#132: Ball Of Confusion

In work, as in life, I’ve always tried to be as good as I possibly can be. I’ve tried to be a good father, partner, brother, son, uncle, pal – you name it, I’ve done my best to be as good as I can be. I know that, at times, I’ve failed both miserably and spectacularly, but each time that’s happened I’ve tried to learn from it and then apply those lessons down the track. Each time something has gone wrong I’ve analysed what happened, dissected it and decided what to do next time, if there is a next time, and what I could have done differently. That’s one of the lessons that I was told once when I sat down for lunch with none other than Edward DeBono back in the early 1990s. That one hour private session, over a feed of cheap sandwiches (courtesy of the ABC cafeteria) taught me more about analytical and lateral thinking than any book I’ve ever read, and that includes DeBono’s own work. Having said all of that, in this situation I can’t think of anything I could have done differently other than to meekly concede and accept what was dished out to me. I can’t accept that though.

Even before I left the region I’d felt deeply troubled. I’d cross the road and secretly hope that a speeding bus would come around the corner and clip me. Not kill me, but merely clip me, thus incapacitating me for the duration. That, I felt, would at least remove me from the front lines and I’d get some rest in a place where no-one could visit me without permission. That wasn’t going to happen, but those thoughts, and frankly at times the thoughts became very overpowering, along with the many nightmares that had been increasing in scope and intensity gave me real reason to begin questioning my sanity. The passing of both my father and one of my closest friends were merely the straws that shattered the ruminant’s spine. I felt disappointed, both in the department and myself, I felt sad, I felt weak. I felt let down, I felt confused. I’d walked off to dealt with these emotions and more and decided to wait and see what was going to happen next.

But nothing happened next.

One
Big
Empty
Nothing.

I once went to a party where two idiots came dressed up in alfoil wearing metallic make-up with black lip-stick and funnels on their heads calling themselves Null and Void. I asked them why (a spurious question really as they could have asked why I was dressed up like Harold Holt, complete with flippers and snorkel) they’d pick such characters. One merely looked at me and said, “It’s the big empty, man.” To me the Big Empty was a movie that I once saw, later it became a Stone Temple Pilots song, but back in 1987 it was something that made my brain think, but only the next day when the drinks and drugs had worn off (hey – it was the late ‘80s, EVERYONE at parties in Melbourne did drugs, more so in nightclubs). Thus when the silence descended this time around all I could see in the dark of night was Null and Void.

One
Big
Empty
Nothing
Equals
Total
Silence.

And that’s what I got.

Forms were filled out and duly supplied and the money still came in. Not that it was anything to get excited over, the rate I was being paid was slightly more than what I’d expect to get if I had applied for Social Security. I know a few people believe that I’d taken this stance for the money, but frankly I could, and did, earn more selling my old books on-line. Then it happened.

I must digress. Before It Happened I went to see a few doctors. I needed validation. I needed to know that there was something wrong with me and it wasn’t just all in my imagination (I refrain from saying, “…all in my head...” as I know full well it’s in my head, all such issues are). The first person I saw wanted to institutionalise me due to me nightmares and the bus issue. The next doctor referred me onto one of the Top Doctors in the state, a man used to dealing with these things. The third person I saw shook her head and uttered the dreaded words, “Workcover Claim”. I didn’t want to hear that.

I went to see the Top Doctor. He sat me down and asked what had happened. Once I finished telling the story he leant over and said a few things. “First off,” he said, “you’re not crazy. You are suffering from depression. I admire your resilience, I’ve dealt with people who’ve attempted suicide over less than this, and I’ve read cases where people have succeeded in killing themselves over less than this. You’re still here, that’s to be admired. Second off, this is a Workcover claim waiting to be filed.” I expressed my reluctance to file such a claim and stated that I wanted to return to work. “You can’t return to the same job,” he stated. “I’d not clear you to return to any form of work where you’re having contact with the same structures or with the same clientele. Is there anywhere else they can transfer you to?” I replied in the affirmative. I then said I’d ask.

Yet
More
Big
Empty
Nothing
Equals
Yet
More
Silence.

I kept on doing my thing. Each day I began to feel better and I made little noises about returning to work only to come up against a wall of refusal. People told me, outright, that they were not going to allow me to return to work. One doctor went as far as to tell my partner to both smack me in the head and then call him so that he could have me sectioned if I did attempt to return. I hate hospitals so that was good enough for me. I was given a number of things to do to occupy my days and then I noticed something odd happening.

My tolerance levels began to plummet. I’d get angry at nothing and begin to rage. Each time it’d happen I’d notice it and immediately address it, but it began to concern me each time. Even worse I began to feel more anxiety when walking in the streets. I’d put my headphones on, play the iPod loud and put my head down. I wanted no contact with anyone on the streets and I began to worry about what would happen if I came into contact with anyone that I’d dealt with during my duties whilst employed. I began to read up on the phenomena and discovered that it’s quite common amongst people who’ve had major issues with the general public, police officers mainly. Some call it paranoia; I call it being ultra cautious. I’d not open the door, I’d not greet people, and I’d not make eye contact. I began to become anti-social and only see people on my own terms. All of this made me feel worse, but I didn’t know, and still don’t, how to deal with these things. Perhaps one day. The nightmares didn’t help either, they became almost real to me and I’d often change beds, I still do, so that I don’t wake anyone up. Not that I sleep all that much, but I do get a nap during the day, and that helps a lot.

