my box of stuff

one of my friends from work was kind enough to bring my box of personal stuff to me yesterday evening. she said my boss groused about the amount of stuff, "if i'd known how much she had, i might not have been so quick to offer to box it up."

it was mostly pictures and snacks, along with office supplies i had personally brought to work (the state does not furnish brightly colored post-it notes or decent staplers), but there were also some certificates of appreciation, you know, the "you did a good thing!" kind-of certificates. somebody had recognized me for having a positive attitude (that had to be several months old), and my daughter had written me a letter in rainbow hues telling me what a good mom she thinks i am and how sorry she is work is so hard.

there were prayers, asking god for the ability to endure the suffering i was going through and help make it meaningful:
"God, give us grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, Courage
to change the things which should be changed,and the Wisdom to distinguish the one from
the other. Living one day at a time, Enjoying one moment at a time, Accepting hardship as a
pathway to peace, Taking, as Jesus did, This sinful world as it is, Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right, If I surrender to Your will, So that I may be
reasonably happy in this life, And supremely happy with You forever in the next."

Reinhold Neibuhr's original language is so much more graceful than the modernized version, and before this job i had been unaware of the rest of the prayer, i'd just know the first bit everyone knows. the difficulty with this prayer for me at this point is that i was unable to withstand the suffering, the hardship. i couldn't bear the pain any longer, not to be overly-dramatic.

it was like trying to hold my hand in a flame, the burning finally drove my mind to the point where i could not bear it any longer. insofar as i was unable to remain at the job, the suffering did ultimately become a pathway to peace, though, because i left, i ran away from the hardship, not able to bear the burden any longer.

but the burning analogy isn't sufficient to describe the type and level of suffering i felt. it was more like having a wound that was always with me. sometimes the pain would subside (on the weekend), but then the pain would flare up again upon returning to work, each monday a little more intensely, like the wound was tearing just a little more each week. i dreamt about the horrors awaiting me at work, the inability to complete the work, the constant increase in volume of the work, and the abstractly horrible nature of the work, namely that it's focus wasn't really to help people, as i'd been led to believe, but, instead, to process paperwork.

now, for someone who has experienced true horror, like that of war or murder or intense abuse, this sounds trite. unfortunately, my past experience is exactly what set me up for a fall. both my supervisor and my doctor described what i was experiencing as ptsd. i'm embarrassed to mention that, as i've been in no war, no people-dying, bombs exploding war, anyway, and i've not seen anyone murdered, at least not first-hand. but i did a little research into ptsd and found, amongst the things that did not apply, one little snippet that offered insight into why i was in this place. i found the following quote in wikipedia:

"Predictor models have consistently found that childhood trauma, chronic adversity, and
familial stressors increase risk for PTSD as well as risk for biological markers of risk for
PTSD after a traumatic event in adulthood [24][25][26][27]. This effect of childhood
trauma, which is not well understood, may be a marker for both traumatic experiences and
attachment problems [28][29]. Proximity to, duration of, and severity of the trauma also
make an impact; and interpersonal traumas cause more problems than impersonal ones."

in other places i've explored the childhood traumas, the chronic adversity, and the familial stressors in greater detail, i'd rather not revisit them at this point, but this dry little paragraph offered me some insight into why this job caused me such tremendous pain, such that i could not bear to return.

it wasn't the clients...i've dealt with marginalized people for over twenty years, that was the best part of the job. it was the pressure to do something essentially undoable. it would be different in a different office, one that wasn't internally combusting, but i'm not sure i could bring myself to be in that spot again, just in case things got worse...

gotta go, hear stomachs rumbling in the bedrooms...in the space of time where i am unemployed, i am chief cook and bottle washer, as is appropriate. there is so much ease in the simple tasks, each one doable and satisfying in completion. hmmmm...my stomach is rumbling, too...