[This is a re-post in remembrance of my former boss, who left us a year ago today.]
What to you do if your nemesis dies? Besides feel the appropriate grief and conflict?
I worked for D. for 5 years. For 5 years she was my supervisor. At the risk of sounding cranky and bitter, she came in with no qualifications, because it's a who-you-know Corporation. Perhaps they all are. Knowing she was unqualified, she brought in two horrible Yes-Women to help her run the show, effectively creating a glass ceiling for those of us who started the Department. I tried to like her. I really, really did. She was a tiny whirl of energy. Perfectly groomed, her hair was perfect, her makeup was perfect, her wardrobe was outstanding, her tiny body was a bit upsetting but maybe that's just me. She was happily married to her highschool sweetheart, the fireman. 34 years at this writing. She had two grown kids, a son happily married with 2 kids of his own, a daughter with 4 children. Each had spent some time in the lower level of her gorgeous large home she and her husband had built near the ocean. D. had 9 brothers and sisters scattered across the U.S., her mother still lived nearby. She never tired of talking about her family and herself and her Yes-Women, especially during my "Performance Evaluations" or when we took the time to socialize during a work day. Inappropriate? Yes. I was like the young boy who pointed out the Emperor has no clothes !! It was exhausting.
I have flashes of moments with her. At a department Christmas party, I am leaving and she says, "come, give me a hug. Merry Christmas," while I hug, puzzled at this unexpected intimacy. She came by my home to drop something off and met my dog: "My, she's chunky isn't she?" and simply could not comprehend I lived there with my boyfriend and wasn't renting it alone. She describes attending a concert with her husband and cousin and tells us, "I got drunk, they had to each hold onto me to walk me to the car." Her grand family Thanksgivings held at her house, where, she tells me, everyone has too much to drink and she laughs like a child. She still enjoyed smoking cigarettes and after a business trip to California, she exclaimed wide-eyed: "There's nowhere to smoke! I spent most of the trip outside of buildings smoking." And telling me how she loved her grandson, who went to school with my son, and how she tells him, "If Papa and I move away to retire, you'll have to come with us," and how he rolls his eyes at her. She introduced us to her husband last year; I can barely remember what he looks like.
She had no friends. She marveled at a group of women she once had wine with and how they were all either divorced or getting divorced and how she couldn't relate. I raised my eyebrow. Must be nice.
So last December, after my 5 years of being delegated to a sherpa role as she gave her friends promotions and raises and social prestige & I spent my time trudging up the mountain showing them how to climb, I gave my 2 weeks notice. I called her to tell her. She answered with a quick, "I don't have time to talk! Just email me." So I emailed her: I am giving 2 weeks notice. And how quickly my phone rang back. Really? she asked. Was I sure? We'd have to meet for an exit interview. Of course. Of course.
On Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving of 2008 she sent out an email to her staff, telling them how much she appreciated them and to enjoy their Thanksgiving and the day after to shop till they dropped. Ha ha. And she went home and what happened next, only her family knows for sure. There are rumors. She hung herself over the banister so that her husband would find her when he returned early Thanksgiving morning from the firehouse. She showed him.
And I think back on a year ago, during our exit interview, where she talked about herself and her family and her job. When did suicide become an option? But after much contemplation, I've come to realize it has always been an option. Virginia Woolfe was not an exception, she was a trend. And now that my eyes have been opened, I see it everywhere. In the choices of humans and we have so few, suicide is right up there with changing jobs, move to another state, kill yourself, stop talking to your parent.
Exit stage left is just another possibility, just another menu option.
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Harrison Price
ladyfarmerjed
Ande Bliss
Lauren J Barnhart
suzie
marytkelly
Salon.com
Comments
I wish fewer people would exit stage left...especially those I know.
Rated
As a culture we need more learning in this area--- more strategies for survival.
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean-favoured and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good Morning!" and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich, yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine -- we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread,
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet in his head.
Quite the sad story, and sobering on this Thanksgiving Eve. Redoubles my determination to live small, love life, and be thankful for every minute my Creator gives me.
-R-
Several years ago my then-boss lost her son in a motorcycle accident. He was her youngest child (early 20's) and only son. She was devastated, and I was ashamed of myself for not being able to summon any more compassion for her than I would have for a stranger on the news. She was a nightmare, and I absolutely loathed her. I was kind to her, but not so much out of compassion as a whopping case of Catholic guilt.
