After applying to every possible job in my town, I’m convinced I’ve been blacklisted by my previous employer.
But regardless of whether or not they’ve been following my life and ruining it step by step like corporate freaks tend to do, I have another interview on Tuesday.
I applied at 1am this morning and received a call from them at 9am.
It’s for the same amusement park my boyfriend works for. I saved this position for the very last resort because I knew they would call me back–they always call everyone back. They need a lot of workers and the damn majority of them are high school kids who can’t work during the weekdays.
I picked a position where I’m down in the basement, counting money, and putting the numbers into a system. I pop my head out to collect the case from different stations, then return to my home in the basement like the freakish vampire I am.
I won’t sport my fangs on the first day. I’ll wait for a week at least, until I reveal my true identity.
I’m good with numbers and I’m good with computers. I don’t know the systems they use, I’ve never even heard of a “File Maker” accounting system, but I understand technology fairly well. It all runs with the same consistency.
I believe you’re mostly working by yourself or with a partner, which I don’t mind at all.
A lot of people with social anxiety disorder struggle in interviews, but I can handle speaking to a man or woman for fifteen to thirty minutes, one on one, especially since they’ll be asking most of the questions.
My worries surround the first day of work. Where do I go? Who do I report to? Do I have to ask around to find out? Where will they be? How much of a fool of myself am I going to make? (Regardless of the logic that everyone is lost on their first day). That’s part of the anxiety.
My worries surround the coworkers. It’s not the typical worry of “oh no, are they going to like me? Are they going to be nice?”. I’m worried because I know for a fact I can’t communicate with them easily. I know I’m going to have trouble appearing “nice” and average. I’m going to have trouble relating to others. I’m going to have trouble having a conversation with them and not appearing as some passive little girl. That’s partly anxiety. It’s also complete ignorance; I just don’t know how to talk to them.
I’m going to have trouble with not being intimidated by my superiors; they’ve worked there longer than me, how stupid am I going to make myself look in front of them? That’s an anxiety thought.
I’m not going to be able to make friends with the coworkers. I’m just not. I honestly don’t want to and I hate that people have bad impressions of you just because you don’t want to talk to them. They should be thankful they won’t have to hear my mouth like certain other people do. This is my personality.
Whenever an interview is scheduled for me, an instant pang of regret floods me. Once I’ve committed, I’ve committed, and there’s no going back without burning some bridges. I’ve burned enough of those.
The thing about living with anxiety is that you’ve got a second person inside of you constantly ravaging your brain with reasons why you shouldn’t do something or shouldn’t have done something. It’s always in your ear blocking you from hearing the more competent part of yourself.
So I force myself to seek out some positives.
- I’ll have a job.
- I’ll be making money.
- I won’t feel as useless.
- I can pay for things more often.
- I can save some dough for when I move out.
- I can gain work experience.
- I can do something really special for my boyfriend.
- I can get my car fixed.
- I can work through some of my social anxiety.
- I’m forcing myself out of my comfort zone.
- I can get some fucking internet in this fucking apartment.
- I’ll no longer have to panic when my college delays on my financial aid money.
- I’ll have to be out of the house often, and it will prevent me from slipping any further into agoraphobia.
- I’ll see that everything my anxious twin has been listing off in my head since I got that phone call was all just exaggeration, meant to tamper with my self-confidence.
- I’ll learn my limits–healthy limits.
- I’ll be able to separate my introverted personality from the anxiety and find that I can get along working just fine as long as I’m not around too many people at once.
- It’ll will force a more steady sleeping pattern.
- Working and school means my schedule leaves little room for feeling sorry for myself and my struggles.
- I can prove to myself that I’m stronger than I think.
- I’ll learn to balance out my insatiable need for power with my insatiable need to cower before my superiors. How does that work? Ask my brain. There’s a whole bunch of people in there, that’s why I’m so contradictory.
I’m not even going to waste space typing out the negatives. My twin listed off the opposite of each of my positives right in my ear and just the thought of having to have this type of responsibility and do the kind of mental work I’m going to have to do just to get by every day is enough to make me start shaking and tearing up.
But my true self, the introvert, the writer, the amateur photographer, the slightly awkward but otherwise pretty intelligent person could care less about how people see me or whether or not my co-workers will find me weird or not, could also care less about any negatives. It could care less about the fact that June-August in this town are more crowded than Satan’s summer bash in Hell and I heard millions attend. Satan makes some pretty damn good brownies, if you know what I mean.
I logically understand the separation in myself with my anxiety and who I am. I understand that part of my anxiety comes from the fact that I also struggle with understanding how to converse or make friends and the fact that depression can take control of me in just a few hours and render me immobile. That’s why I work so hard to find the positives in everything, I’m constantly fighting it, I feel it every second of the day and when I’m stressed it’s just harder to find those positives.
Those are struggles I have to face in the moment. I could practice in my head or in the mirror all I want, that’s not going to do shit, not for me. Role play doesn’t work either. I had a therapist do that with me once.
It went horribly wrong.
I’ll let your imagination wander.