Where do I begin?

So, I had every intention of starting this blog...a year ago.  And there it sat, empty and wordless for nearly a year.  Oh, the irony!  This blog, much like my insides, sat here, empty.  So, since I can't get a job (or any calls back on applications at that), I may as well occupy the cybersphere with my thoughts, as incoherent as they may be.  If you've found yourself here, welcome.  And, sorry.  This may not be what you're looking for.  Some things may hit home with you, while others will make you want to say "Good grief woman, get a grip.  And a job.".

Perhaps a little background may help, eh?  See, I'm a thirty-something married mom of two.  Two very different and ah-hem, unique children.  One of each, both with very different cases of ADHD.  That alone should be enough to guarantee my enrollment into Ha.ir Clu.b for Me.n.  But alas, the hair's still there, graying, but there.  Alright, enough about them...isn't this supposed to be a rant about being unemployed?

You see, I am unemployed.  I joined the ranks of so many other Americans in December 2009, and haven't given up once (despite my many rants to the contrary).  I send applications, I tweak my resume and cover letter and even draft up wonderful emails in an effort to sell my skills.  Sometimes I hear something, sometimes I don't.  Sometimes I get an interview.  Sometimes I get a (gasp!!  EEK!!) second interview.  Ok, that only happened once, and it was at the second interview I found out that the job was actually supervisory in nature, and well, my experience doesn't include that.  Nuts.  Next??

In addition to being "Employment Challenged", I also suffer from clinical depression.  Wanna hear the best part?  I was being treated for said depression while I was "laid off" (not sure why it was deemed a "lay-off" since I can't EVER go back there, but whatever.  I digress).  This depression, I'll call her "Shirley", has always been a part of my life.  Didn't know it, like that 4th cousin who shows up on your doorstep looking for a place to stay, she reared her ugliness after the passing of my grandmother (Mem).  Mem was me, plus 50 years.  She was the picture of what I would be at 82, one of my best friends, closest confidants and daycare for my youngest who was not of school age.  She was so much more than daycare, she was the extension of me whilst I was slaving away at work.  My son was her bestest buddy, and she his.  When Mem left us in March of 2009, I thought I was ok.  I had backup daycare with the provider my school-age daughter was attending before and after care.  All would be ok, I've lost loved ones before after all.  Wrong.  All wasn't ok.  Me, the person who could lay their head on a pillow for 2 minutes and be dead to the world for 8+ glorious hours, found herself tossing and turning all night.  Dreams became night terrors.  I lost all sense of who I thought I had become.  I got up every morning, showered, went to work for 8, 9, sometimes even 10 hours but couldn't recall anything that ever happened during the course of day.  I was on the worse kind of auto-pilot. 

My job was providing administrative support to sales reps, selling insurance for a For.tune 500 company, and that support was more than photocopying, answering phones, etc.  It was actually finding out what the rate for coverage would be by taking all of the employee demographics for interested companies, running that information through the system, compiling the data, running it by the rep, sending out the proposal, setting up the plan if it sold.  Doesn't sound like much, but there were details.  Lots of them.  Details that would get lost in my haze.  And see, auto-pilot would have been so much easier on my job if I had actually had proper training, but alas, that never happened.  I was in a "learn as you go" deal, without any proper mentoring or feedback.  In the two years I was in that job, I got feedback once, during a review, a year after I started the job.  My "boss", we'll call her Pammy, was a first time manager, and her boss?  Well, she's a whole different story.  Twenty year veteran of the company and dimmer than a 20 watt bulb.  Recipe for disaster.

Somewhere along the way, hairs were across asses when it came to me.  Was it because I wasn't cute and blond like the reps apparently favored, like my newlywed, child free counterparts?  Was it because I expressed my concern for a thieving coworker?  I don't know.  You see, in corporate America, that information is usually shared between managers while a different story is shared face-to-face.  All I know is this:  the first instance of "concern" for my performance came when I had to "abruptly" leave during quarter end closing at the end of March 2009, two weeks after burying Mem.  I had already put in 9.5 hours for the day (in my non-exempt, hourly, no we are not paying your overtime even though you worked it job) and my arrangements to pick up my children at daycare fell through.  I couldn't afford to pay the extra $$ for each 10 minutes for each child to be there beyond closing time, since I was 40 minutes away from daycare.  I checked with my coworkers, one was already downing a beer while chatting with the other who had to hit enter on the last sold case.  All was fine and I was told to go, quickly.

