2004: Part 4

My mom is one of the people I will forever admire for ENDLESS reasons. But one big one is this: raising kids is freaking hard and she did it in a communist country, starting in the dark ages when people still wore Mao suits (google it) and called each other "comrade" and hand-sanitizer didn't exist but Hepititis B in the water DID. (And yes, I will write a book about it all because I still sometimes struggle to believe I actually experienced it all.) She struggled a lot in more ways than one but she accomplished the impossible task of raising two functioning adults who felt valued and loved and believed in as children (and who somehow never got Hepatitis B or any other). That being said, she experienced some depression of her own and I'm so thankful she was able to recognize it in me when I was spiraling. I'll never forget talking to our doctor, Dr. Atkinson, and him admitting he was on anti-depressants and would be the rest of his life and that was okay. That's not what I wanted if I could help it but it was important to see functioning adults existing on anti-depressants and it being okay, THEM being okay.

The first week or two feels, for me, like being stuck inside the climax of a yawn. The first day I felt completely...drugged up. And not in a good way. In a "here, I'll just lie down in the back of the van and stare at the wall while you go yard-saling" way. Thankfully, that passed and it hasn't felt that way since, though I've had periods of my life that warranted returning to anti-depressants, including recently (so, spoiler, I wasn't on them for the rest of my life). I remember, in the beginning, not liking the feeling of not "feeling myself." But looking back, I'd argue that having a mental breakdown is hardly living it up as "myself" either. They helped me cope with what was in front of me calmly. And eventually, I did feel like me again, even while on them, as I got more regulated.

The house didn't work out (did you see that one coming?). Another cringe-worthy series of memories, so here goes. BUT I can honestly say, I was not the person with the worst behavior and that's at least an improvement, right?

It's kind of a more complicated, long, and unnecessary story but the gist was I was the one on the lease and the other two roommates were not going to live there through the lease term (which had always been the plan). Things kept breaking and it ended up being much more than a broken sink. Think major plumbing woes. Both roommates left as planned and I was done at that point. I asked my parents if I could move back home for a while and they said yes and helped me move. Looking back now, I'm pretty sure we could have taken the landlord to court for not giving us our deposit back and won due to all the growing issues with the house...but at the time I was not able to fight that battle. So, the deposit was lost for breaking the lease. Both roommates owed me money and they both refused to pay me back because the lost deposit was "my fault" and somehow, to them, that all added up. They were justified. The deposit didn't even cover what one of them owed but somehow that was acceptable because I broke the lease because I no longer felt mentally able to live 1. Alone 2. In a house that, when I left it the last time, was leaking water through the first floor to the basement (where my room had been) from an unknown source, among other things 3. Independently, considering I had accumulated more debt on top of student loans that would become due soon and I needed to stop pouring out my parents dwindling money. I can admit that now. I couldn't have then.

The short of it was, I could not face living there anymore, lease or not.

Both roommates were girls I considered my close friends and I had thought would be long lasting friendships. I had met their parents, had stayed at one of their houses in Oregon, they'd been there for my baptism and stayed at my parents' house.

I don't really know what happened. A voice inside the dark area of my mind whispers I became too much of a burden as I went downhill. But then I remember, friends don't ditch friends for struggling. I was also reminded recently that both had come from very successful, rich families. They had little experience with struggle. Or at least, not in a financial/survival sense. I really thought they should have understood, thought the friendship was deeper but maybe it was them that were too shallow? Before I knew it, they had moved on, moved me out of their life and, in the end, only seemed to care about money. Irony. I'm sure they tell very different stories, if they even stoop (yes, stoop) to remember this episode of their life. Sometimes, I still miss them or perhaps just the enjoyment I had for their humor and energy. But I don't miss the betrayal of feeling completely abandoned and turned on in a very, very vulnerable stage of my life.

It's strange. I remember moving out of the house. But I have ZERO memory of getting my stuff back to my parents' and setting up my room there. None. I have no idea how long I was there before I began looking for work and very quickly, I got notice my loans were due for payment. You know, for all the schooling I did.

I remember having a hard time finding a job and then, I got a call for an interview. The interview consisted of a gruff-but-soft-on-the-inside man asking what my skills were (we had this conversation standing in their work-in-progress Christmas store in the mall as they finished getting it set up) and then asking, "Can you be vivacious?" He liked my answer of, "When necessary," and I was hired on the spot. I would have loved continuing to work for them for a long time. I felt truly loved by the owners (gruff man was one of them, can't remember his name) and I worked in both their gift shop and Christmas store. I really hit it off with all my co-workers and that was the first time I think I felt like, "Okay, I can do this. I can survive here."

But sadly, the Christmas store was temporary and the gift shop closed and their main store was way out of range (I still didn't drive...grew up in China, remember?).

Oh yeah. I almost forgot. The relationship from HELL. Also known as The Only Canadian I Didn't Like. But we'll talk about that another time.

So, for the time, I returned to unemployment. But I had a taste of "making it." I had experienced a work environment I didn't hate. And, although I went through my first real heartbreak around the same time, I came out the other side realizing how much I'd sold off of myself just to be accepted and be "enough" and I vowed to myself I'd never do that again. It was a horrible lesson to learn, to experience...but a necessary one.

To be continued...