The first thing that went wrong with my head yesterday was when I got the email to say I hadn’t even reached the interview stage of the job I really, really wanted. We were preparing to leave for The Big Wedding and I suddenly became completely flat. My legs felt like lead, my brain turned to the usual papier mache state of mush and mess.
No, not even the interview stage. The job was in mental health which may sound a little odd, but I felt I knew as much as most about the subject. I outlined my full history on the application which comprised of an awful lot of warts. I suppose my unsuitability for the role was exemplified by my reaction to not getting it. Crushing disappointment and disillusionment and – fleetingly, again this morning, it has to be said – a sense that it’s never going to happen. Perhaps I am right and all these mental health professionals are wrong?
This is far more than just being fed up, I hope you know that. I snapped myself out of it for the wedding which was just wonderful. I put my own woes in a separate compartment, I don’t know how, I wish I did. Then I got into an argument about politics.
Of course, according to the hard left, only they have the passion and principles, indeed the understanding, of what Britain needs. The rest of us, they say, are “right wing”, “Blair lite” and we bend our principles to beg for votes. There will be much more like this when Corbyn becomes the Labour leader, as his supporters return to the Bennite days of attempting to drive out of the party those who they regard as not left wing enough.. My passion remains undimmed and, unbalanced, as I was by the job failure, I got angry and then it seemed everyone started ganging up on me. It’s not worth going over the points from last night, but I get very angry when I see a country where the poor are getting poorer and people are becoming less equal. Oh, and food banks are becoming the norm rather than the exception. (I get even angrier when I see the only party committed to equality and fairness heading down the road of protest meetings and permanent opposition, deserting the very people who need it most, but that’s another blog.)
And then, we returned for some food, or at least everyone else did. My head was totally shot, I didn’t feel in the mood for jolly discourse and felt I might put my foot right in it by saying the wrong thing or getting angry again. Anyway, the day, the evening, wasn’t about me. I was better off out of it, for everyone’s sake.
I need, somehow, to remember my therapist’s words. Just concentrate on the things you are good at and don’t worry about the things you aren’t. And my dad’s advice, which I know he followed to the letter, that you should only concern yourself with the things you can affect and not the things you can’t. That sounds such an attractive idea. When the fog has cleared, I’ll be trying that one again.
It’s nothing personal, honest. I know I need to stop being blown off course all the time, but when you spend your whole day thinking about stuff like this, it isn’t easy.
