We have the Coffee. We can rebuild her.
Transitioning to working at Starbucks was a growing period in my life. I was adjusting to a new way of life. I wasn't in school for a few months, I was processing sadness, confusion, new meds, and a loss of friends, but I was working.
Knowing I could work again after two firings and two times dropping out of school was such as relief. I could make money. I could hope to take care of myself. I could imagine the possibility of not being stuck at my parents. I woke up at 4:45 am, had espresso and went to work. I worked with some really kind people.
My identity was changing. I wasn't showing up as the straight A student who thought she had her shit together and was just making summer cash. I was there trying to survive, pushing through the daze of what felt like a difficult and somewhat unappealing existence and just following the training I was given.
The structure and culture at my work then worked well. The manager was my favorite manager I have ever worked for. He was a stickler for the rules and told me he ran a tight ship. That was what I needed then. Plus access to caffeine and pastries! I think the caffeine helped combat some of the way the mood stabiliziers were making me sorta numb and so even keeled that it dipped straight to depression. Anyway, not trying to really get into medication stuff now, but just this time, not joyful really did provide steps toward getting me back on my feet.
Once January came around, my mom enrolled me in college again. She was always pushing me, sometimes toward the good. So I started a night school program, and walked onto a new, fresh campus knowing that I could at least sit still and try to focus.
I was accepting that I was living back in Orlando, and starting to make a few friends. Some at church, some at work. I was starting to rebuild a social circle. It was baby steps that were so hard. Something about walking on a college campus feeling like, what if these people find out I was quasi institutionalized, is daunting. But I love books and studying and lectures, so it was worth every stair I climbed across the campus.
With work and school, I was moving out of isolation, feeling like a failure, distrusting my intellectual abilities and fearing that I would be penniless and unable to fend for myself. By summer I had enough money to move in with friends. I paid a small amount of rent to crash on my friend's apartment floor with my futon and lived with a group of girls for 2 months. I met a guy while I out with friends and had my first boyfriend. It only lasted a month maybe, but it was a start.
Then I made a more permanent move with two girls who I knew from college. I shared a room, but actually had a bed, dresser and my things moved in. I was taking flight again.
And it felt good.
Knowing I could work again after two firings and two times dropping out of school was such as relief. I could make money. I could hope to take care of myself. I could imagine the possibility of not being stuck at my parents. I woke up at 4:45 am, had espresso and went to work. I worked with some really kind people.
My identity was changing. I wasn't showing up as the straight A student who thought she had her shit together and was just making summer cash. I was there trying to survive, pushing through the daze of what felt like a difficult and somewhat unappealing existence and just following the training I was given.
The structure and culture at my work then worked well. The manager was my favorite manager I have ever worked for. He was a stickler for the rules and told me he ran a tight ship. That was what I needed then. Plus access to caffeine and pastries! I think the caffeine helped combat some of the way the mood stabiliziers were making me sorta numb and so even keeled that it dipped straight to depression. Anyway, not trying to really get into medication stuff now, but just this time, not joyful really did provide steps toward getting me back on my feet.
Once January came around, my mom enrolled me in college again. She was always pushing me, sometimes toward the good. So I started a night school program, and walked onto a new, fresh campus knowing that I could at least sit still and try to focus.
I was accepting that I was living back in Orlando, and starting to make a few friends. Some at church, some at work. I was starting to rebuild a social circle. It was baby steps that were so hard. Something about walking on a college campus feeling like, what if these people find out I was quasi institutionalized, is daunting. But I love books and studying and lectures, so it was worth every stair I climbed across the campus.
With work and school, I was moving out of isolation, feeling like a failure, distrusting my intellectual abilities and fearing that I would be penniless and unable to fend for myself. By summer I had enough money to move in with friends. I paid a small amount of rent to crash on my friend's apartment floor with my futon and lived with a group of girls for 2 months. I met a guy while I out with friends and had my first boyfriend. It only lasted a month maybe, but it was a start.
Then I made a more permanent move with two girls who I knew from college. I shared a room, but actually had a bed, dresser and my things moved in. I was taking flight again.
And it felt good.
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