Indelible
New year, new me.
Did you know, it's actually an anagram of "Y we renew men"? Amazing. The more you know.
What the hell am I doing, kicking this hornets' nest again? Well, you know... I need to do something. Not long before all this new year fervour returns to the usual omni-seasonal depression, where drinking replaces progress because drinking pints isn't frightening but growth is. Because failure terrifies me. Because saying what's going on isn't worth the effort; not only is explanation necessary, but also laughed off as I "must only be joking" and it's not worth taking seriously. (Perhaps my mistake on that one, how foolish of me to consider that I matter.).
So what are we to do? Oh, I don't know. Funnily enough I saw something on Twitter that spoke to me with an enormous volume, that making your goals public means you are far less likely to complete them. I get that. I have huge problems with managing energy and intention and finding support without taking the time to explain over and over... So... I'm not. That said, perhaps this is the year I go to Auschwitz. Bit of a weird one, but you know, worth a punt. Maybe someone will see it and sponsor me.
Last year was particularly difficult. Well, in fact, the last two have been a real one-two punch that I'm now beginning to recover from. I think at some point in 2018 I put out that I had never felt so utterly depressed about my career and boy howdy did that get even worse! If 2018 was the nuclear reactor explosion then 2019 was the sinking into the Earth's crust, a malingering infection that refused to budge like some noisome 365 day cold (yes yes, woe is me &c). I once again turn to the ever-present draft of my resignation letter for salvation, more like a letter to myself to find out what really hurts (but I do it to myself so that makes sense), before pulling the escape cord willy-nilly as I've tried to with various things in the past. I kind of feel like I know what I ought to do, but as vaguely discussed above, but... I dunno. One thing I have struggled with in particular is the nature of my disability, and owning that as part of my identity. I've wondered out loud whether I should be content with my lot, as it's really been nothing short of a miracle at times that I've gotten this far - No. A thousand times no. It is this kind of awful trap I have fallen into time and again, that I don't deserve any better because this is as good as it gets. No.
However, it has not been an easy year in trying to gain enough momentum to change things. A job interview for an improved office position was unsuccessful. Rather than spend the rest of my life answering telephones, this was for a more shall we say... Social Media oriented job. So far so good. I was assured that I was wanted, and that I should have been confident. *record scratch* That was an error. I was perfect for it until the moment that I wasn't, and I had put so much personal investment into getting the new position that in the follow-up interview afterwards, the post-match analysis if you will, I basically broke down and had a major panic attack. I was missing some "key skills", it seemed, not that I was told what those key skills were or how I could have gained them. On balance I don't so much feel as if I was set up to fail, but rather that I was the failure at the heart of it. I obviously didn't understand my shortcomings, to the point that I still can't see them. Imagine how that makes me feel? It's not that I am wildly underqualified... Just not quite there.
Also, I have auditioned unsuccessfully for two other singing posts. Once in June, and more recently in October, to negative results. Again, I dunno... I felt I sang as well as I could (amusingly both times were in the immediate recovery period from chest infections, but we work with what we can), but looking back, fell apart at interview. Both felt aggressive in their own ways, and I recall a definite air of enmity in particular at one, but... I suppose I am glad. The former allowed me to meditate on what success can be in my current environment, that I have built a network of friends and family to support me through all the horror I go and indeed, put myself through. The latter was a closer call in some ways, that it could have given me a different platform... But again, no. There were too few aspects that would have been truly enjoyable. I feel marginally alright about it, actually. They didn't want me, I didn't fit their idea, didn't sound right... Whatever. That's alright. I tried. That's good enough. I did my best.
So where does that leave me? In a delicate, and deconstructed state. I seem to have made a habit of making myself vulnerable, sharing these fears more regularly, but to what end? The talk is often positive, but what change actually happens? I still feel totally replaceable. I still feel that it doesn't matter what effort I put in, because it jars with the genuine beliefs; what point is there doing anything when the result is unchanged? I'm wasting my time, and sadly everyone else's.
Anyway. This all feels like a bit of a retread. The one thing I can say with even a modicum of real, tangible and genuine confidence is that I'll be getting more tattoos this year. September is my traditional time, but hopefully funds will be slightly more available this year. As long as I don't unexpectedly get made redundant. But that's a whole other story...