Very well written.
Rated.
I am sorry for her family. I'm sure you've heard the poem about Richard Cory. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/richard-cory/
Congratulations on a well deserved EP.
What a strange life.
About suicide: When I was 37 in one week a close friend and my first ex-husband both committed suicide. He gassed himself. She hung herself. What I want to share is that for weeks, both my ex and my friend kept coming to me, frantic to the max, in dreams.
From their visitations, so desperate and both freaked out bec. each was in a very bad place, post suicide, I learned that this act does not work, with maybe the exception of tragically and physically ill people. Both these dead friends apparently went to hell. I still remember those vivid dreams. From then I learned that "exit stage left" is really not a good move, nor a likely option for ending pain. Rather, in both those cases, these friends seemed to be in more pain.
Recently a man I had reason, as you did too, to wish a person everything horrible for treating me so wretchedly. Just as I was thinking terrible thoughts an email arrived from him. He told me he had contemplated suicide seriously. Then he killed himself in a dream. He was very shook up because where he went was to a Costco parking lot, lodged behind a pile of cardboard boxes and a huge garbage pail. There he understood he was to stay for an eternity, with no air, no movement, nothing.
He wrote that because this dream was so vivid he woke, knowing he would never ever actually exit that way.
All these dreams, my own and my nemesis' have taught me that exit left is almost never a good option. I take these dreams (my own, and the one told) as a sign that suicide is the worst possible solution to horrid problems. It is so clear to me that I feel for YOUR nemesis. Did you ever dream about her? I would bet that she went to a far worse place than she was while alive.
Beautiful tale and just wanted to add this nickle. Jung wrote in a famous letter that suicide is never the answer --with one exception: When it occurs as viscerally urgent and is not pre-meditated. I didn't understand that until the above three warnings. Thanks for letting me share what will sound corny to some but is a truth I now will never be able to forget. Wendy
When I went to work I pulled up my blog and was reading it and I felt her behind me: my whole spine lit up with goosebumps and chills. She was there, for a moment, because I was thinking of her.
I don't know how she is.
i realize that suicide is a horrible thing, the taboo to end all taboos, but i still always marvel at people's responses when it is brought up for conversation and contemplation. one often hears /reads "how selfish," or here "self-righteous" (?) first. then the inevitable "i would never have thought! s/he seemed so happy." or "s/he had it all. i would have killed to have that life. how ungrateful!" or perhaps "geez, i know we're all suffering from the recession, but to commit suicide? talk about lack of perspective and taking the easy way out!" and often "what a selfish jerk! doesn't s/he know what this will do to (insert names here)? i'm angry with that person. how could s/he be so damn selfish?"
from one who has way too much experience with suicide, i can state unequivocally that many, many people who attempt or succeed believe that the world would be better off without them. more specifically, they often believe that the people within their own little worlds would be better off. except for certain cases (like the lack of perspective "my boy/girlfriend/spouse/whomever left me and i cannot possibly go on" reactionary suicide or perhaps a teen crying, screaming for help and succeeding with the suicide instead of the hoped for love, attention, help, etc.) the person who has killed him or herself has almost certainly agonized about how their suicide would affect those in his/her life - often over extended periods of time. and i would say that generally speaking, that person decided for the survivors (which is, of course, problematic in that every person should be allowed to decide for him or herself what or whom they want to love/put up with) that their lives would be significantly better off, or that those lives wouldn't change much from the loss.
let's face it, people with depression (especially serious, clinical depression) are a pain in the ass. no one really wants to date, marry, parent, be friends with or be related to someone with serious depression. we wear everyone out, and we can see it on your faces. we also know that you don't get it (and we're thankful for you that you don't) and it is often implied that we are just weak little babies who need to buck up, or that we're making some sort of deliberate choice. because good golly, i can't tell you how much fun it is to have to fight to get out of bed every morning and spend every single day slogging it out, trying to find brief fleeting moments of contentment (happiness has never really come knocking at my door), knowing that i'll almost certainly remain partnerless for life, all the while having to make those around me feel ok about the fact that they don't feel ok with my disease. i've been told to smile more, lighten up, get over myself, exercise more, eat healthier food, smile more, smile more - as if i wouldn't and haven't tried every single thing available to me to be able to shed the musty, heavy, nubby woolen gray coat that i wear all day every day - even while sleeping, in the shower and (too infrequently) making love. the overcoat never leaves, despite smiles, organic groceries and long walks. it's as permanent as my dog's fur and i have about as much choice regarding its attachment to my body.
