A day in the life.

Depression isn't a black dog. Or any of the more common metaphors that get circulated publically. At least, they don't apply to me.

It's worse.

It feels like I've been raped vigorously for hours. That I have fought and fought and fought for my life, against a towering man, who doesn't care about me. He doesn't care about hurting me, or humiliating me. This man will turn around and tell me that I deserved it. That I am a worthless cunt; who nobody gives a shit about, not really. And I will believe every word. Following every one of these humiliations, I dissacociate from myself. I wake up. Depression rapes me again.

My insides are hurting.
I am exhausted and I struggle to get to sleep. I recently started smoking and I drink too much.

Colours and interest in life is muted.

I am afraid to die. I have never self harmed, so I feel guilty. To be depressed, you need to physically suffer, right? Perhaps. I care about my boyfriend. Rarely, I see the good in others, including him, and it briefly makes me feel better. But even the good people in my seem tainted by some form of hardship. I once heard that pain doesn't make people more interesting; it makes them more profound. Maybe.
But what is the price of living in the universally pessimistic nature of reality?

I carry on, hoping to find some good that isn't tied up in the pain. As of now, the world is black. Only small dots of light illumate my way, despite the fact that the sun shines outside my flat window.

But the lights are dimming. 

A day in the life: I think I might have depression EXTENDED

It was a good shift today. Was assigned to the floor by my new boss and I believed I did a good job on the bar. No rowdy, over-the-top or incredibly rude customers, save for a group of 7 middle-aged and some slightly younger women who walked in at around half 1 today (we had a booking of 8 at 2; these are not small numbers that can just walk into pubs willy nilly). I left an assigned coworker to deal with them, but I was told later that they were needy, by the boss man himself. Apparently, one of these lovely individuals was discouraged by my facial expressions (we were very, very busy at the time they decided to come to the bar and pay) and this woman passive aggressively told me to 'smile.' When my back was turned. I had no clue of it and carried on as usual. A coworker informed me of this incident, much to my own amusement and disappointment. How pathetic is the human race? Just observe tipsy, entitled women, paying off a tab, separately, at a busy bar. Anyhow, my (new) boss overheard about this incident via said coworker, and he decided to pull me up about it. Long story short, it was a 'warning.' He was polite about it. Reasonable even. He told wit was casual. But he definitely seems to be unnerved by my behavior (???) and he, inevitably, recommended that I smile more


All in all, this impromptu meeting after I'd clocked out of work boiled down to the fact that I don't 'smile' enough. Or talk enough to the customers. I, for one, would live to chat to the customers, all evening if I could. But time constaints and busy, sweaty environments dictate that barstaff si. simply cannot do this. Look. I'm here to sell booze. For minimum wage. I'm treated like crap and talked to like crap by the general public. We all are, almost every shift. I'm not a robot. However, I suppose I am expected to be. I guess the impromptu meeting was a veiled threat. Behav, or get fired.

I get it. Businesses are brutal. Catering is brutal. We work in a place that is busy, sells food and lots of drink. Standards must be met.

I would normally take the advice, without question. I like to believe that I am good at listening to others and empathising.

Listen. Although I did hear what my boss had to say, the whole 'meeting' certainly left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I'm sure the new boss means we'll. He is friendly and asks for advice about things from his staff. He's definitely not conceited.

But here's the thing.

I need to tell someone this. There was a older guy at the bar, with Parkisonsdisease. Initially, I had no clue. He and his friend ordered 4 double gins and slimline tonics. I'll never forget this. The total was £29.30. This poor gentleman had dropped a £20 note behind the bar. We were exceedingly busy at this point in time. I repeated the total bill to this gentleman, more than 5 times at least. I would be lying if I didn't say it was frustrating. Again, I had no clue about this man's condition (his friend helped him pay the rest for the gins.)
I only realised the dropped note on the floor after the payment. I knew it was his. He was with his wife and friends and he was clearly distressed about the loss. I returned this man's £20 and apologised. His lovely wife came up to me and said 'thank you' for being so patient with her husband with Parkinsons. She told me that he was quite slow, and that she would let her husband do as much as possible on his own, because he needs his independence, despite his affliction. I was floored. I apologised profusely and offered the man a free drink. I'm not ashamed to say that the whole thing make me tear up. The friend of the man with Parkisons bought me a drink and  basically told me that I was good person and that he couldn't thank me enough for handing back the £20 ❤️ I cried. I sat and drank the drink. I tried to focus on something, but couldn't. I listened to the music and fought back tears.


I just wish that my boss could have seen it. He would know that I do care. I wish that all the big cooperations could have seen what had transpired between me and this man. They would have seen that being a barmaid and a waitress is so much more than just serving drinks and food.

Day in the life: I think I'm depressed. Whoopee.

A lot has happened since my last post.

One of the things that has changed is my passion.

I used to enjoy debating and addressing the issues of the world. It used to ignite a fire in my belly.
I wanted to share my opinion.
I wanted to learn from others and to listen to their opinions.

I wanted to write, I even started writing a book. I started drawing a bit. I smiled more genuinely.

Now, I cry daily and struggle to get out of bed. My eating habits are shit and I smoke just to feel good.