Did you know, it's actually an anagram of "Y we renew men"? Amazing. The more you know.
What the hell am I doing, kicking this hornets' nest again? Well, you know... I need to do something. Not long before all this new year fervour returns to the usual omni-seasonal depression, where drinking replaces progress because drinking pints isn't frightening but growth is. Because failure terrifies me. Because saying what's going on isn't worth the effort; not only is explanation necessary, but also laughed off as I "must only be joking" and it's not worth taking seriously. (Perhaps my mistake on that one, how foolish of me to consider that I matter.).
"I know. Same as it ever was."
So what are we to do? Oh, I don't know. Funnily enough I saw something on Twitter that spoke to me with an enormous volume, that making your goals public means you are far less likely to complete them. I get that. I have huge problems with managing energy and intention and finding support without taking the time to explain over and over... So... I'm not. That said, perhaps this is the year I go to Auschwitz. Bit of a weird one, but you know, worth a punt. Maybe someone will see it and sponsor me.
Last year was particularly difficult. Well, in fact, the last two have been a real one-two punch that I'm now beginning to recover from. I think at some point in 2018 I put out that I had never felt so utterly depressed about my career and boy howdy did that get even worse! If 2018 was the nuclear reactor explosion then 2019 was the sinking into the Earth's crust, a malingering infection that refused to budge like some noisome 365 day cold (yes yes, woe is me &c). I once again turn to the ever-present draft of my resignation letter for salvation, more like a letter to myself to find out what really hurts (but I do it to myself so that makes sense), before pulling the escape cord willy-nilly as I've tried to with various things in the past. I kind of feel like I know what I ought to do, but as vaguely discussed above, but... I dunno. One thing I have struggled with in particular is the nature of my disability, and owning that as part of my identity. I've wondered out loud whether I should be content with my lot, as it's really been nothing short of a miracle at times that I've gotten this far - No. A thousand times no. It is this kind of awful trap I have fallen into time and again, that I don't deserve any better because this is as good as it gets. No.
"Maybe someone will see it and sponsor me."
However, it has not been an easy year in trying to gain enough momentum to change things. A job interview for an improved office position was unsuccessful. Rather than spend the rest of my life answering telephones, this was for a more shall we say... Social Media oriented job. So far so good. I was assured that I was wanted, and that I should have been confident. *record scratch* That was an error. I was perfect for it until the moment that I wasn't, and I had put so much personal investment into getting the new position that in the follow-up interview afterwards, the post-match analysis if you will, I basically broke down and had a major panic attack. I was missing some "key skills", it seemed, not that I was told what those key skills were or how I could have gained them. On balance I don't so much feel as if I was set up to fail, but rather that I was the failure at the heart of it. I obviously didn't understand my shortcomings, to the point that I still can't see them. Imagine how that makes me feel? It's not that I am wildly underqualified... Just not quite there.
Also, I have auditioned unsuccessfully for two other singing posts. Once in June, and more recently in October, to negative results. Again, I dunno... I felt I sang as well as I could (amusingly both times were in the immediate recovery period from chest infections, but we work with what we can), but looking back, fell apart at interview. Both felt aggressive in their own ways, and I recall a definite air of enmity in particular at one, but... I suppose I am glad. The former allowed me to meditate on what success can be in my current environment, that I have built a network of friends and family to support me through all the horror I go and indeed, put myself through. The latter was a closer call in some ways, that it could have given me a different platform... But again, no. There were too few aspects that would have been truly enjoyable. I feel marginally alright about it, actually. They didn't want me, I didn't fit their idea, didn't sound right... Whatever. That's alright. I tried. That's good enough. I did my best.
"The more you know."
So where does that leave me? In a delicate, and deconstructed state. I seem to have made a habit of making myself vulnerable, sharing these fears more regularly, but to what end? The talk is often positive, but what change actually happens? I still feel totally replaceable. I still feel that it doesn't matter what effort I put in, because it jars with the genuine beliefs; what point is there doing anything when the result is unchanged? I'm wasting my time, and sadly everyone else's.
Anyway. This all feels like a bit of a retread. The one thing I can say with even a modicum of real, tangible and genuine confidence is that I'll be getting more tattoos this year. September is my traditional time, but hopefully funds will be slightly more available this year. As long as I don't unexpectedly get made redundant. But that's a whole other story...
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