I arrived the following morning to a scathing email from my boss' boss (ahh, corporate America) stating it was inappropriate to leave without consulting her first, leaving my coworkers to finish the work, etc.  Conveniently, her email didn't mention that she too was not in the office for said consultation, since she had already high-tailed it to the nearest happy hour.  This was the opening of the flood gates for months of torture, literally mental torture that drove me to near suicide.  Somehow, after over 13 years of employment with an exceptional service record and years of outstanding reviews, I was labeled "that" employee.  The office was filled with a number of "that" employees, but my boss was on a mission.  Pammy began her campaign of "I'm here to help you, but will do everything in my power to shoot you down", scheduling weekly meetings with me, and analyzing every minute of my day.  I was lucky to take one bathroom break a day in an effort to keep up with my busy sales rep, but that was not ok with her.  And to anyone reading this who is saying "why didn't you consult HR\DOL??"  keep in mind that I was not right in mine.  I faithfully listened to the barrage of attacks from Pammy, trying to do what she asked me to do in an effort to keep my job.  It seemed like everything she suggested to improve, and I did, turned into something I did wrong the following week.  I was in a cycle where she was setting me up to fail, and coming from a family with a history of mental illness, she knew exactly what she was doing.  This endured for months, until I finally broke down and called my Dr., on the verge of suicide, in July.

I was immediately pulled from duty, placed on short term disability and some serious medication.  The first 4 weeks were a blur.  I think I slept more than anything.  I didn't want to eat, bathe, or even interact with my children.  I just wanted to get back to work and do the only thing I knew how to do...work.  I started talk therapy, got my medication tweaked a few times, then a few times more.  It just never seemed like I was truly getting better.  Talk therapy helped a little, but we never got to discuss work.  It all started at the beginning, discussing my childhood (ugh) and why Mem played such an important role in my life and how her death contributed my mental decline.  Somewhere around September, my claims were suddenly not being paid.  I called my handler, who never answered or returned calls.  See, I was the bread winner for the family, and this was causing some serious stress that I certainly didn't need right in the middle of treatment.  I would get one or two paycycles resolved, only to have my handler purposely schedule "check in" for the next cycle approval prior to my next Dr. visit and then document that the information wasn't received and not approve my claim further.  This went on for almost 2 months (given the size and nature of the company, they certainly would not want this information out...and since I can't afford a lawyer, the company will remain "the company" in this blog).  My checking account was so far in the red because automatic mortgage payments were being deducted, but my disability pay was not being deposited.  It was a nightmare.  I was referred to a specialist, because the medication and talk therapy was leaving me at a plateau. 

Two weeks before I was scheduled to see my specialist and provide an update to my handler, I got a call from Candie, Pammy's boss.  Candie was shocked (actually, disappointed) that I answered.  Candie made no effort to ask how I was doing (nor did Pammy the entire time I was on short term disability) and abruptly stated that so-and-so from HR was jumping on the call.  RED FLAG!!  RED FLAG!!  I got the "the economy sucks, sales are down, and we have to eliminate your position" speech, that they are committed to retaining "top performers", i.e. beer swillers on company property during business hours.  I was told that if I needed to continue on disability, that I would be allowed to do so in lieu of accepting severance pay.  Candie then said something that made my blood boil:  Pammy would also be losing her job, that there isn't a need for an additional manager in an office of 20 service employees, but would be performing the duties of my position until something opens up in the home office location, which of course did.  I personally didn't think it was necessary or professional to divulge this information if not to twist the knife further, but hey, who am I to have a say in anything.  Without nary an apology, or even offering to provide a reference, she left the call to HR to wrap up.  After all, happy hour was calling! 

Given that I was already $2k in the red in my checking account, half a year severance or long term disability hanging over my head, I begged my specialist to state that I was able to return to work, thus closing my claim.  I accepted my severance paperwork, signed under extreme emotional duress and lingering disability, and attempted to move on. 

So, here I am.  Still unemployed, still applying, still hoping someone will acknowledge my resume and call me in for an interview, and still very much clinically depressed.  I not only lost my job, I lost health benefits and could no longer seek medical treatment.  I'm trying to find a job, rather fighting for a job, with thousands of other people in my area while fighting for my life.  No, it's not cancer or anything that serious, but when the thought of taking your own life runs through your mind thirty times a day, that's a fight for your life.  It's kind of a toss up, who's losing faster...the job hunt, or my life.