8.02pm on Saturday night, the second eldest is just going to bed (yet another new night time routine has emerged in response to some difficulties getting four to go to sleep somewhat peacefully in one room. This will not comfort those struggling to get babies and toddler to bed, 12.5 years into this parenting caper, we're constantly tinkering at the edges of settling kids for the night. The current incarnation is that Ari and Bryn go to bed at 7pm; Ari in our room with the Grumpy Old Man laying with him and Bryn on his own in the boys' room. Then Luey goes to bed at 8pm, and Erik at 9pm. I wasn't going to let the older two have those later time slots until they turned 11 and 13 but 30 minutes between Bryn and Luey meant that Bryn would hold out until Luey got into the room and then they'd play funnybuggers until Erik came in a 8.30pm and we'd be lucky if we weren't still telling them to 'settle down and go. to. sleep!' at 9-9.30pm. With a staggering of an hour between each child, they seem to all drop off by the time the next one is in the room - and we transfer Ari once Erik is asleep.
But that's not what I was going to write about, actually - got a bit sidetracked there, didn't I?
I've been struggling with the knowledge that I have to get myself to a doctor and onto anti-depressants again. It's been at least 7 years since I was on them last, and I'm really, really pleased with that run. Lately though, I've known this bout of depression isn't just going to blow over. I've been waiting for things to 'get better', for things to 'go our way' again, for the 'run of back luck' to stop and I've held fast to the idea that then I'd feel a lot better.
I'm on the verge of tears constantly, which is rather ridiculous, and now I've slipped into that state of hopelessness where I'm just convinced nothing will ever get any better and there is no use trying to make any effort to do anything because it'll all come to nought in the end.
Congnitively, I can rationalise that that is a load of horse nuggets but emotionally I can't budge the great big lump of blah in front of me that keeps telling me it would be best to go to bed for a while and check back in a few months to see if anything has changed without me.
I've come to the realisation that on Monday I have to call Centerlink and ask them what they can do to help this disabled person to get a job. I know some of you might be thinking, 'Eureka! Finally, she has woken up to herself and is ready to get of her fat, lazy arse and do something productive.'
To those of you thinking that - here's a big, fat, lazy birdie for you...
The prospect of seeking work scares me numb, it really does. I'm not afraid of hard work - I welcome it. If someone offered me a real job cleaning public toilets right now, I'd take it.
What has me feeling sick about getting back out there into the job hunting game is my past experiences. You see, on several occasions in the past I've been unfairly dismissed because the employer was concerned my low vision might lead to me 'making mistakes' - the fact that I hadn't, to that point, actually made any mistakes, seemed completely irrelevant.
On a couple of those occasions, the employer conveniently realised I might 'make mistakes' just around about the same time the government subsidy for my position was about to run out. On one occasion the employer happily took the government's money, but didn't actually pay me any wage at all (Oh, didn't you realise tax payers can budge of the government as well? Now you do). He kept saying there was a hold up with some papers and he'd pay me 'by the end of the week' until six weeks later (because I'd really wanted to believe he was telling the truth), I finally walked out and called the taxation office myself.
Being that vulnerable scares me. Being rejected because of my so-called disability scares me. Acknowledging that I even have a disability scares me because people tend to react as if I spawned from another planet and may be contagious... Beside, I don't feel disabled.
However, with no other prospects on the horizon and facing the beginning of the school year unable to pay for the book packs, let alone any excursions or incursion (of which our school seems to have far too many), I'm going to have to suck up all my depressive and anxious thoughts and just get out there and do what needs to be done.
I have to believe that even though only 15% of employment seekers with my disability actually find job, I'm going to be part of that 15% (despite the fact that everything we've done to date to get my fully able bodied husband any work has failed).
Maybe this is what the universe has been trying to get me to do all along and as soon as I act, everything will fall into place and be wonderful again?
Oops, better go, my optimism is showing...
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