My assistant manager took an extreme disliking to me for many long, painful months at my newest job.

I am a waitress in a nice, revamped pub.

I like to believe that it was all merely miscommunication; orchestrated unintentionally by different people; my interviewers, another manager and assistant manager respectively.

I crawled into my shell. Hid. I hate confrontation so I waited for it all to blow over.
She threatened to fire me at a one-to-one meeting, between me and her.

I had no clue what I'd done wrong.

I was never told and I didn't dare ask anyone.

I was originally promised something different in my interview (a supervisor position) only for people to change their minds and get me transferred to a different pub; the one with the hellish assistant manager.

It was a mess.

Everything got better, eventually.

The assistant manager and I even got along.

We shared a bottle of wine when we were closing up the pub. She bought me a drink. We shared cigarettes.


But uncomfortable events, like the above one, stick with me. I can't just forget.


I've had many unpleasant and downright dangerous encounters with individuals throughout my 26 years on earth. Mostly pub clients, both from my current and previous jobs.

I remember and old, sleazy man touching my leg as a placed his wife's breakfast in front of her.

An old boss was a strange, unfriendly man who drank 10 pints on shift, every shift.

I've been shouted at and humiliated by a elderly woman; she thought that I was being rude when I repeated what she'd said back to her; I couldn't hear her over the other rather noisy clients.

I've been screamed at by a man. Literally, screamed at. He didn't speak.
He just screamed int my ear, for the shits and giggles.

I've been abused by a customer who targeted me at work. Nothing was good enough for him.
I had to change his wine glass three times.
He sarcastically asked me what my problem was, then jeered that I seemed "stressed."
He asked for his tart with ice cream to be sent back because it was "too cold."
When I came back with the new dessert (after getting abuse hurled at me by the chefs) the man grinned and told me I was "finally being a good girl."

I bumped into this customer and his squat partner as I was walking home from work.
He jeered something at me. I can't remember what he said.
I just remember that his expression was full of contempt.
He'd probably bullied countless other barmaids before me. I snapped; told him he was a cunt.
I told him that I was pregnant too, just to see if the fellow had any semblance of humanity within him. He told me that I was a rat, that I was ugly and that I had smelly breath.

His partner giggled throughout this ordeal; saying nothing.

This man attempted (poorly) to punch my stomach.

I remember that I chased him and his partner across a road, yelling at them both. I was so blinded by misery and anger, wanting to hurt, wanting to get my own back, wanting to be mean, wanting to SCREAM.

It was not my proudest moment.
Afterward, my manager told me that I get paid too little to get into fights with customers.

It haunts me to this day, even though it happened more than two summers ago.


I've felt so worthless.
One of the chef's I work currently with will scream abuse about me when I've made mistakes; the other staff seem to placidly agree with him, especially one woman, who I thought I could trust.

I have no doubt that they all talk, behind my back. Lord know that they talk about each other.

This is despite the fact that I am a loyal, hard-worker, who does her best and has disgusting blisters all over her feet to prove it. I rarely take breaks, or get given them. Sometimes, I don't eat.

I've felt like an outsider, constantly observing people, as my colleges sit and drink a couple of beers after a shift, they laugh and talk with each other; I feel so alone. Shunned.
In a weird way, it feels like I'm trapped in a cage and that the walls make me invisible.

But it's not just work. 

Unfortunately, I've been trapped into buying a mortgage from irate parents.
They bought my flat outright a couple of years ago; after much arguing and disagreeing.

I remember desperately wanted to buy a flat on my own. 

But they insisted. I relented.
I learned to appreciate what they bought me and I am thankful for the fact that rent is lower than it would normally be. And I do love my small, lovely flat.
My parents are naturally pushing me and my boyfriend to buy it from them.
It's hard; I work long, late shifts and my boyfriend is also full-time.

They fail to realize that sometimes, people can't just get a mortgage straight away. It can take time.

My mother can say especially cruel and hurtful things.
She has a long history of being incredibly virulent in the way she speaks to me.
 
My mother is a good person. A flawed one, but a good one.
Coming to that realization has helped me become a much less resentful person. Still.
The insecurity lingers. I fear I am becoming more like her with each passing day.

My grandma is going through chemo too. Breast cancer. She's too sick to visit.


Some of my best, most formative memories have been made in the beautiful garden of my beloved grandma. Many carefree hours were spent playing with my cousins and my sister as the adults chatted and drank around a magnificent barbecue, overlooking two ponds, full of fish and frogs and dragonfly nymphs. My grandma was always smiling, laughing, cooking for a husband who adores her and tending to her flowers.


I have cried everyday for four days straight.


My head hurts.

I have thought about how brilliant it would be to be hospitalized, just so that I would not have to worry about work, or mortgages, or people treating me differently.

I could lie in bed for hours and not get up.

People might actually send me get well cards to show me that they do care.

Tonight, I won't sleep.

I will stare with sore, tired eyes at my cracked phone screen, as the clock turns 3:00am.

Then 4:00am. My anxiety won't let me close my eyes and rest.

5:00am. I will wonder why my boyfriend even loves me.

6:00am. Still awake. Thoughts tumble through my brain.

At work, they will wonder why I make so many mistakes.