Sleep

I've always had trouble sleeping, but without a regular job to anchor my days my nights are ruling my life.
At first it was a way to avoid thinking about my situation. I'd try to sleep through the haunting thoughts of what had happened and what could happen now, and I'd eventually get worked up enough that I couldn't sleep. Being alone with my thoughts has never been the best option when I'm dealing with something. It's been three weeks and I'm still finding myself going to bed when the sun is coming up.

Somewhere in my mind is the idea that staying up keeps the next day from coming. It's a misguided attempt at finding the pause button, of needing the world to stop for just a few days so I can catch up.

Entering the Lion's Den

I was a crier. I've always wanted to be the type of person who was stronger, who could be more professional. I don't cry at Hallmark commercials (anymore), but when pushed and pushed my body expresses frustration in salt water.

So when I went to pack the rest of my office I was determined to be strong and walk in with my head held high. After all, by their own reasoning, I was a fine employee who contributed greatly during her time with the company. It's interesting how our bodies often betray our mental state. If I've learned anything from past break-ups and disappointments its that tear ducts cannot be reasoned with.

When I first arrived, I had a moment in the lobby when I thought I might tear up. I took a deep breath and thought of the saying that comes to mind when I need to find my inner strength. That sounds so zen, but its possibly one of the silliest things that my mind has grabbed onto. It goes like this:

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

Its the litany against fear, the incantation used in Dune to calm your mind in times of peril.

I've never even read Dune, so I can't even hide behind a sci-fi kink. I just came across David Lynch's movie late one night and saw the scene were Paul's hand is in the fire. At that point in my life my ex-boyfriend/ first love was coming into my work routinely with a new girl. I used it to focus my attention when I was caught off guard by their presence. From years of use its became the go-to internal dialogue for personal strength.

I ran into a few coworkers who were surprised to see me and we had awkward conversation. Some voiced their disbelief, while others just wished me well. These were stolen moments - quick asides in their otherwise busy day.  It had only been a week, but life had gone on without me. It would have been something to cry about if I was still the type of person who did that kind of thing.

Dinks No More

I've never lost a job before. I feel like someone just kicked me in the stomach. My employer of four years has eliminated my position. It doesn't matter that they've hired 5 entry levels in the past few months - there is no work at my level. The general manager of my office rushes out of the room and I go though the stages of grief while the HR manager tells me the details of our "separation agreement." We are agreeing to separate. They agree to stop paying me, which is the part of our agreement that I'm least excited by.  I wonder if they know that all the creative used in last years work came from me? I wonder why I postponed my grad school application only to loose my job a few months before the school year would have begun. Internally, I calculate that mine was 60% of of our household income. I go back and forth from what I'm being told, "It's not personal." "It's purely a business decision due to lower forecasts" and the voices in my head, "I'm being thrown away." "It's not fair." "Everyone involved in this decision is an assholes."

I walk to my car with all the signs of someone who has just lost a job. Tear-soaked face, frenzied eyes, a banker's box of files packed tightly with a box of tampons on top.