the life of zooey who happens to be Bipolar 2
It’s been awhile. Lots has happened
over my month’s hiatus. New bosses, graduation of kiddo from school, Comicons and binge watching the Big Bang Theory. A shit-ton of office politics, too many in fact.
Yesterday, Tom Petty’s song came into my head while driving home as I thought of my work environment and its effect on who I manage as well as myself. The powers that be tore down the cube farm in favor of a more open agile team setting. Tables took the place of cubes. Everyone is now elbow to elbow. You can see with a glance if people are working feverishly or ‘taking a break on Facebook’ or writing email on their personal account.
into the great wide open
No longer can I just do my work and be miserable in my cube. A cube where I could hear people shuffling across the carpet to come see me. Time to put on the pleasant face. I’m required not to tear up, except in the bathroom stall. Not to have a sad face. We are all on stage, family style. Please pass the mash potatoes, Aunt Gretta.
I am working up the gumption to apply for new jobs. I’ve worked at this current company a LONG time. Recently, organizational changes put me under the worst boss I’ve ever had….and it’s only been about 7 weeks. He is an arrogant asshole with a little man syndrome retired from the Marines. Yeah. Wrap your head around THAT personality. The terrible thing is I know he doesn’t like me, a recipe for disaster once reviews come around next spring.
I don’t want to be here anymore, not with him as my boss. I hate to leave this company. I have a lot of contacts and friends here. Up to this point, even shitty work and weekend time I’ve had to spend was tolerable. I would hate to leave the team I’ve built over the past year, yet….
Now it is affecting my mental health to a degree that my black dog of depression is back, picking at my attempt to leave, licking my ear with despair, and sitting in my lap to suck my energy dry. Back are the other destructive thoughts I’ve fought so hard to get rid of over the last 7 years of treatment. Seems that no matter what the psychologist helps me do to work through stress and anxiety, it’s be thrown into the shitter. Nothing the psychiatrist concocts via cocktail and works on my sleep patterns, I am back where I started. What’s the point?
And last night I dreamed about my horrible boss all fucking night, waking up several times and going back to seeing him again and again.
Awesome-sauce. The asshat follows me around everywhere.
There isn’t enough Xanax to keep me going like this. And if I want to keep living in this world, something has to fucking give.
Into the great wide open every day. No hope left at night. Looking for a boost or a kick in the ass to get me off this soundtrack. Anyone interested in adopting my black dog? No, never mind. I don’t wish this canine on anyone.
he’s barking in the distance,
I post this again as it is the best description I know of what it feels like to live with this shit.