assembly of [ourselves] together” especially “as [we] see the day [of the return of Christ] approaching.”

It isn’t fair for you to try to say that if I have confidence in you I have to believe that there’s no way you can fall prey to the things that Satan has in place to trip you up or rob you of God’s blessings.  Or to say that if I admonish or remind you of these things it means I don’t have confidence in you.  Neither of those things is true.  I love you.  I have great confidence in you and I’m constantly amazed at your abilities and things you do.

I e-mailed the following response to Vengeful Mother knowing it’d go over by a Lead Balloon, which was, in fact the title of the e-mail:

First of all, you need to understand that I’m not holding any grudges.  I suppose I can understand why you would say that, but that’s no the case.  When I gave the examples I gave, it was simply that, giving examples.  I learned a long time ago not to make sweeping generalizations (especially within this family) without supporting data.  As far as “forgive and forget” goes, I don’t even know what that means.  Forgiveness is a choice and I’ve made that choice over and over again with a lot of people in my life for as long as I can remember.  Forgetting on the other hand doesn’t make any sense to me.  One can’t control what they can and can’t (or do and don’t) remember.  I always assume that scripture to mean that you don’t hold it against someone.  In practical application, I suppose that makes sense, but the reality is that if you pretend it didn’t happen (as is what that scripture implies) than you just leave yourself open to be hurt and taken advantage of over and over again.  So how do you “forgive and forget” but still guard your heart and yourself and not be abused?

You said, “It would be much easier for me not to be concerned about you if I knew you were involved in things that build you up spiritually.“, which in and of itself is a criticism.  You went on to say, “You’re no different from anyone else.  The fact that I’m concerned about you is no reflection on you personally.“  I’d have to disagree with that.  I know you can’t talk to everyone the way you talk to me.  People who aren’t your children and obligated to let you say whatever you want, wouldn’t have it.  At least not as constantly and relentlessly as it has been with me.

“NO ONE can remove himself from spiritual nourishment and not suffer from it.“  How in the world can you make the assumption that I get no spiritual nourishment?  You don’t know what I do, or how I spend my time.  You don’t know what I read, or how much time I spend praying or how often I listen to praise and worship music.  And you certainly don’t know where my heart is or how I feel.  The fact is that I do read the books I got at Rhema.  I do read my Bible.  I spent more than a year reading the Bible cover to cover with no interruptions.  I’m not ignorant on the subject.  And I often listen to my RS&B CDs as well as other Praise and Worship CDs.  I’m not saying that’s a substitution for going to church, but as far back as I can remember I haven’t gotten any more out of going to church than I have out of these activities.

And I’m sorry, but it isn’t fair for you to say to me that, “It isn’t fair for [me] to try to say that if [you] have confidence in [me] [you] have to believe that there’s no way [I] can fall prey to the things that Satan has in place to trip [me] up and rob [me] of God’s blessings.“  Because I didn’t say that.  But if you had faith in me, you would assume the best of me instead of assuming the worst.  And you wouldn’t feel the need to constantly make comments and assumptions.  Or, at least you shouldn’t.

What really upsets me about this is I don’t know how to make you understand.  You have no idea the kind of power you hold over me.  It’s hard for me to believe it myself, but it’s true.  You affect everything I do.  My first thought is always, “I wonder what Mom would think”, or “I should tell Mom about this.”  But much of the time, “what Mom would think” is negative.  You don’t realize that I have lived my life for you.  And I know you won’t believe or understand it, but it’s true.  My whole life has been about making you happy and getting your unconditional love and approval and support.  I’ve waited and waited for that, for you to realize it and give me what I need, but it just doesnt’ happen.

That doesn’t mean I don’t believe you love me.  I know you do.  And I know you did the best you could raising us.  I don’t fault you for that in any way.  But just like you don’t know my heart, I can’t know yours.  All I can go by is your actions and your actions have always said that you don’t have faith in me and that you don’t have faith in the job you did of raising me.  If you did have faith in the job you did of raising me, you’d trust that I know what’s right and be a person you could be proud of.  And by the way, just for the sake of clarity, I’m not talking about your confidence in me and my abilities on a physical level.  I’m talking about your confidence in me spiritually and morally.

The thing that bothers me the most about this whole thing is that after having a heartfelt discussion about myself and my feelings and emotions, you simply disregarded them as invalid and proceeded to do the same thing that I just finished telling you was hurting me.  The simple fact that I said, “You have no idea how much that hurts me” should have had some impact.  But it seems you’re more concerned with believing that you’re right and “knowing” that you’re doing the best thing, than you are with how much I need your love and support, not by way of telling me what I should be doing or where I fall short, but by showing with your every action how much you love me and believe in me, just the way I am.

