When It Rains...

Unemployment, restlessness, feelings of failure, potential homelessness...when it rains, you know what happens.

TW: anxiety, depression, suicidal ideation, job loss.

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

I’m a patient person. Not always, but for the most part. I’m anxious and extra and I have a lot of loud feelings and thoughts all day, all of the time—but I can play the waiting game, when I need to. I had to learn to be this way. Decades of dealing with chronic depression and health conditions has molded me into what I am—a fidgety hot mess, but I’m resilient, dammit. Still, even I have my limits.

I feel like I’ve been waiting while also in a free-fall since September of 2024, when I was laid off from my position that I’ve had for 6 years. The company said it wasn’t me; it was business (as if that would make the sting any less sharp). I was given 7 weeks’ severance, and wished the best of luck. My coworkers were just as shocked as me, and I wasn’t the only one let go. I spent a week absorbing the blow, and then I updated my resume, gathered my references, and started putting out feelers. I followed leads and submitted referrals. I scored promising interviews. I got glowing recommendations, when employers actually contacted my references. But still, I didn’t get a job offer.

6 months passed. March of 2025 came, and by then, the severance was long gone, and my family was surviving off of my 401K (which I was even fortunate to have), but it was starting to get low. Until, finally, I landed an interview with a medical office. The position was framed like a receptionist position—answering calls, reaching out to referrals, setting appointments, etc. I had no medical experience, but I received a job offer just hours after my interview. I was elated. And I was kinda misled.

Training was brutal. 2 weeks sitting in a small, windowless room with a truly wonderful trainer, while we went through a massive binder filled with medical terminology and all of the business practices and expectations that would come with the job. That’s when I also first heard the term “call center” used. For those who haven’t worked in a call center before, it’s typically an open-floor plan of a room with desks and/or cubicles, where employees take call after call after call. I had previously worked as a temp as “payment specialist,” years ago, also at a call center (and also not advertised as one). I only lasted a few months in that job, due to the stress and general mismanagement of the company. So, this big reveal had me feeling some kind of way. But, I needed a job, so I tried to keep myself positive, reframing the situation as a new challenge. That floated me for about a month…but my mental health was really, really taking a hit. I ignored the signs, until it was almost too late.

My anxiety had been spiking gradually since late April, but I had figured it was just beginners’ nerves. I was also constantly exhausted, from all of the new information and just the very nature of the job. I had to cancel plans frequently, only able to scroll on my phone in bed in the evenings, until a fitful sleep took me. I began to dread going to the office, and was prone to crying spells, even at work. I was mostly successful with hiding how I was feeling, though I did eventually have a conversation with my boss. She was actually incredibly understanding, and assured me that she went through something similar when she first started (and she started in my position). I remember thinking, “Oh, cool, this is normal.” But there was also a little voice that asked, “…But does it have to be? And for how long?” The anxiety continued to build, until I was barely functional in the mornings. I started calling out from work. I really pushed myself to show up, but my nerves were constantly on fire.

The first week of May, I had a mental breakdown. (How convenient that May is Mental Health Awareness Month.) I no longer felt safe in my body, and I was actively considering suicide. I let my spouse know, and reached out to RBHA, a wonderful local organization, for treatment options. That day, I went to an inpatient facility (which wasn’t my first rodeo, though it was my first time through RBHA). I had my partner get in touch with my boss to let her know what was going on, since I couldn’t use my phone in the facility (though there were scheduled times every day where a landline phone was offered). Per the program’s design, I stayed for a week, following a schedule of 5-7 group sessions a day, with plenty of journaling and coloring and reading with my downtime. I spoke with a psychiatrist every morning, and my meds were adjusted. The first few days were mentally and emotionally excruciating, but as the meds kicked in, my anxiety and suicidal ideation lifted, and I started to feel something like hope. But my job anxiety? That never went away, not the entire time I was there.

Once I was discharged, I made follow-up appointments with my PMHNP and therapist. I checked in with my boss, and originally intended to go back to work the very next day. However, when I woke up the following morning, I once again broke into anxious tears. It became clear to me that I would have to choose between my mental health, or staying at a job that triggered the mental breakdown to begin with. So, I made the decision to quit. I went to the office to tell my boss in-person. I cried, of course, though the few coworkers I connected with were very understanding (I do need to stress that while the job itself wasn’t for me, I sincerely adored the people who worked there—but good co-workers weren’t enough to keep me afloat, mentally). I felt bad, quitting after barely a month and without a two weeks’ notice, but I knew that I couldn’t even last even another day there. Call center jobs are intense, and I wasn’t built for them. I had to learn the hard way that sometimes, there are things that we just can’t do—and that’s okay (again).

After quitting the call center, I immediately updated my resume (again) and cover letter (again), and jumped back into job hunting (again). About two months’ passed, and that brings us up to speed, to today. By now, my 401K is gone, and my spouse also doesn’t have a full-time job, though we do get some income from their art and gig work as a piano teacher (so, if you’re interested in lessons, hit me up—they can do virtual ones!). We’ve had to beg for money from family, friends, and on social media. We’ve been very, very lucky to have made it to where we are right now, but we sure as hell don’t know how long this will last. We’ve got enough money for rent for next month, and then I’m not sure what we’ll be doing. My credit card can only carry us so far, before that gets maxed out, and the monthly payments are draining us fast.

This is a depressing read. And what’s even more depressing is that my story isn’t unique. More and more, I’ve been hearing about friends and acquaintances being laid off, many of them in jobs that seemed previously secure. (Consequently, I wasn’t surprise to learn that my state’s unemployment rate is the highest it’s been in 4 years.) GoFundMe’s and pleas for financial assistance are everywhere. It is hell out there. And yet, we’re all trying to help one another, passing along leads and offering words of encouragement, while scraping along as best as we can.

It’s really exhausting.

And yet, I do think that things will eventually be okay. I have to believe that, because otherwise, what’s the point? Still, I gotta ask: when? How much longer does my family have to wait? How much more do we have to lose? Will we have to break our lease? Will we have to declare bankruptcy? Will we have to sell our possessions and essentially become homeless? (For the record, we do have a backup plan should it really be needed, but it would still mean losing our current home.) I don’t know. I don’t know at all, and that is really, really scary.

Anway. I wish I could end things on a high note, but the best I can offer is that I’m honestly okay, mentally; just struggling with feeling everything that I’m feeling. It’s very hard not to feel defeated, what with all of the job rejections and dwindling funds, but I’m doing my best to remain thankful and mindful for the things that are going well (or at least, things that aren’t awful). I love my support system fiercely, and I feel loved in return. I have people trying to look out for me, still sending me leads and suggestions, and even supplies or a few bucks. I have a couple of paid pet-sitting gigs coming up. My meds seem to be working well, and I have a great therapist. My spouse is also doing everything that they can on their end to help keep us afloat.

So, I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep waking up and applying to jobs, going to interviews, doing my best, but also trying not to shit all over myself when something doesn’t work out. I’ll keep going for daily walks with my family, seeing my loved ones, and finding joy whenever possible. I’ll try not to give in to the fear, while acknowledging that there’s going to be times when i’ll just have to ugly cry and scream into my pillow.

I’ll keep on keeping on.

That’s really all I can do.