Yay! And... oh shit

This week I did something that might possibly be considered as a little rash: I quit my temp job at the council. I had to, really, because not only was I degenerating into an unmotivated, difficult, pedantic, spiteful smartarse but my behaviour was becoming increasingly bi-polar. I seriously thought I was becoming a manic depressive: one day I would be hyperactive, doing silly voices down the phone and talking surreal gibberish at anybody who made the mistake of passing nearby my desk; the next day I would lethargic, sullen, almost weeping at my desk and teetering precariously on the edge of the abyss of total and utter despair. My behaviour was scaring me. I really didn't know which of these two extreme moods was the real me or if either of them was the real me or if I was going mad and hurtling towards a nervous breakdown.

I did wonder if the mood swings were a side effect of the medication. Ah yes, I haven't mentioned that yet, have I? Yes, I'm back on the drugs! Back at the beginning of November I finally admitted to myself that I simply couldn't cope with the whole damn life thing on my own. No amount of sensible eating and vitamin B and St. John' Wort was going to drag me out of the persisting rut my life languished in; I needed the happy pills. So I went to the doctor and he gave me something called Fluoxetine. 20mg a day at first but that made no difference so he bumped up the amount to 40mg a day. I started to feel better. I wasn't bouncing off the walls, invigorated by the joys of life but my underlying mood began to rise. I still had good days and bad days but my moods were no longer underpinned by abject hopelessness. When I went to Devon for Christmas I was fine, quietly contented. I was still anxious about the future and my (lack of) career but at least I was thinking positively about how to rectify my problems.

When I returned to work in the New Year, however, I just didn't want to be there. I've already talked about how I gave up smoking simply to spite the management and as the weeks went on my moods began to swing more and more between extremes. Everybody in the office noticed, the girls at the housing association call centre noticed, I noticed. I'm going mad, I'm finally going bloody mad, I'm losing my mind, I thought.

I had to do something about it. I decided to talk to my recruitment agency and tell them everything I have had to put up with at work. I explained about mad-psycho-colleague's accusations, the investigation, the management's continued failure to get off their arses and advertise my position as permanent, the level of responsibility that had been dumped on me despite only getting paid a basic admin rate per hour. The agency girl nodded without interest or sympathy. All she was interested in was that I had notified my bosses of my feelings and desire to leave and how it would be best for them if I were to leave. The council are one of the agency's biggest contracts and they know what side their bread is buttered on. I'm just a disposable cash-generating machine and they couldn't care less about my happiness or well being. Bastards.

I then went to the doctor again and addressed my concerns about my volatile mood. He said that it was highly unlikely to be a side effect of the medication and was more likely to be caused by the stress I was experiencing at work, especially as I only experienced the volatile mood swings whilst at work.

The next day when I arrived at the office I immediately announced that I'd had enough and was giving them a week's notice. Safe to say that some panicked discussions took place between my supervisors and their manager. What the hell would they do now? Start from scratch with a new temp, an unknown quantity? Wasn't there some way they could entice me to stay?

I was almost doubting if I had really made the right decision until I discovered that the Chief Executive of the council had put in place a blanket freeze on all recruitment across the entire organisation which meant that even if the management were finally on the brink of making my position permanent they would not be able to. The Business Manager of my unit is currently fighting to advertise my post with the board of directors. He'll probably convince them... probably.

So, what did I get? I was told that the organisation genuinely appreciated the work I had done for them and regretted that I had decided to leave but acknowledged that I had had to put up with a lot of bullshit. They may be able to advertise the role shortly if they succeed in overturning the job freeze and they would be more than happy if I were to apply for it. That's it, that was all they could offer me: hearty thanks and an apology for all the hassle. But good luck for the future. Ta ta.

Next Friday will be my last day. I feel ambivalent. I am intensely relieved that I won't have to do that horrible job any more, that I won't have to suffer the sheer incompetence of the management but I am also bricking myself about the not insignificant matter of where the fuck my next pay cheque is coming from. Hmm.

Never mind. I have a job interview next Wednesday. I also only have one week to summon up the bottle to ask that intriguing girl from the Performance Management office for a date.