*George opens the door between the waiting room and the hallway leading to different psychologists' offices.
His face lights up and he raises his eyebrows.
That's George's standard greeting. That's his way of saying "Hey there, Janet - come on in"
My standard response is to roll my eyes. The same way a teenager does at their beloved Dad/Uncle. I get up from my seat and am usually turning my phone off.
"Facebook?" George will enquire with a wink
"Yes. Switching it off now, sorry" I will apologise in response.
And so it has been. For almost 2 years now. Maybe longer.
I've felt a lot better in the last 6 months, so our appointments have been monthly and more of a check up than anything huge. I've even missed a few because I was too busy enjoying life.
Not this time, though.
Whenever we enter George's room, I re-arrange it. I set the two chairs so they are facing each other. I straighten the tablecloth which is always mussed up. Who has he had in here before me? I straighten the rug that is always bunched up and forgotten in the corner.
George always sighs. "Every time, Janet"
I always nod. "Every time, George"
And we sit. Facing each other. Not too close, but close enough to establish a good link.
"So" George says with a gentle smile "How you doing?"
"Honestly?" I ask
George nods
"I feel like killing myself" I say
George considers this.
"What's been going on in the world of Janet?" he asks, pressing down on his pen and opening the notebook on his lap. This is new. Usually his pen and notebook are untouched for the entire session.
I regard his pen warily, but decide to continue on.
Out tumbles my struggles with Alun's parents in these last few weeks; how I lost my mind, the guilt that flooded me and threatened to drown me after I released all my pent up anger and resentment and the struggle within myself between wanting desperately to make everything alright and the other half of me that enjoyed the freedom of saying exactly and honestly what I felt and wants to leave things as they are. Even better, it wants to recommend a hotel stay to the Thomases next time they arrive.
By the end of it, I'm spent. I've cried and used about 20 of the tissues on the little desk that sits between George and I. I've tried to throw the balled up, snotty tissues into the little white bin beside the table, but through my tears and shaking...I've missed and now there are little mounds of tissue around the bin. Great. I've made a mess.
George leans forward and intertwines his fingers "Janet...this is not good"
I nod, sniff and cry silently while watching him write more notes.
"I think you're depressed again. I can see on your face that you're hurting quite deeply. I can also see that you've not slept in a few nights and you look really anxious and ill-at-ease"
I shrug because I don't know what else to do or say.
"Has anything else been going on?"
So I tearfully tell George about getting told off at work. We were all called into a meeting and told off for being too lax and too casual in our reception post. I understood completely and agreed to do my best to dress appropriately and not use Facebook anymore while at work. It was hard being told off, but was fair enough, really.
The next morning, I was on reception by myself. Donna appeared.
I could tell instantly - from her face and general demeanour - that she was really, really angry.
"Also Janet - I'd like to tell you that you don't need to blab your personal business to every member of staff. Okay. Cut that sh*t out"
I felt as if she'd reached out and slapped me across the face.
Stunned, I blinked.
Excuse me?
"You don't need to look like a slapped arse" Donna went on "You always look like a deer in the headlights, Janet. Why don't you grow a pair and toughen up at work?"
Wait. What?!?
I only talk to Monique about my personal affairs. I go to Church on Sundays with Sandy who I guess knows more about my life that anyone else at work does, and I have a regular morning chat with Jessica who works there too - but over nothing more than the stupid things we go up to on the weekend.
Donna saying "every member of staff" echoes in my head.
"But Donna" I attempt to explain that I haven't "blabbed" to "everyone"...
Donna shakes her head 'no' and puts her hand out to stop me.
"Just don't do it again. It's unprofessional and you should know better. Are we clear?"
I nod, feeling as if I've been dismissed without being allowed my say.
With the way I'm feeling...this encounter has made me feel 100 times worse.
Is everyone at work talking about me?
Monique arrives at work a few hours later and I tell her about what happened with Donna.
"But...you don't talk to anyone here about personal stuff!" Monique echoes my feelings.
Our computers beep simultaneously - an email.
I see Donna's name and even before I've opened it...there is dread.
When I do open it (and I can hear Monique reading hers at the same time as her desk is next to mine on the reception counter), I feel my heart breaking. Donna has enjoyed a lengthy tirade and has used words and phrases that cross the line between constructive criticism into pure bullying. She's actually been really, really rude. I steal a glance at Monique and see tears slipping down her face.
"The f*ck?!?" Monique raises her eyebrows at me and wipes her tears on her sleeve. "Nope. That's it. I'm out" she says. Opening her drawer (we each have one right behind the reception counter), she starts putting her personal items into her handbag "I'm not working here anymore. The things Donna has just said in that email...omg Janet...I can't take that"
Feeling deeply offended and outraged by what Donna has written, I can only nod in understanding.
"She can find someone else to take the sh*t out of - I'm leaving" Monique continues, jamming mugs and containers into her handbag.
