I can't even tell you what sparked it.
It was kind of a normal bad day at work.
The store was having an event and we were all given a goal for a selling amount that we were supposed to reach.
I was about $4000 below my goal given.
Not very good numbers...
The store was busy. People everywhere.
I was stuck cleaning dressing rooms and taking returns at the counter while I imagined my pay check of nearly minimum wage on my bank statement.
So I was getting frustrated and flustered, rightly so.
About half way through the day I started getting PTSD-like flashbacks, but not of a traumatic experience.
It was all the details of the day my dad told me about his diagnosis, only it was the details of everything before that moment.
As I stood in the middle of my sales floor I was transported back to that day in such vivid detail.
I was standing at the top on a small hill, looking down at some strange rock structure that lives on the side of Whitcomb Ave. It was warm out.
I had my camera with me. Trying to set up which shot I liked best.
Matt was off to my left, watching my run up and down this stupid little hill a million times. Giddy like a little kid.
There I was doing something I loved.
It was a school project. The hardest photography class I've ever taken.
Excited. Happy. Warm.
My life wasn't perfect but I was healing from the precious events months before
Then the wave pulled away.
The sensory details stop in my head just as abruptly as they came.
I'm in the middle of racks of clothing. Stacks of pants in my hands.
The voice says how the fuck did this happen? and when?
I thought about how my life was turned upside down again just about 3 hours after that happy memory.
How that same camera has been sitting in my living room untouched for over a year.
How finishing that class is not only unenjoyable, its impossible.
I'm working a job that has nothing to do with my passions or what I want for my future.
I need to finish school. I need to work a job I love. I need to use a camera.
And that "just do it" attitude isn't a reality.
And why not?
I don't know.
I stepped out back and called a friend. I spoke my thoughts as clearly as I could. We spoke for a while and I was grounded enough to go back to work.
I am still looking for a therapist to talk to. I feel like those are times where it would be beneficial to speak to a professional.
Not that my friend didn't do an amazing job of responding, but I believe it is more healthy for both parties to but those thoughts into the hands of a professional.
I feel like I should say something more positive to end this post but I'm not sure what to say. Today I feel better.