Life goes on. I did take Monday off and felt somewhat better for it. And work has been less awful. Though thinking about it makes me feel kind of sick. I dislike the actual work. It has nothing to do with writing. I enjoy the interactions sometimes though – phone meetings with managers, and the back and forth with my two co-workers. And I think having a structure is good for me – setting off for work in the morning, no matter what. It’s good, but it’s also really really tough.
Da boss has been somewhat more conciliatory. My co-worker, considered the best of us four, has given in his notice. So the boss likely isn’t keen on anyone else quitting at the moment. So it’s please and thank you for now.
Speaking of which, I had a job interview today. After a bit of a rocky start, where the phone number I had for the hiring manager turned out not to be the right one, so I couldn’t find him, the interview went pretty well. There were two interviewers, and they seemed to like me. Plus the work is more up my alley – writing, editing, developing documents.The one manager did say she is a ‘bit of a control freak’, but has it under control…ahem…and that she likes to give lots of feedback, and am I open to that? I said of course I was. Then after, I started wondering if she’s had run ins with other direct reports, if she has a harsh style.
She seemed likeable – I didn’t have the fear reaction I had to my present manager at that interview. So – I really want this job. It’s actually painful to want something and have to wait to find out. This present job, I really did not particularly want.
I’m worried they’re going to find out something ‘bad’ about me. I had a previous very short contract with this same bank, at a different location, six years ago. That one was badly organized, and I ended up with very little to do. I surfed the web a lot at that job, because I had to be there, and there was literally no work. Then they ended the contract early. You never find out what happened. I’m worried they’re going to contact that manager and find something not great. It’s not that I did something wrong, just it wasn’t a great contract. Now if they would just contact my previous recent managers, (not the present one) everything would be rosy. But they won’t. The agency will do that if I get an offer.
Anyhow. I’m painfully waiting to hear back. And I so want to get out of my present contract. So. It’s hard.
That was first thing this morning. The rest of the day, I was supposed to be working from home. I tried, I did a few things. But I was mainly recovering from therapy. I end up in so much pain, I actually feel stupefied. I keep thinking I need to lie down. Now the workday is finally over, I could lie down, but I’ve perked up a bit.
Therapy is a little difficult to describe. It’s a little chaotic. Kind of because I want it to be.
I get there at seven thirty, wiped after a day at work. I talk a bit about work. I feel completely shut down – kind of blank, with stuff happening underneath. I describe this to Ron. He asks if there are parts that want to speak with him. So different parts speak with him. But everything is so confused. It’s as if everyone is tied in knots from the stress of being under lock and key all day, so they’re all jumbled up.
A small child part talks. She just talks about the lunch room, and what she likes for lunch. That’s apparently her territory. The rest of work she hates. Oh, she also likes the lunchtime walks. It’s all about lunch.
Then a teenage part also talks. This part is a very sad part. She feels no one likes her. She tells Ron about how she used to play the piano.
It’s very confusing when this part talks, because a bunch of physical memories come back to me. It’s like lurching into another reality. Not traumatic memories. Stuff like what it physically was like to sit at the piano, the way the keys felt under my fingers. Some of the feelings I had. But it’s like reliving what this was like, rather than remembering it from a distance. Which is disorienting. I was so sad as a teenager. At least if this was me as a teenager, and not a separate part. I was very sad, but very focused. I could concentrate very very well.
We talk about how my perfectionism got in the way of my music. I’d practice something over and over, but it would just stay stuck. I think I used my mind too much, instead of letting it happen by instinct – practiced instinct. I did love the piano. But I got anxious about it, as about everything else, and it got wrecked.
I am seeing more now how being fractured like this is an extremely problematic way to live. It takes a lot of energy to suppress parts that aren’t appropriate. Most of the time, situations involving other people are inappropriate occasions for parts. So they don’t get their needs for attention and contact met, except from Ron.
The teenage part feels that no one likes her, and that she is never allowed to talk. Ron asks who decides that she is never allowed to talk, and she doesn’t know.
It’s tough writing about these things.