It saddens me to think that I have laid all this bare for you, and I think I know that you will not believe or accept it as accurate.  I wish I knew just the right thing to say to make it so that you will.  But when it’s all said and done, I guess all I can say is, I’ve told you the truth.  I’ve told you how I feel and what I need.  Beyond that I don’t know what to expect.

More of this riveting (I’m sure) story to follow.

The Entry it Took Two Weeks to Write

I have fallen into almost every job I’ve ever had.  The first job I had was working in the gift shop of the hotel where my mother worked as the hotel managers secretary.  Sure, in high school, I worked at a Hardee’s fast food restaurant for about a year, and then worked as a cashier in a local grocery store, but first of all those are not particularly ambitious jobs, and secondly, they hire any warm body that will apply for those positions.

When I was 19 years old I was engaged to a woman.  We were to marry two weeks before my 20th birthday.  Problem was I did not own a vehicle and was relegated to jobs I could walk to.  The jobs I could walk to couldn’t pay for a car, let alone a life with a wife and child (She had a two year old son.)  We agreed that I’d go to live with my father in Cincinnati, Ohio for six months.  He had a car I could drive (It was my father’s Oldsmobile, despite what the commercials always said.)  With my father’s Oldsmobile, I could drive anywhere and get a job anywhere.  So I went to the mall.  It seemed like a logical next step after the grocery store.

I went into a Men’s Clothing store in the mall that I’d never heard of called Webster Menswear and applied for a job.  I apparently made a good impression on the manager and he wanted to hire me to be his Assistant Manager right then and there, but I was honest with him and told him I was only planning to be in town for six months and that I would be quitting to move back to Oklahoma when the six months were up.  He hired me as a sales clerk and then two weeks later he promoted me to Assistant Manager.

My engagement ended shortly thereafter and I end up staying in Cincinnati for nine months instead of six.  I moved back to Tulsa, Oklahoma on Father’s day, 1995.  Before I left I made contact with the Regional Manager of a different clothing store – owned by the same parent company – called J. Riggings, advised him that I was moving to town and would like to see about interviewing with him if he had any open positions.  As luck would have it, there was a Second Assistant Manager position open at the store in Tulsa and he hired me for it.  I worked for another roughly nine months in Tulsa at Woodland Hills Mall before being promoted to Store Manager at a store at Quail Springs Mall in Oklahoma City.  Three months after that I moved to Fayetteville, Arkansas where I spent the longest nine months of my life managing the store at the Northwest Arkansas Mall.

I hated it there and I felt trapped in that job, like there was no where else for me to go.  So I decided that it was time to go back to school.  I was 22 years old and had no idea what I was going to do with my life but I had to take action.  I quit my job, moved back to Tulsa and into Vengeful Mother’s house.  I applied for a job at one of our favorite restaurants as a waiter.  I figured that would be easy enough money and good flexible hours for a college student.  WRONG!!!  I was the worst waiter you’ll ever encounter in your life!  I forgot things constantly, I was slow getting the orders in and the food out, and I was perpetually sweaty!  Who wants their food served to them by a fat, sweaty guy?  I averaged $2.00 tips on every table and lasted about three months.  Somehow during this time, school never seemed to come to pass.

It was during this time that I decided I wanted to reconnect with my best friend from High School, “Batman”…  Batman was a huge fan of the superhero, stating that he liked him so much because he was just a man and all his “abilities” came from his gadgets and not because of some superhuman trait.  Batman was an artist and he sketched bat signals on his book covers and notebooks on a regular basis.  When his parents bought him a Ford Ranger Splash pick-up truck, he had a Batman symbol custom painted on the tailgate.  I could probably write a whole post about Batman and not scratch the surface, but the bottom line is, I was very attached to him.  I realize now that I was probably in love, but I was in no position to acknowledge or profess that at the time.  Batman was a year younger than I, and when I graduated from high school we lost touch.

So it was when I returned to Tulsa after my stint in Arkansas that I decided to try and locate him.  Turned out to be pretty easy.  I opened up the phone book and there it was.  His distinctive, three-worded, German last name right in the beginning of the Vs.  I wasn’t positive that it was him so I sent him a letter.  A few days later the phone rang and it was his voice on the line.  We made plans to meet for lunch by his work a few days later.

