Panera

In between all of the depression, med visits, doc appointments and my mom dragging me grocery shopping, clothes shopping or to lunches, I had the trouble of what to do with time. My mom had enrolled me in community college classes, but then the medication was making my mind fuzzy and I couldn't concentrate. I had to drop those classes and try to get a refund. My mom marched me to the college office to plead my case as a bipolar depressive who couldn't hack it. It was miserable. There was something so shameful about how she had me keep the illness quiet unless there was money to get back. I don't know. Maybe I am misremembering parts of this. Anyway. I had to drop out of college a second time which was a blow to the ego.

Meanwhile, she was pushing me to get a job. I had started out wanting a job, just as I had wanted college, just as I had wanted to live, just as I had wanted freedom. But with all the steady, deep and unexpected blows, I wanted very little. However, my mom made me apply places. It was strange. Later I had to unlearn the message to go go go when your brain says no no no. But she pushed, I did need money (for future independence I hoped) so I filled out an application at Panera. I was there because my mom met with her bagel buddies for coffee and chatting once a week. She had me apply. I'd worked at Panera in high school, so it was an easy sell.

I got the job and went, feeling utterly dead in side. While I'd been trained before, they put me in a different section. It was early in the morning. I was in bakery. I was there for maybe days, maybe weeks, but then quickly fired. I was told I was too depressed and I took too many breaks to drink water. I was actually pretty relieved because I didn't want to be there. A few weeks later, when I did feel better, have a bit more confidence, I applied to a job at the coffee shop which happened to be next door to the place I got fired. Proximity is quite hilarious. I got the job and coffeegirl finally had a home.

Now if we were counting strokes of unluck, my tally for those first 6 months since D-day included 2 job firings, 2 college drop outs, 3 hospital visits, and 1 suicide event.

And that was just the beginning.