I think of her 4 children and how long it will take her - take us both - to get a new job...and I try to calm Monique down.
"Hey...don't just leave, Mon. Talk it out with Natalie first (our manager at the temp agency - we work for the same people) and see what she advises. Don't just fly off the handle..ok?"
And in my mind's eye...I see Alun's handsome face. He's just resigned from his job so he can have 3 weeks of resting at home before he starts his Graduate placement at the Hospital at the end of the month. It is on me to make money for the next month or so until Al is settled...so as much as I want to join Monique...I can't.
"But Janet - you read what she wrote, didn't you?" Monique is wiping more angry tears away
I did, Monique. It was really rude. Really disrespectful. Really unprofessional...and really undeserved.
My shift was over and Alun was waiting to drive me home downstairs, but I stayed until Monique had settled. I convinced her to stay in this job and then left for the day. I didn't respond to Donna's email.
...I relayed all of this to George.
He nods. "I'm proud of you, Janet"
He's not said that often so when he says he's proud of me, it means a lot.
"You did the right thing, just leaving and coming away from it and not sending an angry email back"
I wipe tears away as the re-telling has made me hurt all over again from the email and wait for George to say more.
"You've been through a lot of really hard things in the last few weeks. You're worn out and not sleeping and I think you're depressed again. I'm actually pretty worried about you, Janet. I want you to consider going to hospital for a few days - or maybe even a week - just so you can rest and have people watch over you so you can't hurt or kill yourself"
"I hated it in hospital" I reply, crying anew and remembering all the screaming patients and how scary it was to be in a room with them all.
"Because you're depressed and suicidal right now, I want you to promise me you won't kill yourself and that instead, you will make sure you're always around someone. Is Alun at home? What are his work hours?"
I told George Alun has booked 3 weeks of rest time and will be home.
"Okay - you stay with him or make sure you're with a friend. Don't be alone with your thoughts - not even for a few minutes. I will call and confer with your GP over getting you some anti-anxiety medication today. I will also call and check on you every day and just make sure you're okay. Let's make an appointment to see each other in a few day's time. If you feel like the suicidal thoughts are too strong for you to cope between now and when I see you next, I want you to call an ambulance, ok?"
I can't agree. I can't, because I feel like I'm drowning. Any minute now...and that crocodile will get me.
"OK?" George asks again, leaning forward so his eyes seem to hold mine up.
A minute ticks by and the clock on the wall seems suddenly to be on speakers.
Tick.
tick.
tick.
"OK" I agree.
His face lights up and he raises his eyebrows.
That's George's standard greeting. That's his way of saying "Hey there, Janet - come on in"
My standard response is to roll my eyes. The same way a teenager does at their beloved Dad/Uncle. I get up from my seat and am usually turning my phone off.
"Facebook?" George will enquire with a wink
"Yes. Switching it off now, sorry" I will apologise in response.
And so it has been. For almost 2 years now. Maybe longer.
I've felt a lot better in the last 6 months, so our appointments have been monthly and more of a check up than anything huge. I've even missed a few because I was too busy enjoying life.
Not this time, though.
Whenever we enter George's room, I re-arrange it. I set the two chairs so they are facing each other. I straighten the tablecloth which is always mussed up. Who has he had in here before me? I straighten the rug that is always bunched up and forgotten in the corner.
George always sighs. "Every time, Janet"
I always nod. "Every time, George"
And we sit. Facing each other. Not too close, but close enough to establish a good link.
"So" George says with a gentle smile "How you doing?"
"Honestly?" I ask
George nods
"I feel like killing myself" I say
George considers this.
"What's been going on in the world of Janet?" he asks, pressing down on his pen and opening the notebook on his lap. This is new. Usually his pen and notebook are untouched for the entire session.
I regard his pen warily, but decide to continue on.
Out tumbles my struggles with Alun's parents in these last few weeks; how I lost my mind, the guilt that flooded me and threatened to drown me after I released all my pent up anger and resentment and the struggle within myself between wanting desperately to make everything alright and the other half of me that enjoyed the freedom of saying exactly and honestly what I felt and wants to leave things as they are. Even better, it wants to recommend a hotel stay to the Thomases next time they arrive.
By the end of it, I'm spent. I've cried and used about 20 of the tissues on the little desk that sits between George and I. I've tried to throw the balled up, snotty tissues into the little white bin beside the table, but through my tears and shaking...I've missed and now there are little mounds of tissue around the bin. Great. I've made a mess.
George leans forward and intertwines his fingers "Janet...this is not good"
I nod, sniff and cry silently while watching him write more notes.
"I think you're depressed again. I can see on your face that you're hurting quite deeply. I can also see that you've not slept in a few nights and you look really anxious and ill-at-ease"
I shrug because I don't know what else to do or say.
"Has anything else been going on?"