And so the days passed until It Happened.

I woke up one morning and discovered that I’d not been paid that week. No warnings, no calls, just nothing. I sent an email off to the region only to get a terse reply stating that no forms or certificates had been lodged and I needed to contact the HR department. I had no idea as to the contact details, so I asked again. I was sent the details and told that the region would not be assisting me. I sent an email and made a call to the HR department and waited for the call back.

In vain.

Two days later I managed to get someone who introduced themselves as a senior person in the HR department. I was told that they were worried about me as an employee. I asked if that was the case then why had no-one ever made contact? No answer. I asked about the lost wage and was told that a decision had been made two weeks prior. I asked why wasn’t I told and was informed that I didn’t need to be told – it was up to me to supply all the forms. I guess it was also up to me to know that forms hadn’t arrived and also up to me to automatically know that I’d be cut off. During the course of the conversation the HR department asked me what I wanted. I replied, “Look, I’ve been advised to file a Workcover Claim. I don’t want to do this as it’s going to cost a lot of money for the department and turn into a long and painful procedure. I want to return to work, however the doctors refuse to allow me to return to the region. So I guess the options are to either transfer me on a temporary basis to an office bound, non-customer contact position, grant me leave without pay or I have to file a Workcover Claim.”
“File the claim then.”
“I’d rather be transferred. I know this has happened to other people.”
“Not without the claim.
”I can name five people off the top of my head who’ve been transferred upon request, with less of a stressful work history, without a claim.”
“You have to file a claim.”
“So others can be transferred by not me?”
“That’s right.” With that the call was terminated.

I made a follow-up call a few days later to find out when, or if, I’d be paid as replacement forms and certificates had been filed. There was no great rush according to the HR person, I’d be paid eventually. In the interim both my phones and internet had been disconnected and we were facing going through a fortnight with a mere $50 in total, without buying food. HR stated that wasn’t their problem. The discussion became somewhat strange really. Here’s what happened:
ME: So I send the forms in and they get ‘lost’, and as such I get stiffed.
HR: That’s your opinion.
ME: I only have ____’s word that the forms went missing.
HR: If ____ had the forms he would have lodged them.
ME: Sorry, but I find it hard to trust anyone in the department at the moment.
HR: That’s your opinion.
ME: Based on what happened to me in the region.
HR: That’s your opinion.
ME: The PIC hasn’t given me any reason to trust him.
HR: I’ll tell you now, the PIC is above reproach.
ME: I find that impossible to believe, after the way he treated me.
HR: That’s your opinion.
ME: Clearly you’ve never worked with him.
HR: I’ve worked closely with him in the past and he's a close personal friend of mine. Thank you and goodbye.
With that the phone was hung up on me, while I was in mid-conversation.

I’m not sure about anyone else but I’ve always said that I have a little Leprechaun in the back of my head who loudly announces the obvious. At the words ‘above reproach’ the Leprechaun began to shout, “You’re fucked, my son, fucked!!” I was stunned. I immediately phoned my partner to recount the conversation. I was advised to write it all down, which I did, while it was fresh and then we discussed what we’d do next. The Workcover Claim loomed as an option, but it wasn’t one I wanted to do. The only other options were to return to work, in the same situation as before, or to leave the department entirely.

The latter wasn’t going to be easy either. I’d applied for numerous positions only to be granted interviews and then not hear back. One potential employer did phone me back and told me, “To be brutally honest, you referees weren’t that good. One was excellent, another hung up on me and the third was very negative.” I’ve since changed referees but that hurt, and hurt a lot. I did mention this to HR and they expressed the opinion that this was normal.

Options are what you make them really. People who say that they have no options aren’t thinking hard enough, or they’ve really reached the bottom of the pit and can’t see any way out. Most people see the light at the end of the tunnel, but some believe it’s probably just the front of an oncoming train. I’ve had those moments too, but not lately. Thus faced with the options that HR presented to me we decided to sit down and create our own option. I’m not about to say what it is, but it’s been successful so far and has gone a long way to decrease my stress and anxiety levels and give me focus for the future. I like making my own options. If life is a sitcom and we’re all just Trumans in shows, then the laugh track is merely on mute at the moment.

However, this sordid tale took another odd turn just very recently. I play chess, or at least I used to, as an intellectual hobby and also to put into practice various aspects of The Art Of War. One of the ways to play chess is to anticipate your opponent’s overall movements, not just to know where the next piece is going, but where the game is going. What the next five moves will be and to put numerous strategies into place. I do this in life as well – kind of like The Godfather syndrome really – you know the scenes, where Marlon Brando is telling Al Pacino what’s going to happen based upon experience and what he knows about human nature and the behaviour of the people involved. I can predict people, and I’ve done well so far with all of this. I used to say that, although the department was aware of the existence of this blog as far back as early 2006, at some point it would be used against me. That time is now, not that it’s any great surprise, but, as I said, the options are broad and well advanced and I’m more than ready. I have support, I have people who care, sadly those people don't appear to be within the department, going on conversations and actions...