I'm on the plane to LA swirling in a storm of my own thoughts so I figured I'd write them down in an attempt to quiet them. Perhaps I can chronicle this trip in a way that acts as a sort of catharsis. I need this vacation. I need this time alone. I need this time away from the people I've been surrounded with. I need this time away from work and from other extraneous pressures. I don't need to think about the 72 CVS emails I get on a daily basis. Or the fact that if I don't log into the video game I allowed Jason to suck me into, I might be removed from the alliance... a pressure I neither asked for nor understand and yet I feel the need to avoid.
My father is right. I put too much pressure on myself. He knows it. I know it. Anyone who has spoken to me for longer than 5 minutes knows it. I just can't stop. I don't know why. Perhaps it's the fear of failure regardless of how trivial the task. I always think of that song "I Speak Six Languages" from 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee when I think about my life.
"Winning is a job and I get no real enjoyment..."
The character is a little girl who excels at everything because that's what's expected of her. The song is a lament of sorts about the unnecessary pressure that generates. She ends up intentionally misspelling a word in an attempt to join the normal kids. This sounds like a stuck-up, self-righteous problem to have. The way I see it though, who cares about accomplishments if they don't make you happy?
In light of Robin Williams's suicide, I've been thinking a lot about this. Suicide really bothers me. "Bother" is the only word I can muster to generalize it. It's some mixture of terror, depression, and fascination. Any time I hear of a suicide, I am filled with really intense emotion. I understand what it feels like to think that no one understands the world inside your head... the thought that you're entirely alone despite being surrounded by 7 billion other people... wondering why humans were given emotion... wondering why humans were given life... wishing you could find some sense of purpose or some sense of peace to get you through each day and give you a reason to get out of bed the next time. These are things I think about all the time--and to watch people succumb to these thoughts over and over again feels like a societal failure to me. We couldn't convince Robin that he meant something to the world. We failed. At least that's the way I see it.
Yesterday was my birthday. Overall, a pretty good day. Last day before vacation, lots of cake from friends at work, promotion compensation announcement from my supervisor. Right before I left though, I was sucked into a planning meeting for one of my projects in which we were faced with the unfortunate truth that, schedules being what they are (and they are shit), another designer will have to be pulled in to do very important work in my absence. I will, of course, get to continue when I return but all of the major concepting will be done by this temp designer. Let me put it into lay terms... I was cast as a supporting role in a musical. I attended all of the rehearsals, learned all of my lines and all of my songs, helped the other cast members learn their lines and songs, and on the way to the performance, I got caught in a traffic jam and the understudy had to go on stage in my stead. I made it there in time to perform in the final group number. That is essentially what happened here.
I got angry. Very angry. In preparation for this vacation I've been working extended hours for almost 2 weeks, the stress in my personal life is still highly present, and dropping this bomb on me an hour before the end of my last day (which just so happened to be my goddamn birthday) was too much for me to handle. The tension in the room was palpable and for that I felt bad but when I step over the threshold of that much anger and frustration (usually brought on, as was this, by something entirely beyond my control), I can't reign it in. It was all I could do not to burst into tears in the conference room... tears--my unfortunate biological response to that level of anger; as I believe I've mentioned before. So I sat there stewing quietly, focusing the entirety of my attention on not crying. Our project lead pulled me aside to see if I was ok and to allow me to vent my frustrations. At that point, I was so close to breaking down that I essentially gave him one word answers. I didn't want to cry in front of him for several reasons: I didn't want to cry at work; I didn't want to cry in front of someone with that much stature; and if I'm being totally honest, I find him really attractive, so I didn't want to look like an idiot. (Here's to hoping no one from work finds this blog).
We left the meeting and I took a walk outside. I had to get out. I called my grandparents who wanted to wish me a happy birthday. I sat in a parking lot for 20 minutes, and then I went back to work feeling ever-so-slightly farther away from tears. As soon as I got back, one of my best friends at work pulled me aside to see if I was ok. When I am in that kind of a mood, there are certain people who make me cry the second they even look at me. My dad is one of those people. Apparently this guy is as well. I think it's the same as when a little kid falls and scrapes their knee and holds it together until they see their mom--at which point they erupt into hysterics. This guy took me under his wing and showed me the ropes when I started and has been one of my biggest supporters ever since. His father passed away recently and a few of us attended one or all of the various burial services. We're a close team. Sometimes, it feels a lot like family. Anyway, I was almost instantly crying the second we stepped into a conference room, which made me even angrier because I had done such a good job holding it together until then. I felt a little bad because he is one of those people who cries when he sees other people cry and I really wasn't trying to ruin anyone's day. We talked for a while and he tried to cheer me up. A few of us went out for drinks after work. I think they all felt bad that I got mad on my birthday. I felt embarrassed that the last hour of work unexpectedly revolved around my feelings. The whole thing sucked and quite honestly I'm still in a really weird mood.
I talked to my dad (...because I really needed another one of those cry-initiators) on my walk to the dojo. He, as previously mentioned, reminded me once again that I over stress. My mother could be heard in the background saying, "look who's talking!" He told me that I've been doing this since grade school (fact) and that it's not healthy (fact). And then he said, "Monique, I don't know how to help you. I have never been able to help you." It was one of those statements that freezes time--the kind that you can recall in vivid detail for the rest of your life. He said it with the same sense of defeat as I described above in my bit about Robin Williams. He's concerned about my ability to fight my own demons. He always has been. I'm sure these kinds of news stories are just as impactful to him as they are to me, albeit for different reasons.
Back to the plane. I need this vacation for so many reasons. I really hope that it's restorative. I'm not going to check email. I'm not going to spend (much) time on social media sites. I'm just going to live. I want this to be a reset button before I go back and have to deal with work (which will be just as busy when I get back despite the temp designer stealing my thunder) and moving out of the apartment with Jason, living some place new away from the people I'm used to. It's daunting and I'm dreading it but I'm really hoping that this trip adds some much needed perspective. I need to get out of my own head and re-enter the world.
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