About five years into my career my boss made me attend customer service training.

At first I felt angry, since I considered my skills top notch and had been hired as such. Yet she ordered, so I attended.

If anyone has suffered the customer service industry - a rite of passage for many - you may recognize a common refrain about the horrors of dealing with "Type A" people. They go by many names, but the stereotype remains consistent:

- Impatient

- Self-important

- Loud

- Demanding

- Stares you down

- Always asks to speak to a manager

The "Type A" personality isn't to be confused with regularly angry people - regularly angry people may be all or some of the above, but they eventually will sputter out on their own or give in. A "Type A" never relents - and very often, they will only deal with another "Type A" (hence, management).

There are many survival tips for dealing with a "Type A", such as using short, to-the-point sentences, repeating key points, acknowledging concerns, and providing fast solutions. Our trainer reiterated this point - never under any circumstances say "no" or "can't", particularly to a "Type A" customer. Always provide options or alternatives. However, many people immediately roll over and wait for their own "Type A" hero to rescue them. I admit in my younger days I did the same, hitting the speed dial for my manager to arrive and repeat what I had said but with the "Type A" grumble.

Managers are people too, though, so expecting a hero to rescue you everytime is a rookie move as you advance your career. Hence my manager's insistency on brushing up on my skills.

Our trainer impersonated a "Type A" very well for our drills. She made steady, stern eye contact, spoke forcefully and abruptly, and waited with baited breath for us to show signs of weakness. Luckily (maybe) I had been raised by a "Type A", so I knew exactly the body language cues to avoid. I stood my ground, stated my case, and passed with flying colors.

Years passed, and that training still stuck in my memory. I recalled the descriptors, the roleplay, and all the telltale signs quite well. It flashed through my mind as I watched my own training newbie, wet behind the ears and inefficient as hell, and suddenly I snapped.

I grew impatient.

I decided my years of hard won experience were being wasted on this whelp.

They didn't listen well, so I spoke more loudly.

And I shortened my sentences to exactly what I wanted done.

Since they couldn't seem to listen I would stare them down to hold their attention.

And if they couldn't get something done, I would pass it along to my manager because I felt fed up with trying to maintain their career any further.

Gradually, I recognized a change in myself. That same beast I had so feared long ago was now me.

I had become a "Type A". I no longer had patience for bullshit, incompetence, sorry excuses, or lack of results. I wanted action. I knew how to get things done and people who did not help were now just in my way. I had no interest or time to devote to coddling young idiots; either they manned up or they left. Managers would even drive me insane, as our organizational efficiency ground to a frustrating halt and I began swearing out loud without fear for recrimination because no one could afford to fire me. I knew how to run a tight ship and gods help whoever couldn't get on board with my vision.

After a twelve hour day of this I suddenly decided it was time to quit my job.

While I now empathize and understand those so called "Type A" a bit better, I have no desire to live my life as one. Yes, it is incredibly tempting to feel all knowing / all poweful and kick everyone into line. Yes, it is incredibly more efficient to push through and get things done.

However, not everyone needs a "Type A" person managing them to death, ignoring their concerns, or treating them like fodder for the machine. In fact, many people probably could use a lot less of that. And a "Type A" person cannot run a company all alone. At some point you need others to rely on and give you a much needed break.

I traded my job in for another that offered me a better work/life balance and the chance to start fresh as a young, new recruit learning the ropes. I reset my hubris and began new.

......

It has been four years since then.

......

And this new person they hired to help me has started to make my jaw tick.

I love working. Really. I love having a job I love being busy and I love getting a direct deposit every two weeks. I love having a purpose and a routine to follow and feeling like a grownup.

I love writing. I love sitting in my room on my bed like I am now, and just writing without stopping for hours. I love it when the words in my head actually work on paper and I love watching someone read my writing and seeing them smile at the end. I love feeling like someone outside of the world I live in, and just observing and articulating, independent of my being or my place on Earth.

I love winning. I love winning big things that people will tell you aren't competitions, but so are. I love that I got into my top choice college. I beat my shitty college counselor who told me I wasn't a good enough writer to get in. I beat every teacher and adult in my life who smiled pitifully when I told them I was going to be a writer because here the fuck I am. Being a writer. I love the idea of leaving Baltimore and moving to my dream city.

I love a lot of things. I love my life, and my friends, and working, and writing, but man, I am fucking tired.

