anxiety – milky feelings

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Hello dear readers,

It is me, your thought-to-be-extinct friend writing to you from beyond the grave. Meaning not that I am an ethereal being, but that I haven’t been blogging in a while.

Warning: it might be a long one and I’m a little rusty. (That’s what she said?)

Today marks one month of being unemployed and honestly, it’s been, like, really tight.

I’ve been far too busy sleeping all of the time and playing a video game where you earn gold for farming turnips to come up with anything creative to say. But now that the wound isn’t so fresh, I am back to feeling like I want to talk about my personal life on the internet.

So in short, I got fired. I didn’t do anything illegal like embezzle money from the company or take the free tampons in the 3rd-floor bathroom…although I do think it would be mysterious and attractive to be some sort of white-collar female criminal. Like Ocean’s 11 or Martha Stewart.

I played it SO COOL when I got fired. I would like to frame it as a power move, but in reality, I think I was trying so hard to not let them see me cry that I cut off the oxygen to my vital bits and blacked out.

My cohorts said that I could have the room if I wanted and they would bring me some tissues to cry into. I politely explained that I just needed some air. I then ran outside to rip a fat vape off my JUUL, sob to my boyfriend while he was trying to drive to his work appointment, and get my cardigan stuck in the elevator.

Getting fired is a lot like a break-up. You cry, then you think you’re fine, then you drive past your office building, or have a work-related calendar reminder you forgot to delete pop up, and then out of nowhere a Bon Iver song starts playing in the background and the rain slowly drips down the windows of your Prius and there go the waterworks.

Once feeling sorry for yourself starts to get boring, you pick yourself up and you say, “GODDAMNIT there is plenty of other fish in the sea and they would be happy to have me!” You give your resume a makeover (which is the professional equivalent of deciding to get bangs) and you go to Indeed.com and find yourself in a purgatory of being both under and over-qualified for everything.

You then think about what your life would be like if maybe you didn’t take everything so seriously, and stopped being such a consumer, took work as part-time “Entry Level Sales Representative”, controlled your online shopping habit and actually used the Fred Meyer coupons they send you instead of feeling like you are “above it.”

You realize that this all sounds incredibly depressing and also make a mental note to really remember those coupons next time because now you don’t have access to free tampons.

The next step in the healing process is to put on Lizzo’s “Juice”, take an edible, read 3 pages of a self-help book and say, “You know what, I went to school for this shit. I actually spent 5 years in school to get a degree for this, and I like doing it and I should get paid to.” You get your groove back baby.

Why don’t more people talk about getting fired? They say that they got laid off, or it just wasn’t the right fit, but no one (including myself when talking to my parents) honestly says “yeah, I got fired. No, they weren’t making budget cuts, they just didn’t want me….specifically me, to work there. And it sucks but it’s going to get better.”

It’s like so weird that that’s not something someone would want to scream from the rooftops, you know?

All joking aside, getting fired sucks and I cried a lot and felt a ton of shame and self-doubt and I had a few days of laying on the couch watching Love Island and wiping my tears off on the cat, but I’m so thankful for the people that have reached out to me and told me about similar experiences they’ve had, and helped me network and find other opportunities. I know my 9-5 prince charming is out there.

Until then, expect to hear a lot more for me,

XOXO

Milky

*all of my images are entirely ripped off of Google Image Search and are not my own.

Self-Care

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I went to one free meditation class offered through my work and now all I want is to get seriously jacked on self-care.

I want to be rubbed in essential oils, go on a silent retreat, and be healed by crystals.

I am officially 100% drinking the kool-aid on this one. I was driving home from my families this weekend and thought, “You know what I should do? I should go to Peru and take Ayahuasca.” So yes, you could say that I’m pretty into this.

This will be an interesting journey to follow so if you haven’t already subscribed to my blog, well hot dog, now would be the time. Part of the reason I stepped away from blogging and comedy for a while is that while I have an easy time admitting my neurotic tendencies and general fuck-uperry, actually trying to do something about my negative behaviors or “Sadness kinks” is going to be a whole different ball game.

So after I made the decision to get, like, super fucking healthy, I did what I always do when I get excited about something. I go all in babyyyyy.

So far it’s been a wild ride. On top of my therapy and a daily dose of Lexapro I decided to quit drinking, which is swell. So swell, that when I got sober and had nothing to blame my negative feelings on, I got a tidal wave of anxiety and had to call the mental health line, get on a waiting list to see a physiatrist and eventually a drug and addiction counselor.

Dear readers, there is nothing that makes you feel worse about yourself than taking the steps you need to take to feel better about yourself.

First, you have to hear the phone recording say, “If you think you are having a psychiatric emergency, please call 911.” Like, okay, listen up ma’am, I can’t tell you how many times I have thought I was having a psychiatric emergency. If I called the cops every time I cried at a commercial or slept for 13 hours they would be like “Kaylee, we told you the last time, please stop calling here. This is not an emergency.”

Once I finally got an appointment, I had to pee in a cup LIKE A GOD DAMN CRIMINAL (or someone with a self-diagnosed bladder infection trying to figure out if it is really a bladder infection.) I had to admit that I have an unhealthy relationship with alcohol. I had to answer a questionnaire that basically asked: “On a scale of 1/10 how likely are you to….you know…. *nurse practitioner whispers* kill yourself?”

I had to speak to my negative body image and when asked about how I feel about my body responded honestly with “Oh gosh, I mean I hate the thing. I really do sir, it’s awful.” More strangers have seen me cry in this past month than when I went to a friend’s sisters wedding and was just “so *sniff* proud of her. *sniff*.”

Going through all of that sucked. It blew metaphorical chunks all over the life I wanted people to think I had handled. I had to admit to my partner I was struggling with addiction. I had to go through with my work holiday party knowing that there would be free booze and that I couldn’t have any, even though other people could because I had a problemmmmm ugh!

But here I am, 21 days without alcohol, snuggling my animals, being honest with myself and my intentions, and working out a plan. Because it’s important.

I think the absolute tightest part about self-care is the discussions that make you realize you aren’t alone, and that the crazy thoughts you have are in fact, not that original. This will be the goal of my posts moving forward. To provide insight and a light-hearted look into mental illness, addiction, and self-doubt. Hopefully, it helps even one person feel less alone in their struggles while being (fingers-crossed) mildly entertaining.

More to come!

Milky