but i'm not a morose, morrisey-listening, whiny emo kid who wears only black and tries to let the world know how unfair i think it all is. i'm a post-grad educated arts professional, i have a ton of friends, i've had plenty of love in my life, was married, was in another long-term relationship where i was actually in love with my partner, i read good books, appreciate humor, have myriad interests, people generally like me, i do a lot of volunteer work, go out with friends and family, enjoy movies and biographies and television programs about animals, and i have an email subscription to lolcats, which make me smile every single day. people often describe me as vivacious, interesting, accomplished, fun, a little crazy (in a good way), etc.
what most people don't know is that often after a great professional accomplishment, a family gathering, a fun night out with friends having dinner, seeing a band, going to a movie, cooking a huge yummy dinner - that after everyone leaves and i'm alone with my dog, my brain often turns to suicide. sometimes it happens before the door is completely latched and the outside light is turned off. many of my most wonderful days and nights were followed immediately by hours or days of struggle to keep myself from taking those pills or slashing my wrists. i do absolutely everything i can to fight (and make no mistake, it is a fight. it's the most difficult fight of my life, and i'm relatively certain it will always be with me). i haven't given up in any sense - i have therapists, i am medicated and do not miss doses, i no longer drink, smoke or do any sort of drugs, i do eat healthy food and exercise. i manage my disease to the absolute best of my abilities. and yet, as i sit here typing, there are tears running down my face. a part of me is entirely engaged in thinking about suicide in the abstract and people's reactions to it. another part of me is thinking about suicide in the active sense.
but i'm not embarrassed to talk about it, and i don't feel the need to be silent. i do not appreciate trite, "you'll feel better some day, honey" comments or suggestions about attitude adjustments. this is part of me, part of my life. i don't wear it on my sleeve or go out of my way to let people know, but it's always there, every moment of every single day.
and frankly, it's a part of every single human being's life to some degree. luckily for most of you, especially the ones who were so quick to judge the deceased (whom you know only from another person's description of her), you will probably never deal with it the way that i and millions of others somewhat like me, are forced to by our genetics, chemistry and life experiences.
after this long ramble, i guess my point is that absolutely no one knows what goes on in someone else's mind. and i've found that often the people who look the happiest and most "normal" on the outside carry heavy, heavy burdens on the inside. and one of those burdens is constantly feeling the necessity to don the happy facade - usually in order to make others feel comfortable. think about this - comedians are notorious for having severe depression. and while there perhaps haven't been many out and out suicides of famous comedians, we've all watched some of our favorites eat, drink and drug themselves to death in a protracted suicide ballet. and then generally people come up with the same ridiculous comments - "but s/he was so funny and seemed so happy! wow - i never saw that coming! how could a person be so selfish and waste so much talent?"
i'm betting that the woman whose ex killed himself (and i'm truly sorry for your loss) probably knows this better than most here - or anywhere. she lived with and loved this person, and he killed himself. she says she doesn't know why and never will. and that's the truth. he could have seemed on the outside like the most fulfilled, content person in the world. and perhaps part of him was. but human beings are never but one facet of themselves. as uncle walt pointed out, we are vast. we contain multitudes.
some of those multitudes are dark and sad and scary. and just as much a part of us as our noses or eye color. please don't judge people who kill themselves. also please don't blame yourself if you're a survivor - chances are the deceased was either truly trying to help you out by removing a problem from your life (however misguided that sentiment might be) or their decision had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with you. i'm still alive today because i worry so much about my parents, and because i have an 11 year old puppy who is utterly dependent upon me. i absolutely and sincerely think my parents would have many less problems in their lives without a daughter who suffers from clinical depression. but my mom is already a suicide survivor, and i would never put her through that again. she already feels culpability for the first one (which is completely inaccurate), and i think that if i were to kill myself, she'd completely blame herself and never recover. i love her too much to put her in that position.
i've tried to rationalize that my dog would be fine without me, but the truth is that we're so ridiculously codependent that he'd probably sink into a serious depression without me. and so i face every day, force myself out of bed (most days), do my job, try to make a difference in the lives of others in big and small ways, buy a lot of fresh flowers, cook great meals for my friends, love my loved ones fiercely, spend a lot of time loving my puppy and appreciating all of the joys he has brought to my life. and every single day i make a decision about whether or not i will live another day. that is my life, and i accept it. i'll be there are only 3 people who know me that know this about me (one is my shrink).
