I'm back! And better than ever (sort of)!
The last 4 years since my last post I had gotten lost in a sea of more overwhelming work, home moves, and crippling depression. And I have arrived here. I made it through that terrible storm and am alive to write about it.
After years of trying to make it, I had finally arrived in a place in life and work where I could literally not take it anymore-- I had gone through some bad relationships, health problems, money problems, housing problems, friend problems, bouts of hiring and firing, s-- I had finally reached my breaking point. I was crying every day. I could.not.get.out.of.bed. Those old thoughts came creeping back desperately trying to help me in the only way they knew how to try to find a way out of this hell.
This downfall began with moving out of my apartment. Due to sudden and persistent construction in my apartment building (new owners had taken over and were gutting all the vacant studio units and turning them into modern 1 bedrooms-- and all the units surrounding my studio happened to be vacant) I was taxed with drilling, banging, electricity and water intermittently being turned off-- virtually every day of the week beginning at 8am. And so, with optimism and excitement in my pocket, I gave notice and left my wonderful, cute, $1000-a-month apartment in 2013. Little did I know how much had changed in the 3 years since moving into that studio. $1000/month studios were a distant memory (these new units--with the exact same bones-i.e, same sq footage, were now going for $2500) and it turns out-- after 3 years of living comfortably on my own in a great place in a pretty cool neighborhood and being 35 years old -- I was much more reluctant to choosing just any old place--and definitely not just any old roommates. Or really any roommates at all. I was too old for this. I didn't want roommates (especially not for more than what I was paying for my studio) . I was an adult, goddammit.
I quickly realized finding a new place to live in this new San Francisco of Tech Worker Dreams was not going to be an easy feat. And, so, with a heavy heart, I moved back into my parents.'
Living with my parents was a strange thing. I hadn't lived in their house since I was 18, and now--while we all get along very well and did our best to make each other comfortable-- I was most definitely living In My Parents' House, and it felt like it. It doesn't matter how old you are, what life you have outside, you will always be your parents' child. I obviously couldn't stay out late (or, God forbid, all night--something I've been known to do once or twice) without them worrying, so even though my mom tried to be cool and tell me I didn't have to check in-- I really did. If I didn't I'd be worried she was worried, if nothing else. This was in my home town of Pacifica--close enough to San Francisco to be able to go there every day--but far, far away enough to make you feel you've lost all connection to your life in it. 2 months was enough. I found an in-law out near Park Merced (convincing myself that I would like the quiet, suburban lifestyle out there) and began my One Month of the Worst Roommate Situation I have Ever had in my Entire Life. In a nutshell, the main tenant was bat-shit crazy. Passive-aggressive, bitter, creepy, psycho, I-was-having-nightmares-of-him-murdering-me-in-my-sleep-with-an-axe crazy.
I had to get out of there and left almost as soon as I had moved in--which left me, once again, with nowhere to go. Nowhere, except the only place I never thought I would go back to--my old warehouse on the corner of Natoma and 6th. Otherwise known as San Francisco's skid row. Where crackheads and piss and shit lined the sidewalks and I had to step past the guy masturbating at my front door. Where the roof leaked--OK more like dumped-- water onto our kitchen floor when it rained, where the room I would be moving into was the size of a small closet with no lighting and a small window that overlooked the elevator shaft, where my cat would not be allowed-- and yet where I had 4 old cool roommates/friends who were ready to welcome me back with open arms. My temporary solution there lasted just over a year, where I was still essentially living out of a suitcase since most of my things had been left in "storage" - a.k.a my parents'- as I continued on my search for a true home. My life there felt cramped. Invaded. I had virtually no privacy. One of the roommates was intermittently friendly and surly, making for someone like myself who can often struggle with reading people quite a tense scenario. As my home life continued there, my work life deteriorated as well. The entire operation was down to only me again, and the overwhelming pressure of maintaining the business-- ever single aspect of it-- all on my own was crushing. I was desperate . I was cooked. I was done.
After a well -intended job search, a meeting and subsequent deal with a business broker to put my business on the market, and near job change to become a drug and alcohol recovery center counselor in Sausalito, I turned around and decided to stick with my job and give it one more shot. I had begun to imagine working for someone else (I couldn't ), sitting at a desk ( I couldn't), working "normal" 9-5 hours (I couldn't)-- and it all looked pretty bad too. I thought I would try just one more time to see if I couldn't make this entrepreneurial thing work for me once and for all.
This time, I did the hiring process completely differently. I was much more prepared, and had thought out all of the steps. I had systems in place. I had rules. I had contracts. And I was determined to let go of the cat sitting visits myself once and for all, because really--I had nothing to lose at this point and everything about my sanity to save. And- miraculously- I discovered Michelle. Michelle, in so many words, saved my business and my life. She was The Perfect Employee.
Michelle saved my business, and in many ways, my life. And yet the strangest thing happened once my life began to open up again. I had No Idea what I was supposed to do with myself. The years of being driven by anxiety had led me into a space where I had no idea how to do anything without the soul-crushing pressure of it.
What else was there to do besides work or respond to the needs of my work? What did I even like to do anymore? The following year was more or less a recovery period from those previous 5 that had broken me down to the point of near non-existence. In a way, I am still trying to reclaim those things that those years has taken away.
No comments:
Post a Comment