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Friday, January 21, 2022


I was just looking back at my calendar from last year to see what date was my last day working at my old job. What I found is that one year ago today, I began seeing my psychiatrist. And the whole idea I had for this post, just left.

I was going to talk about how much my life has changed since I left my job, but honest to God, starting with a psychiatrist and quitting my job are kind of tied for the best things I've ever done for myself.

I didn't want to see a psychiatrist. Why? BECAUSE THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME. 

Except for, of course, everything that is wrong with me.

I have had anxiety so long, that I worry about what I'll worry about if I don't have anxiety. 

I see anxiety as a weighted blanket on my brain. Yeah, I can function unmedicated, but it's hard. Everything is heavy. I don't have energy for things I enjoy. But it crept in so slowly, just like MS, that I didn't notice it until it was debilitating. 

I reconnected with my childhood best friend in 2020. She and I were inseparable. Like right now, I'm waiting on a text back from her about why she told me I should see a psychiatrist, because I can't recall. But I do know that she was the one who said "I think you should consider talking to a psychiatrist and getting something 'as needed' to help with your anxiety." Now let me tell you, I hadn't talked to this girl in 14 years, and within months she had the balls to tell me that I was not okay.

And she was right. A thousand percent. I was not okay. But I started making the steps to be okay.

I started taking care of myself better. Mainly my mental health became a priority, so I left my job. 

Now let me tell you about that job. I hired in at that Department when I was 23. I was in school for secondary education, ran out of money, and needed a job. So I got one. Then, after Isaiah was born, I went on maternity leave and extended it to two years. I severed my employment, and was a stay at home mom. When Isaiah was one, we fostered Mason. Mason lived with us until December 4, 2014 and when he went, I suffered more grief than even I can imagine. So I panicked and went back to work.

I started with the same Department I was with before, but in an administrative office on January 5, 2015. And things were perfect. For a year.

I worked with a woman who had a sign on her desk that said "No Drama Allowed" and I came to learn that those people are the most drama there is. 

I thought we were friends. We had lunch together often. We could see each other from our workstations and we would talk constantly. Josh and I had Isaiah baptized, and she came to my house and arranged the flowers. But then slowly, we started to drift apart. Until one day, she came in, blew up, and demanded a sit down with me and our two bosses. 

That meeting, in my opinion, added to the decline in my health that I was unaware of. In that meeting, she absolutely railed at me for 30 minutes. She was allowed to say whatever she wanted and I felt completely blindsided. She talked about how I was so mean to her, and she was crying the whole time, so it never once occurred to me that what she was saying wasn't accurate, because she was so upset she was crying about it! It must be true.

After that meeting I went into her office to speak with her privately. It was then that she told me that working with me made her suicidal. She had two small children at the time, and all I could think about was the fact that I made someone not want to live. She had so much to live for, but by me being myself, that was too much.

So guess who felt like an asshole. Me. The one who didn't know anything was wrong. 

We don't speak now, she moved on to a different job, and by no means do I think I'm telling the full story here. I'm certain her version is very different. 

But while all of this was happening, something bigger happened.

I was going to lunch one day with two of my bosses. The person driving our car, wanted to switch lanes and the person behind us wouldn't let them over. The driver of the other car was black, and everyone in my car was white. 

The driver of my car has very public anger issues, but it really still shocked me when they looked over their shoulder and screamed "YOU FUCKING N*****".

And then worse than that, they only apologized to me. They immediately realized what they did, and turned around and said "Angi, I'm sorry I said that". But I was not the only other person in the car. So I was apologized to because I am the mother of a black child. 

The people closest to me know about this, but I've kept this instance mostly to myself. I've considered talking to HR. I've considered pretending that it didn't happen. I've thought through how it could come back on me professionally. And that bullshit pisses me off to no end. I am not the person who screamed the word, but I am the person who still remembers and still feels guilt for not reporting it. 

This happened in 2015. 

Seeing that kind of hate come from a person who you respected, changes things. Irrevocably and permanently. While I have a lot of problems with my former employer, that is the biggest.

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