I am tired of not having enough money to go out with my friends and afford college. I am tired of writing bullshit essays to beg people to give me money so I can enjoy school without feeling that hollow pain in my stomach because I can't afford to eat. I am tired of hearing from adults and peers alike that I can't do it because to be perfectly honest I don't have much of a choice. I love winning and working because I have been conditioned to believe that those things are benchmarks for success and they are but they make m feel like a fucking loser, so, you know, what the hell? I know what I have to do bt right now I am in high school, writing a minimum of four essays a week, plus all of the competitions and scholarships to afford more school, and I feel like I am being asked to be a child, a teenager, and a forty-year-old women with her whole life figured out. I am tired of being a million different people who all suck.

It tires me when I look in the mirror and see someone who is not beautiful. Maybe I was, once. No longer.

My bones stick out in all of the wrong places. My skin is much too pale. My veins portrude from my hands when I type.

It tires me because I forced myself to change.

I was larger, once. Heathly. But I decided I wasn't. I decided I was too big. I wanted to be small.

So

I

Became

Smaller

Than

I've

Ever

Been.

It tires me because I used to be healthy. Now, I get away with eating as little as possible.

My head aches. My vision blurs. Foggy mind.

I am tired of being the skeleton at the dinner table.

I am exhausted. I have been living with depression for more than two years now and I get tired just thinking about whether I'll ever be alright again. No one understands it, and I am not sure how to explain it, but I feel exhausted most of the time. Just getting out of bed, putting one foot in front of the other is a herculean task, at times. I wake up almost every morning with my bones aching, never feeling rested.

And I can't discuss this with friends and family, because no one wants to know. I don't blame them; depression is not pretty. But I do wish I didn't have to pretend that I am fine when I am not. I wish people would understand that it is not 'just a phase' that I can snap out of; that try as I might, 'being positive' is not going to help me very much; that this is a disorder and not a decision.

@CautiousRain

One of my greatest challenges as of late, is writing out/exlplaining concepts/things I have a knowing/understanding about (because I want to and feel compelled to share them.)

I have had to make myself laugh at the frustration of the sometimes sooo-drawn-out process that is articulating thoughts and knowings.

I can think a knowing of a thing in a blink, complex or simple, doesn't really matter because in the depths of my mind where the clearest of understandings takes place (sometimes beyond my conscious perceptions and understandings) time exists far more fluidly and infinitely.

It isn't until I try to define the knowing in terms or pictures that can be put on paper (digital or otherwise) in a comprehensive order, I realize that relitivity of time.

In my personal interest of self-evolution I find myself pondering and analyzing myself like a test subject. In this I realize this exhaustion was a by-product of my manner of thinking toward the experience that is sharing thoughts in forms outside the mind.

If I began my endevour daunted by the knowing I can think it in a blink yet take a week to write it out, then the entire experience of writing it out -- every time -- was a miserable affair and more often than not, took even longer than I'd originally fathomed.

If, however, I made the choice to think in equally relitive terms of the fluiditity of time, and indulged in the opportunity to explore words/definitions of my knowings and ponderings -- without fail -- I surprised myself with how seemingly easy/effortless most of the process was; one thought leading to the next in a manner my timeless-mind had already laid out in the blink-of-knowing I started with.

The Art of Allowing, I remember someone saying.

I think to myself, What is exhaustion but meeting resistence, hm?

another_proser

When I was little all I wanted to do was grow up. But now all I want to do is stop growing up. People keep asking me questions I don´t know the answers to and it hurts everytime they ask. The future scares me. I don´t know anything about college or making friends in a new environment, since I´ve gone to the same school my entire life, and it really scares me. I hate even thinking about it, which is why this was hard to write. I want to believe that everything will be fine and I want to believe that when they say that you can change the path you chose later on, that you can. Honestly, I already feel better just writing this out, but I´ll probably delete this later because I know I´ll get stressed everytime I see this on my profile.

I don’t know who spilled the eggs, but I don’t think “no use crying” applies here. I remember thinking I’d walk across knives. I remember thinking I’d sleep on fire. I remember thinking it was only me and you. And now I’m sticky with yolk and wishing for cleanliness. I’m feet-bleeding, taking back my promises to the sky. I’m thinking of tearing down the walls. I’m thinking of drowning in shadow. I’m thinking of abandon. I’m thinking of jumping ship. I’m thinking of rapture. I’m thinking of all of these fucking eggshells. I’m thinking of inhale. I’m thinking of exhale. I’m thinking of eggshells.

I’m learning to forget you

like the spring forgets the rain and falls into summer.

Blooming and bursting in spectacular heat waves.

And sometimes the rain still cools my petals.

But I swallow it fast,

and it caresses and prods forth new growth.