Batman worked for what was then LDDS WorldCom.  We talked about his job and he told me that I could easily get in with the next training class and that he’d put in a good word for me.  A few weeks later I was training in the telecommunications industry to work in the customer service call center.  Much to my dismay, Batman informed me that he and his wife were moving to California a few weeks later.  His wife grew up in Turlock and they were going to move there to be closer to family since his family had moved away from Tulsa already.

Batman had already lined up a job with what was locally known as MFS WorldCom.  He’d pretty well settled in by the time I was nearing the end of my training.  With Batman’s recommendation and assistance, I too got in to MFS WorldCom and moved to California in March, 1998.

When I left MCI WorldCom in March of 2000, I expected to have no problem finding a new job in the telecommunications industry.  How could I?  The whole world runs on phone lines and data connections.  In October of 2000 I started a new job with a small hole in the wall Telecom company in San Carlos, California.  That job lasted 10 months.  The owner was a psycho and he didn’t like me because I didn’t cower before him and jump at his every whim.

On September 15, 2001 I moved in with Green M&M and started looking for a job.  When my unemployment benefits had run out and I still hadn’t found a job I signed up with a local staffing agency.  A week or so after I signed up with them I got a rather excited call from the rep telling me they had a great job for me, working in the Facility Management office of a high rise office building in Downtown Oakland, with a great company and a great manager.  It was a temp job, but I was desperate for full time work and the job was easy so I applied to be the new Administrative Assistant.  Nearly six and a half years later, I still work for The Company that Created the HMO, and still report to Douche Bag.  I’ve been promoted three times now, and I’m not an Administrative Assistant anymore, but the last promotion came when I was ordered to take on an entirely new set of responsibilities, despite the fact that I’d been very vocal about the fact that I did not want to do that work.  I wasn’t asked, or offered.  I was ordered and if I wasn’t happy about it I could quit.  I had every intention of it…  If I could just find something new.  It’s been three years.  I hate my job and I really want out.  But I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know how to proactively get myself a job and I don’t know what I would want to do if I did.

What, you might ask, is the point of all this?  Well, more than once it has been the topic of my therapy sessions: “I hate my job.”  “I want a new job.”  “I don’t know what I want to do with my life.”  “I don’t know the right steps to take to find a new job that I’ll be happy with.”  This is all very true, but the biggest issue has always been finding something that I’d be happy to make a career out of.  I have fears and insecurities about all the things I’ve ever considered and most of it requires educational experiences I do not have.

Lately I’ve really been thinking more about creative things.  You see, when I was young I wanted to be an actor.  If you’ve read this blog before you know this already.  The problem is, I have no confidence in my abilities anymore.  I took some drama classes in high school and I really enjoyed it, but I stopped and I’ve regretted it ever since.

Eight or nine years ago, I took an acting class from a man named Ed Hooks.  Ed was an actor in his earlier days, but hadn’t worked in years.  I now know that he didn’t have a terribly illustrious career (although I did see him on an episode of Quantum Leap on DVD the other day.)  Anyway, Ed was moving to Chicago and I knew going into it that my time in his class was short term.  During those few months I attended this man’s acting classes, I lost all of my remaining confidence in my ability to act.  I know I had a lot of growing to do and I wanted to do it but it’s hard, and Ed’s criticism always made me feel like I didn’t have the ability.  I’d like to think that my time in therapy has helped but I’m not sure that I’m any more able to be comfortable making a fool of myself than I was then…

Most of my formative years I was a singer.  I was in choir most of my school years and at church.  I love to sing.  And before my balls dropped– er puberty hit, my voice was pretty good.  I had solos regularly.  But something happened as the bottom started dropping out of my vocal chords and my voice became weaker, and my range far more limited.  I still sing all the time (in the shower, in the car, in places where no one can hear me, usually.)  Yeah, I have an OK enough voice that most people aren’t bothered by my singing, but I’m not any kind of performer.

I don’t have any dancing experience, and though I do have rhythm I’m not particularly confident on that front either.

All that is to say that I have been thinking a lot lately that I’d really like to get involved in musical theater or television and movies, but I don’t have the skills or the confidence to go for it.  I’m aware that there are classes I can take, but they cost money and I don’t have it.  Plus I spent my entire childhood living in poverty, and in the last few months things have been really, really tight.  I just can’t imagine how I could possibly take any cut in pay, financially, or emotionally.

So that’s my dilemma.  The only thing my entire life I’ve ever imagined I could be happy doing, is the one thing that I’m afraid to go for.  So I stay in my lousy job, with my decent, but not great, salary, and horrible working conditions, because I don’t know how I could possibly go for the one thing I want, and I don’t know what job to fall into next!