So I tearfully tell George about getting told off at work. We were all called into a meeting and told off for being too lax and too casual in our reception post. I understood completely and agreed to do my best to dress appropriately and not use Facebook anymore while at work. It was hard being told off, but was fair enough, really.
The next morning, I was on reception by myself. Donna appeared.
I could tell instantly - from her face and general demeanour - that she was really, really angry.
"Also Janet - I'd like to tell you that you don't need to blab your personal business to every member of staff. Okay. Cut that sh*t out"
I felt as if she'd reached out and slapped me across the face.
Stunned, I blinked.
Excuse me?
"You don't need to look like a slapped arse" Donna went on "You always look like a deer in the headlights, Janet. Why don't you grow a pair and toughen up at work?"
Wait. What?!?
I only talk to Monique about my personal affairs. I go to Church on Sundays with Sandy who I guess knows more about my life that anyone else at work does, and I have a regular morning chat with Jessica who works there too - but over nothing more than the stupid things we go up to on the weekend.
Donna saying "every member of staff" echoes in my head.
"But Donna" I attempt to explain that I haven't "blabbed" to "everyone"...
Donna shakes her head 'no' and puts her hand out to stop me.
"Just don't do it again. It's unprofessional and you should know better. Are we clear?"
I nod, feeling as if I've been dismissed without being allowed my say.
With the way I'm feeling...this encounter has made me feel 100 times worse.
Is everyone at work talking about me?
Monique arrives at work a few hours later and I tell her about what happened with Donna.
"But...you don't talk to anyone here about personal stuff!" Monique echoes my feelings.
Our computers beep simultaneously - an email.
I see Donna's name and even before I've opened it...there is dread.
When I do open it (and I can hear Monique reading hers at the same time as her desk is next to mine on the reception counter), I feel my heart breaking. Donna has enjoyed a lengthy tirade and has used words and phrases that cross the line between constructive criticism into pure bullying. She's actually been really, really rude. I steal a glance at Monique and see tears slipping down her face.
"The f*ck?!?" Monique raises her eyebrows at me and wipes her tears on her sleeve. "Nope. That's it. I'm out" she says. Opening her drawer (we each have one right behind the reception counter), she starts putting her personal items into her handbag "I'm not working here anymore. The things Donna has just said in that email...omg Janet...I can't take that"
Feeling deeply offended and outraged by what Donna has written, I can only nod in understanding.
"She can find someone else to take the sh*t out of - I'm leaving" Monique continues, jamming mugs and containers into her handbag.
I think of her 4 children and how long it will take her - take us both - to get a new job...and I try to calm Monique down.
"Hey...don't just leave, Mon. Talk it out with Natalie first (our manager at the temp agency - we work for the same people) and see what she advises. Don't just fly off the handle..ok?"
And in my mind's eye...I see Alun's handsome face. He's just resigned from his job so he can have 3 weeks of resting at home before he starts his Graduate placement at the Hospital at the end of the month. It is on me to make money for the next month or so until Al is settled...so as much as I want to join Monique...I can't.
"But Janet - you read what she wrote, didn't you?" Monique is wiping more angry tears away
I did, Monique. It was really rude. Really disrespectful. Really unprofessional...and really undeserved.
My shift was over and Alun was waiting to drive me home downstairs, but I stayed until Monique had settled. I convinced her to stay in this job and then left for the day. I didn't respond to Donna's email.
...I relayed all of this to George.
He nods. "I'm proud of you, Janet"
He's not said that often so when he says he's proud of me, it means a lot.
"You did the right thing, just leaving and coming away from it and not sending an angry email back"
I wipe tears away as the re-telling has made me hurt all over again from the email and wait for George to say more.
"You've been through a lot of really hard things in the last few weeks. You're worn out and not sleeping and I think you're depressed again. I'm actually pretty worried about you, Janet. I want you to consider going to hospital for a few days - or maybe even a week - just so you can rest and have people watch over you so you can't hurt or kill yourself"
"I hated it in hospital" I reply, crying anew and remembering all the screaming patients and how scary it was to be in a room with them all.
"Because you're depressed and suicidal right now, I want you to promise me you won't kill yourself and that instead, you will make sure you're always around someone. Is Alun at home? What are his work hours?"
I told George Alun has booked 3 weeks of rest time and will be home.
"Okay - you stay with him or make sure you're with a friend. Don't be alone with your thoughts - not even for a few minutes. I will call and confer with your GP over getting you some anti-anxiety medication today. I will also call and check on you every day and just make sure you're okay. Let's make an appointment to see each other in a few day's time. If you feel like the suicidal thoughts are too strong for you to cope between now and when I see you next, I want you to call an ambulance, ok?"
I can't agree. I can't, because I feel like I'm drowning. Any minute now...and that crocodile will get me.
"OK?" George asks again, leaning forward so his eyes seem to hold mine up.
A minute ticks by and the clock on the wall seems suddenly to be on speakers.
Tick.
tick.
tick.
"OK" I agree.
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