I realise it has been a very long time since I last blogged: six months to be a little more exact. In this time, I have started a relationship; signed up for a half marathon; gone blonde and turned twenty-five. Not exactly life changing stuff.
It is depressing, in fact, just how little has changed and the more time that I spend on dialysis, the more desperate I am for change to come. The last six months should have been the happiest of recent years, and there have certainly been numerous highlights. But the longer I spend on The List, the harder I am finding it to cope. The longer one waits, the more tangible a transplant becomes because us Veterans are given preference. But far from inspiring hope that I reaching my goal, I feel panic that I might not even be half way through. I might be a quarter way through. What if the call never comes?
It doesn't help that I went back to work today after a week off for half term. I do not hate my job, but it makes me feel utterly worthless. I am working in a job that requires no qualifications bar passable English and the ability to remain upright. I earn a laughably small amount and I am not developing in any sense. in terms of hierarchy, even within a primary school in the borough of Tower Hamlets - which means the school itself dwindles in the lower echelons of socio-economic stature - I am right at the bottom. I do the same thing, day in, day out; I am not challenged; I am not stimulated and I am not reaching my potential. Things came to a head this morning: my Headmistress, who does not value, encourage or nurture her staff at the best of times, is forcing us all to sign in and out and record the time at which we arrive and leave. This is being done under the risible pretext of "security"; we all know it is so she can keep tabs on us. As if this wasn't degrading enough, when I cam to scan the list for my name, I found it absent.
"Oh," the Head said dismissively, "it's because you're not permanent staff." (I mean, I've only been working there for over a year). "Maybe you could sign in at reception for the time being?"
"You mean in the visitors' book?" I asked, with more contempt in my voice than I had intended.
"Let's just write your name on the bottom here," she said and she mis-spelled my name.
My friends are lawyers, teachers, accountants and doctors. I am a part-time teaching assistant. I have no prospects and no qualifications barring my degree. I am desperate to start living my life, to contribute, to do something valuable. I want to wear formal clothes to work and assert myself and prove my worth. I have been wrestling with this dilemma for weeks with no respite. I have sought council from friends and family and received excellent advice as a result. But it is not until I walk into school on a grey Monday morning that the reality of my situation hits me and all those plans and good intentions dissipate. I feel desperate. I don't know what to do.
It is depressing, in fact, just how little has changed and the more time that I spend on dialysis, the more desperate I am for change to come. The last six months should have been the happiest of recent years, and there have certainly been numerous highlights. But the longer I spend on The List, the harder I am finding it to cope. The longer one waits, the more tangible a transplant becomes because us Veterans are given preference. But far from inspiring hope that I reaching my goal, I feel panic that I might not even be half way through. I might be a quarter way through. What if the call never comes?
It doesn't help that I went back to work today after a week off for half term. I do not hate my job, but it makes me feel utterly worthless. I am working in a job that requires no qualifications bar passable English and the ability to remain upright. I earn a laughably small amount and I am not developing in any sense. in terms of hierarchy, even within a primary school in the borough of Tower Hamlets - which means the school itself dwindles in the lower echelons of socio-economic stature - I am right at the bottom. I do the same thing, day in, day out; I am not challenged; I am not stimulated and I am not reaching my potential. Things came to a head this morning: my Headmistress, who does not value, encourage or nurture her staff at the best of times, is forcing us all to sign in and out and record the time at which we arrive and leave. This is being done under the risible pretext of "security"; we all know it is so she can keep tabs on us. As if this wasn't degrading enough, when I cam to scan the list for my name, I found it absent.
"Oh," the Head said dismissively, "it's because you're not permanent staff." (I mean, I've only been working there for over a year). "Maybe you could sign in at reception for the time being?"
"You mean in the visitors' book?" I asked, with more contempt in my voice than I had intended.
"Let's just write your name on the bottom here," she said and she mis-spelled my name.
My friends are lawyers, teachers, accountants and doctors. I am a part-time teaching assistant. I have no prospects and no qualifications barring my degree. I am desperate to start living my life, to contribute, to do something valuable. I want to wear formal clothes to work and assert myself and prove my worth. I have been wrestling with this dilemma for weeks with no respite. I have sought council from friends and family and received excellent advice as a result. But it is not until I walk into school on a grey Monday morning that the reality of my situation hits me and all those plans and good intentions dissipate. I feel desperate. I don't know what to do.
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