Ten years ago, I quit my job at Blondie’s Pizza to embark on my lifelong dream of writing for a living. I bought a website, and set out a goal of writing 2,000 words daily until I could conceivably write halfway decently again. I succeeded, at least until it came time to monetize my efforts. Six months were all I got until the money ran out, and I had to get back into the workplace again, as all I’d managed to generate was tens of dollars, at a net of negative more than that.

So I got a job, which destroyed my back, and only lasted there about 3 months. The worst part was that it took me a couple of months to get even that. Turns out that not a lot of places want to hire an ex-GM. Through professional networking, I got another job, not too soon after I’d reached my (literal) breaking point, and jumped ship to move over there. It was another restaurant gig, but I was good at that sort of thing, and it was a chance to try to undo the damage to my back. Unfortunately, like a lot of new restaurants, this one was destined to fail. So I used my professional contacts to get in at another place.

I compared working at my favorite restaurant as something akin to Jason Newsted joining Metallica, having forgotten my ability to foresee the future, and threw myself in entirely. But my mental state was beginning to deteriorate, and after only seven months there, I had to leave. Luckily, there was hope on the horizon.

My old GM (before I took the reigns from him) at Blondie’s was working at a market in San Francisco, and I called him up and asked if there were any openings. He told me they were looking for a Deli Supervisor, so I hopped the BART, and went in for an interview. Of course I got the job- I was too qualified not to. It wasn’t until later that I learned that the role of Deli Supervisor had the shelf life of a fruit fly, and that soon I would be desperate to move on.

But what a ride it was over those three years. I loved making sandwiches, although the supervising aspect began to take their toll. I grew up in a different generation, and I couldn’t stand these kids and their lack of work ethic. It wasn’t until years later that I realized that they were the vanguard of a new mentality, that being one where you only work as hard as they pay you to, and that being married to a job wasn’t the flex that it was meant to be.

It was during that time that I discovered that years of embracing unreasonable stress as a fact of working life had brought about severe anxiety and I was forced to take a medical leave. It was the best thing to happen to me in years. The fact that it was a disability leave meant that I got some of my tax money back, and didn’t have to worry about finances, which allowed the accumulated stress to wash off of me like so much mud in the pouring rain.

The main reason, of course, for the leave was that it would be a month until I could meet my psychiatrist and the intake physician and I decided that I couldn’t work until then, as only the psychiatrist could prescribe the anti-anxiety meds, and the symptoms were so strong as to have necessitated my visit there in the first place. Even having had my insurance for years, I’d never availed myself of psychiatric help until I had no other choice.

After that month had passed, I was able to be diagnosed with General Anxiety and re-diagnosed with Bi-Polar Disorder, Volume Two (Nervous Breakdown Boogaloo). I got on some meds, and back to work, making adjustments to both, as needed. But seeking help meant becoming aware of how untenable my situation was, and even though I was starting to get better,{I needed to come up with a more sustainable type of workstyle.

Sadly, I was incapable of this, and when the paperwork began outweighing my actual work duties, I knew it was time to leave. I didn’t want to spend months waiting while I looked for another job, so I picked up the phone and sent a text to someone with whom I’d not spoken in five years.

I’d worked with him in Blondie’s years before, as we had both been GMs for the company (myself in SF, and him in Berkeley). Of course, the owner being who he was, as soon as I’d managed to get one store back on track, he’d send me to the other, but as of when I departed the company, I was in The City. Years later, I ran into him again, and found out that Blondie’s had gone out of business, and that Abdul, the mystery man in question, had bought out the Berkeley location, and started his own pizzeria. I popped in one day to congratulate him, and went on my way, thinking nothing of it.

But when he got back to me, that moment was still fresh in his mind, and he told me that I was welcome to join him, and that he was looking forward to working with me again. After three years, I left the Market behind, and went back to making pizza for a living.

At first, it was great. He’d only needed a cashier, so I was able to just be this guy, you know. But soon I was running the shifts on the GM’s days off, and, when he left, I became the General Manager. I really thought I could do it this time, and for a while, I could. But after five years there, the physical and mental stresses there became too much. Midsummer, nearly six years to the week, I was forced to take a month-long medical leave, though I was completely unable to contact my psychiatrist during that time, so I didn’t actually receive funds from that time.

At the end of that month, I went back to Blondie’s, and once again ignored the limits I had set for myself, though I cut my workweek (not entirely on my own) down to three days, it was still too much. There were several gaslighting incidents which caused me to begin breaking down. By the end of October, I knew I’d had enough. I could no longer physically or mentally continue to work there. Not if I wanted to retain my sanity and physical wellbeing.

And so here we are, coming rapidly upon December. I haven’t been working since I left Blondie’s halfway through October. I’ve looked for work, but have been entirely unsuccessful. And the longer I go without the daily grind, the more I become aware that I’m not actually sure if I can go through it all again, not that anyone is breaking down my door, looking to hire me.

I’m coming up on 45, joining my chosen siblings at that inauspicious age, and here I am again, ten years on, facing the unknown. I haven’t written during the time I’ve been “retired” until today, because I didn’t know how to describe, even to myself, what I was feeling or even who I was anymore. It’s been said that you only have the courage to go and face your dreams once in your life, and now it seems that I am begging the universe for a mulligan. But I suppose that when all you’ve got are words, then words are what you’ve got to do.

I have an appointment with my psychiatrist mid-December, and it is my intention to seek disability. I do not know if I can work, assuming of course, that someone hires me in the first place. I feel broken, and need some time to rest and reflect. That, and I’ve paid for years into the state disability fund, and I think that it’s time that I use it for it’s intended purpose. We will see.

*****

So that was work. And mental health. What about the family, and what about the future?

My precious Minkey is now 17, and a senior in High School. He’s doing about as well as I did, when I was in school, which is to say, not outstandingly. He learns well enough, but he can’t be bothered to do the assignments, and that’s kind of tanked his grades. But he is turning into a good man, kind and generous, if somewhat a kind of hermit. Mostly he just plays videogames all day, and asks me to make him food.

But he’s not all so bad. I’m actually quite proud of the man that he’s become, and I am eager to meet the man who he will grow to be. Just the other day, it seems, he was running around in diapers in the back yard of our place in Berkeley, and now he’s got a girlfriend, and a limitless future before him.

My marriage is the best that it has ever been. Turns out that after 15 years of marriage, and 18 years together, we have finally learned to live with one another. Of course, Wildflower may have opinions on the matter. She’s had to put up with me and my illness for all that time, and I’m amazed that she can still find it in her heart to love me.

Oh, and my grandparents died, so there’s that. I won’t go into too much detail here, as I’ve written about it several times on this site, but, suffice it to say that those losses devastated me.

Of course, I am a grandparent myself, so I can see it from the other side, and I know that I was truly treasured, just as I treasure my own two grandkids.

And…. that’s kind of it. I’ll be writing more, and taking on more serious subject matter. I’ll still try to write the odd humorous post from time to time, but it turns out that I have things to say, and I have some time to finally say them.

Thank you so much for coming back, and I hope to see you all again quite soon.

tl;dr Over the past decade, I have quit Blondie’s twice, been diagnosed as slightly crazier than I was before, lost two grandparents, and had a handful of job “experiences.” Also, we’re getting the blog back together!

-Tex Batmart