Thursday, February 23, 2017

You Aren't Special : Part II

I waited a little while to publish this, because I recently sent a letter of complaint to the company and was hoping for a response.  I didn't get one.  

Here's the email I sent:


Two years ago I was in the middle of my wounded animal phase.  (That period of time following disaster when you've limped off into the woods to recover in private.) I was still pretty beat up.  I had stopped writing completely.  I was having increasingly obsessive thoughts, which wasn't really new for me, but the intensity and frequency in which they took over was a little scary. And all of this was made worse by my endometriosis, which had returned after a long hiatus.  This meant medical appointments, ER visits and experimental treatments, all knitted together with the same fine thread of uncertainty.  Psychological and emotional struggles are heavy, but paired with physical pain, the weight was oppressive and constant.  Every day was the same.  Every day was bleak.

It was a lot, all at once, and I was just trying to keep it together.
        "I need something good.  I need a win." I thought.
And then I got the interview, and it was just so perfect.   I think if it had just been a midlevel encounter, I really might have kept floundering.  But it wasn't. It was the extreme I needed.  It was AWFUL.  It was bizarre. So bizarre that I suddenly had to write it all down. For probably the first time in my life I didn't have a notebook, so I had to go buy one.  I recorded it in detail. The decor, his tone, his expressions, his condescension and how it felt.  I didn't want to forget any of it.  In the time it took me to write it all out I wasn't obsessing over death, illness or guilt.  It felt wonderful.

I was still a bundle of bruises, but I was out of the woods.