Employment-phobic

I haven’t had a job in over a decade.  My last real-world, go-to-the-office job ended in 1994, when I quit my job as Program Director of a radio station.  I felt physically great at that point in my life, and I went back to school full-time so I could head down a new career path.  My FMS hit me with a vengeance three years later, and that was when everything changed.  I ended a relationship, I moved to a different state, and I stopped going to school.  I would have tried to find a job despite the fibromyalgia, but I didn’t have a green card and wasn’t eligible to work in the US.  I’ve since been supported by my partner, and have helped make ends meet by doing independent contractor work from home (website design, freelance writing, etc.).  I sometimes go for days without feeling capable of working, and have often felt that not being permitted to work was perhaps a blessing in disguise.

This past Wednesday I finally received a Work Authorization card (the precursor to a green card), and suddenly, I can work out in the real world again.  I not only am permitted to work, I really must work because of our tight financial situation, and the thought of this is scary.  It’s tough enough to have to back into the big, bad world after a decade in isolation, but I also have to wonder/worry about what I’m physically capable of.  When I was younger I loved doing temp work, especially if it was in a factory-setting, yet now all I can think is that I’m in too much pain to stand all day or do too much lifting.  I think I could handle a computer job, but wonder if my brain can be forced into functioning for eight hours a day, five days a week.  I worry about failure, but mostly, I worry about being faced with the reality of what I can and cannot do.  In my head, I like to think I’m still the strong, energetic person who worked 60+ hours per week without a second thought, and it bothers me to no end that I’ve now got limitations.  For years I’ve dreamed of being something like a veterinary technician, but now that I have the work permit so that could be possible, I know I might not be able to cope with the physical and mental requirements of the job.  I’ve never had to deal with the idea that I’m not capable of achieving a goal I set for myself, but that moment is probably just around the corner.

I’m nervous, and I’m angry with my limitations… I need someone to invent a magic “feel like you’re 25 again” pill.

Posted by on 08/26 at 11:40 PM

  1. Yes, I could use one of those pills. At 25, I was a size 10 and still thought I was indistructable. It was only 1 year later that the switch flipped, the system experienced chemical overload, and I became allergic to everything.

    It’s rough to find new limitations. I can fully understand the edge of paranoia about not being able to cope. I really hope with good communication you can get that job. I know I can’t handle it-too many chemical cleansers and perfumes. The last time I was at the vets and was paying the bill, they must have had a Parvo dog in the back because the office area was beginning to smell. So the vet techs sprayed air freshener all over, which gave me an asthma attack.

    I wish you luck, and you have my shoulder when you want it.

    Posted by Georg  on  08/27  at  12:37 AM

  2. Do you have any idea what “flipped the switch” for you, Georg?  I’m pretty sure my FMS was set off after a couple of years of severe emotional stress—I think I fried my hormonal system and burned it all out.

    I put in my job application at the vet’s office on Friday, but haven’t heard anything from them yet.  I feel comfortable discussing my fears and limitations with them, but I also don’t want to be afraid of challenging myself.  I hope I’ll be able to start “small”, but have opportunities to work up the ladder if I can handle it.

    Posted by Leigh-Ann  on  08/28  at  10:33 PM

  3. I was house painting since I could hold a brush. I started painting canvases when I was 20. I *loved* oil painting. The summer of my 25th year, I think I painted a large canvas every weekend with acrylics- out on my porch in the moonlight. I worked in the nickel plating room at Smith Corona for a summer- no ventilator, gloves, etc- just open vats of acid. At 25, I worked for a newspaper - I was in and out of the press room, the paste up area, and had a desk way too close to the the laserprinter. I volunteered for an animal shelter cleaning cages with the industrial cleaner, Quat. I started dating a smoker and drinking too much booze. I did not take care of myself.

    When they redecorated the office in vinyl wall paper and put in new formadelhyde soaked (for fire-proofing) carpets, that was the final straw. Something clicked off. I could no longer stay in the building longer than 15 minutes without experiencing symptoms.

    I could not do *anything* that I used to do. I didn’t know what I could even eat without fearing setting off a reaction. My reactions vary widely - from joint pain to gastrointestinal cleansing (with or without serious crampy pain) to simple inability to breath (which starts with coughing, goes to hyperventilating, and then I pass out from lack of oxygen- a state I have fortunately only reached once). My physicians were of no help and did not believe this was real. I was treated as a nutjob. Therefore I was fired from the job for inability to think or breathe in the building. I did not get a lawyer. I should have. I am completely fine in a controlled environment. But I can’t live in a cage, so I dance along the edge of controlled and uncontrolled. The depression and paranoia are just side-effects in trying to cope.

    Posted by Georg  on  08/29  at  06:15 PM

  4. Jan. 17, 1995.  Noon. (I worked the noon-8 p.m. shift, laying out the Living section).

    My first date with my sweetie was Jan. 10, 1995. He knew me for a month as a normal human being. He held me up through it all. He still does.

    Posted by Georg  on  08/29  at  06:17 PM

  5. That’s interesting… I worked for a while in a photo lab, and always had my hands in chemicals and was covered in cuts and sores.  I’ve also spent lots of time in chemistry class and I tend to be the person who has tiny acid burns.  I figured I was “indestructible” at the time, but perhaps some of that is catching up to me.

    I can hardly imagine the frustration you must have dealt with when your illness first emerged.  At least I had the benefit of being an “illegal alien” and not working, so the only thing my illness affected was my relationship.  It was the “final straw” of that 7 year entanglement.

    I met Flippy only after I was a total basketcase and sickly to boot, but happily, she doesn’t seem to mind the challenge smile

    Posted by Leigh-Ann  on  08/31  at  11:04 PM
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