Showing posts with label Sleeping Pill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sleeping Pill. Show all posts

Monday, 12 December 2011

Can you start the fans please?

I AM LIKE TOTALLY AWESOME


I can now understand why there is a distinct correlation between the unemployed, mental health issues and addiction. A couple of weeks ago I started to see why when without a job someone could become emotionally unstable, especially when you have been rejected for a job that you were otherwise perfect for (ahem). 


Your self-esteem can potentially take a battering during unemployment, thankfully I am arrogant enough to always think of myself as "great" thanks very much. I blame the Persian in me for this. I ride on the waves of glory generated by the civilisation of my forefathers (we will ignore the current state of affairs in Iran because quite frankly that little despot has taken Persian arrogance too far). I accepted from the off that this was going to be an interesting ride into my 30s and that there would be days which were good and days which were bad. Life is like that anyway with or without a job.


  A conversation/heated discussion full blown tokenistic quarter annual argument I had with an ex recently consisted of me ending one part of the ten rounded mobile phone exchange with "I am happy actually; please do not patronise me by telling me you wish me to be happy, which means you assume I am unhappy, when being jobless and moving back in with my mother has probably bought me untold joy, I am great, I am a fabulous person so don't try and derail me and make me feel bad, by telling me I should be unhappy because I am unemployed. I AM FUCKING GREAT. I AM AWESOME"


Definitely a monologue of which I am perversely proud of (in no way is it my best work, I am sure he would agree), but retrospectively it was also a clear indication of the beginning of some sort of mental decline and at about the start of the timing of the reignition of some previously questionably addictive behaviours of mine. Which without doubt is more worrisome than awesome...


N.B To clarify the conversation was not a catalyst for my behaviour it is just as I remember at about the same time I started to go and get a little bit wild again. 


Misdemeanour's and Mentalunhingement


Since being unemployed I have discovered;
  • Mid-week drinking = it has been fun drinking mid-week past 9pm. It is renewed and novel to me. Like a 17 year old with a good fake id;
  • Smoking = it has been wonderful chain-smoking again. The lung butter I keep coughing up suggests otherwise;
  • All nighters = it is quite simply refreshing staying up all night with friends and drinking until stupidoclock on a Sunday morning knowing I can have a several day recovery period if necessary without having to worry about dealing with work;
  • Over the counter = being unemployed involves some degree of unavoidable inactivity, which means it is hard to generate a sense of "tiredness". I am now a regular user of nytol and other stronger sleepy bye bye pills from my local pharmacist; 
  • An overwhelming desire to be involved in many things = I don't actually overly involve myself in anything I just fantasise about it;
  • Gorging = I have put on a fair bit of weight. I eat everything I come into contact with except meat;
  • Old friends in new places = one of them has just revealed he is rather bizzarely a Richard O'Brian impersonator.  
The Crystal Maze


To me unemployment is like a set of quests or challenges set out for you. The sort of thing you would have seen in The Crystal Maze in the 1990s. The encounter with the Richard O'Brian impersonator (with way too much hair to be completely convincing) made me think of it this way.


 I would sit and watch The Crystal Maze religiously as a child, shouting instructions and willing the dumb arse contestant on to complete the activity, quite convinced I had the skill and dexterity to do it blindfolded and bound.


 Each zone (Industrial, Aztec, Ocean, Medieval, Futuristic) has particular sorts of tasks dependent on their theme. In parallel unemployment requires you to transcend through different phases and zones in order to be successful or unsuccessful at it. For example the first task I encountered was in the "Dole Zone" filling out forms and jumping through hoops as dictated by the government and dole office (or "Mumsy" in the case of The Crystal Maze). The current zone I am in is probably the "Hunt Zone" where by I am completing forms and updating the C.V.


Worryingly with this analogy it means that Richard O'Brian would be my personal advisor.




I have an actual meeting with my Job Centre Personal Advisor this week. Hopefully I will get some help before I decide that Special Brew is okay at 11am because I don't have a job, and that a 40 a day habit will have to be worked into any new working life I carve out for myself and most importantly before I learn to use the SKY+ recording box to record and store all the reality shows I am now hooked on.  









Wednesday, 23 November 2011

The context of my situation: The Dole Office Part One.

WHY
I decided to start writing this blog so I would not take a sleeping pill as a means to kill a day during my reign of unemployment. It was this or I was going to volunteer to watch Made In Chelsea on 4 on Demand. A brief 30 second phone call to my younger sister explaining my predicament; blog, pill or MIC made me realise I should at least try and turn my hand at writing one semi-successful blog.

I also want to document the ups and downs of this period of my life. I have never been unemployed. I have until my first JSA payment a total of £13.43 in my bank account. I find that both worrying and exciting; it is not only a test of my resourcefulness but also a perverse social experiment -  what will I do when I get desperate? What is desperate to me? I do not even know. 

WHEN
I have been unemployed from Friday 28th of October 2011 (my first visit to the dole office) at 10:25am. I returned to the country on Wednesday 26th of October 2011 after a strange 3 months in Central America.Before this I was a teacher. 

THE DOLE OFFICE PART ONE
A friend had told me that when I go to the dole office to expect to be handed a short stubby pen that you often find in Ikea, Argus and a bookmakers.A governmental tool to further demoralise you. I bought my own. I deliberately dressed to look colourful and full of happiness to ward off any misery.This failed. 

I arrive at the dole office, which is tucked away behind Portslade Station and off Boundary Road in Hove, which has not changed at all since the 1980s and when my father used to own a sweatshop/child labour  business on the same road, that I not so affectionately called the "Factory of Fear". The sight of Boundary Road remaining so untainted and defiant in the 20 year or so interlude since I last graced its' paving slabs made me want to cry, take a sleeping pill, watch MIC (to ensure the success of the desired effects of the sleeping pill) and to lie down on the level crossing with my wrists wide open. Thankfully these thoughts are brief and before I know it I am being welcomed into the Dole Office by a lady with highlights which she must have had done by a 16 year old GNVQ Health and Beauty Care student who could not read the instructions. She told me to stop chewing my gum. I will never tell a child to stop chewing their gum again.The process of demoralisation has begun and not a stubby pen in sight.

I take a seat and I wait. 

After 10 minutes I am called over to the first person who assesses me. Job done. I return to my seat and I wait.

And I wait.

And I wait.

25 minutes pass.

I start to think about what sexual acts I would perform on the men in the room. The conclusion: none. 

The level of my snobbery causes part of me to die inside.

10 more minutes pass of this (un)dramatic monotonous inner monologue unemployed turmoil.I  remind my self it has been two days. My name is called  slurred. 

I stand up and head towards someone I would have otherwise suspected to have been a drunk if it were not for the name badge and desk between us. When I realise he has no distinguishable teeth I start to get scared. We go over my targets and the booklets I have to fill out in order to be eligible for JSA. I was noticeably shocked at the news that I did not have to provide evidence of this to support what I put in the booklet. No wonder so many people are unemployed.It really is that easy.  

I leave feeling pleased I did not see one stubby pen, yet duped, because in spite of the lack of stubbypennedness the Dole Office still managed to steal a little bit of my soul.