Leaving My Yellow Dressing Gown Behind

Monday morning. 8.40 AM. I am here. Too early. I press the buzz. They let me in. We exchange polite smiles and “you all rights”. Is that my manager?

What a relief. I am not the first one. He looks about twelve. Is that my colleague or my grandchild? I am told we can help ourselves with coffee and tea. It’s been a while since I have had £1 instant coffee.

Be grateful. You need this job. Your depression is getting out of control (I keep repeating to myself). Can these people tell I’m feeling suicidal? 

I look too smart. These are all the clothes that I have. It’s either that or my yellow dressing gown.

We are moving to a training room. 11 of us. The one in charge looks nervous. His trainers are shiny. Could be brand new. And his jeans. He is trying to rock that casual chic look or whatever it is that thing my daughter sent me a picture of the other day.

I do not have the energy for this. How did I get from 100k and a company car to a place where I need to raise my hand to use a bathroom. He says we are getting 30 mins for our lunch and 2 x 15 mins breaks. All put through the dialler.

Be grateful. You need this job. Your depression is getting out of control (I keep repeating to myself).

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