Guess what. I got a job! That temp agency I signed up to a couple of weeks ago found me a little temp admin role. So I’ve spent all week working and commuting and sleeping. I haven’t even had time for much social-media-ing!
Since this is my first proper ‘full time’ job in a while (MORE THAN A YEAR!), I’ll tell you about how it is mental-health-wise.
My first day was actually only half a day, as I started in the afternoon. It was fine, the usual ‘here are the fire exits and photocopiers’ type thing. Then I did some filing.
Day two was my first full day. I had to meet a lot of people and do more filing and try to understand what I was doing. I suddenly felt like, shit, this is too much. I can’t handle a full time job! Who do I think I am? Some sort of normal person? I second-guessed everything I did. I also accidentally tried to get in to the fire exit of another office, because I got confused about where the staff entrance was. But anyway. I was exhausted by about 4pm and couldn’t stop yawning. I tried to pretend I was fine, but I had to have my photo taken for an ID badge and… Jesus Christ. I looked like a zombie. I had massive bags under my eyes and was very pale. The lady I worked with said to me: did you have a late one? You’d better get an early night tonight. She didn’t look very impressed. I felt like I’d fucked up. But I hadn’t had a late night, it was just mental exhaustion. I got home that evening and had to have a nap at around 6pm.
Day three, I had to do some mandatory training on data protection and confidentiality. There was an interesting context used for an example in the workbook. It was along these lines:
Bob had a mental illness and was receiving talking therapy treatment. He didn’t tell his work, because he was getting better and didn’t think they needed to know.
One day, the secretary from his talking therapy place needed to contact him. She called his work telephone number and, thinking he had answered the phone, told him that the next appointment for his counselling session needed to be changed.
However, it wasn’t him that had answered the phone, but a work colleague, who proceeded to tell everyone in the office. Bob was so embarrassed that he resigned.
Obviously this example was about a data breach, the secretary not checking who she was sharing information with. And I do get the context, because it is something that would happen. I myself have not told the majority of places of work that I’m a mentalist. In fact, I’ve literally lied about it, and then knowingly signed agreements that say I’ll get sacked or fined if I get caught lying on my medical. I also understand that certain gossipy colleagues might find that kind of thing interesting and share it. We don’t know the office culture in the example but I’m assuming it wouldn’t be an open, empathetic kind of place. I also understand that you might feel so embarrassed about it that you resign.
But I couldn’t help but think, WHY. If this happened and I had cancer or diabetes or a heart condition, I would still feel embarrassed that my medical information had been shared, but I don’t think I’d feel so embarrassed that I’d quit. No colleagues I’ve ever met, no matter how close-minded they might be, would make fun of someone attending appointments about their lung disease or blood disorder. So why mental illness? Why are office cultures so toxic?
I also think that contexts like this, though accurate, sort-of perpetuate the notion that mental illness is embarrassing and should be hidden. Every single member of staff where I work (and it’s a big, big place) has taken this training, read this workbook and subconsciously taken in that we shouldn’t disclose mental illness because it’s embarrassing. I’m sure an example of a data breach could be found that didn’t use a negative mental illness background.
But anyway. Probably me overthinking things as usual.
Day four, Thursday, I was in the glorious town of Stockport when something sad happened. All afternoon, I’d heard people talking about some ‘incident’ or other that had caused the main road in the town centre to be closed. I finished work for the day and headed back to where my car was parked. I walked down the road and came to some police tape and a closed road: the ‘incident’. I headed a different way, to go around the road closure, but looked back and saw a man, with his legs swung over the side of a bridge with a big drop and a very shallow canal at the bottom. He was surrounded by police, paramedics, firefighters, various vehicles with flashing lights, and then, behind the police tape, groups of curious onlookers. I’ve never seen something like this before, and it made me feel so desperately sad for the poor guy. He was obviously in such distress. Obviously there was nothing I could do, trained professionals were there, what could I have done anyway? I just walked on, but I felt terrible. I googled it since and I think he’s ok. He didn’t jump.
Day five. I made it to the end of the week! I don’t know how! I fucked up a bit today (I’m not very professional or dignified in situations I haven’t prepared for) but I somehow got through it and they haven’t sacked me yet. Everyone is really nice and friendly, and they don’t seem to mind that I’m quiet and awkward. Got home and, because I wasn’t that tired, we were able to go out for dinner and drinks. Success!!
Sorry, this is a bloody long post. I apologise. Well done for making it here, if anyone does!
The only thing I’m struggling with is lunch breaks and working hours. I feel guilty having lunch breaks, or leaving early (if I’ve worked the right number of hours for that day) or for asking to be paid when I’m so slow and stupid! I’m sure I’ll get used to it….
My Honest Recovery 