The Stockholm Syndrome

Even though it’s 1:00 AM and I have to get up for work in five hours, I feel a need to blog. I’ve been a bit depressed today, so I’m going to share it with you guys, in an unadulterated unedited form. [In fact I may delete this post; so be warned.]

Here’s a quick recap on my life for those of you not keeping track: I just graduated and I’m working a day job to pay the bills while I try to make a name for myself as a stand-up comic. So far my name has not been too notable and I may as well be invisible to my fellow co-workers. There’s a surprisingly large amount of gossip that floats around between the offices. I swear, sometimes I feel like I’m back in middle school. I love the people there and the work itself isn’t unreasonable but the environment is a bit dreary for my tastes.

So where does the title of the piece fit in? Well—today I finished this project I am working on for a temporary assignment and I received an e-mail which said that as soon as I am done I would be terminated. I immediately defaulted into my shallow white girl voice: “Like what???! They like totally cannot just fire me like that” I mean, I know I don’t want to stay at the place for twenty years but I still invested time in this place and I can’t be given the boot just yet. I was torn between my lack of enjoyment for the gig and my fear of there being nothing else out there for me.

And then it dawned on me: my feelings for this job are like a freakish version of Stockholm Syndrome. I’ve been rejected from so many jobs, and I even had one headhunter flat out tell me that I have nothing to offer anybody except passion (it made me want to consider prostitution as a valid career choice). Everywhere I go, people laugh at my English degree and my ambitions. And if this job—this one thing that I have managed to secure—is pulled out from under me, well just look for my lifeless body on the 11:00 news.

It’s a weird feeling—being so unconsciously connected to a place I quite frankly can’t see myself staying at for more than a year. One day—if I become marginally famous (think C- list)—I can look back and laugh about this. But now, I guess my happiness is in the hands of these inscrutable employers. A scary thought indeed.

This blog isn’t all sad though. I finally made a connection to a co-worker, which feels great. So I feel less bound by depression and more bound by commonalities, even though it’s all tentative. Plus I heard back from my teacher and a woman I lost touch with for months.

Okay now it’s time for some bed. I have the LONGEST day tomorrow.