Perhaps this is irony? The two days that should have been challenging; were for comparative sake; normal, average, just fine. The boss' return to the office, ushered in a train, moving at maximum velocity, and off its rails. There was so much that had collapsed by end of business day, Friday, that my ability to focus on any one event was a futile task. Each return to my desk presented another event that arrived with x-amount of steps to move it into the past tense. My entire week, even the "normal" days, were punctuated by one employee's internal struggles bleeding over into his external expectations. It's one of our Friday interactions that has attached itself to me like an early aughts, Japanese-movie ghost.
Recognizing that my own personal trek into the cascading waves of grief that emanate out into family and friends following a suicide; maybe is too soon or too close to home, or maybe exactly at the right time. I spent nearly an hour, locked in an office that isn't even mine, with an employee that is struggling emotionally. A struggle so palpable, that clarity of thought, decision-making skills, and a willingness to put one foot ahead of the other; has collapsed inward into a void of despair, confusion; buoyed only by a beckoning light to end.... everything. The recounting of an 8-yr-old, witnessing the aftermath of a suicide attempt by that child's mother. The terror, the shock, the pain and anger is as present right now, as it likely was that day. This, now 19-yr-old, has as much understanding and ability to process those events as that 8-yr-old. Disappearing into his hands, he shared with me a story that punctured my heart like an assassin's bullet. As I jigsaw-searched for a hopeful path: medications, therapy, counseling, loved ones; every word I uttered landed like snowfall on a burning roof. I navigated the ship into calmer waters; pride in performance, lauded for surviving despite the weight so few could themselves wear, and familial-like care that will be my open door going forward. This where we disembarked, a "contract" among foes to meet again no later than Monday. My own fractured tapestry of carrying on versus the omniscience of escape. I am not equipped to give anyone a tomorrow; let's completely abandon, for now, the likelihood that I am on the autism spectrum, and simply weigh the grandiose fucktastrophe that has been my past two years. Perspective is: trapped in my own head, every second I breathe is a far better world to live in than any second in the life of this 19-yr-old; trudging about with a life that hit pause 11 years ago. Upon his shoulders, he carries far more than I will likely ever know in my life, he is so much stronger than I ever have been or will ever hope to be. Is it tragic that I find inspiration in him; how wrong would it be for me to utter that? What level of conceit is that?
I joked on Thursday, after being asked how I feel about the job, "I'm still too new that the weight of the chaos that is this place hasn't ground my bones to ash..." Universe, on Friday, responded.
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