so if one day i wake up and decide that is the last day, people around me would probably be shocked - "she seemed like she had such a full life, so many people would have given their right arms to have her education and opportunities, how selfish..." etc., etc. but if that ever came to pass (and i truly and sincerely hope it does not), what you would not realize was that i was a courageous warrior every day of my life and fought as valiantly as i could against this siren song.
when you think about suicides in your own life or hear about them in the news, i hope you'll try to adjust your thinking. you might not have witnessed an "easy way out" or a desperate failed attempt to garner attention. you may have witnessed the passing of a silent warrior who finally lost the ultimate battle.
I've also dealt with suicide too amny times. I have forgiven them all, and tried my best to keep in touch with their families.
It's amazing how you took such a stark, negative relationship and turned out this essay which really "brings her to life", as well as explores many of the nuances in such relationships.
(It's inarticulate Friday for me - thanks for your writing!)
How does this fit to your article you ask? Well, It's complicated as you say. I know from personal experience that when my sister attempted suicide she had attempted to call me at work. Well, it just so happened that I was the only bank teller at the time that had an authorization to count out the amount of money that needed to be counted that day, it was over $60,000.00. I have always wondered what I should have done. By the time I got to the phone she had hung up. How she called me at work was also a strange thing. There had also been a history of drama so I may have in the back of my mind brushed it off. She had been estranged from the family for years. It's been 17 years since my mother and her have spoke. Since that time, I have not been in contact, because she was getting help. And if that was the case, I did not want to impeded that help. It's one of those situations where one does not know what to do, thinking that actions might destroy more than help. In addition, people reach out at the strangest times and one his not always aware that they are reaching out.
At the same time, I have known a nemesis in high school who committed suicide while I was a junior. It was over a girl, he said in a note. And he was one of those guys that the girls loved for all the wrong reasons. His suicide did not affect me until it began to interfere with my editorship of the year book. A group of yearbook members wanted to dedicate the book to him. I spoke up. And I am afraid I was quite cold. I remember saying that "i'll be damned if I will let this work be dedicated to such a awful person." He had been awful to me. Shock ensued. I was also not afraid to state my case. He did get a 'memorial' page, but not the dedication. I had to fight that for months. And he may not have been a bad person to other people. It's one of those things we don't know how we will react until it happens. So don't take it personally, I know that is easy to say, because dwelling on it can suck all the life out of you
And you paint such a clear picture of bi-polar disease, especially clinical depression, unrecognized and untreated (or, under-treated). I would submit that suicide isn't a choice or an option so much as an escape from unbearable pain.
I have much conflict about this post and about women in management like her. This was so well written. r.
It must have felt very surreal when you heard the news.
A terrible, terrible thing. To be so lonely...
well done
When X exited stage left there were many, many people who were as conflicted as D's co-workers.
My sister took her own life in '06 at age 50, after a crazy life marred by mental illness and drugs. Her 31-yr-old daughter is estranged from the family (it's only me left), and has suffered from drugs as well. I wish her well. I don't think suicides go to hell. I think they have another chance to learn that they WERE loved, after all, by some people.
Great short story, rated - congrats on the EP!
Perhaps part of the problem stems from the way this woman is portrayed in the article in the first place. So the author feels hard done by because she thinks that her supervisor was unqualified. OK, maybe she was. But nothing in her description makes her out to be a particularly terrible boss, or terrible person. The author didn't get her, and it sounds like she didn't get the author either. But what's wrong with a friendly hug at Christmas, exactly? And I could use some more details about on how being petite and well groomed make someone a bad person. But on the other hand, she did call the author's dog fat. What a bitch! And she talked about her family a lot. Unbearable!
And she's such an easy target; after all, she's not around to give her side of the story anymore. But the fact that she killed herself proves that she was a nut case, right? So none of her values, opinions or choices ever had any merit, right. You win, Ms. Young!
OK, maybe part of the point of the article is how sudden and unexpected suicide can be, but making her out as her "nemesis" based on a few traits that she found annoying seems petty and pointless. Is the author saying that her boss was such a shallow, empty person that she killed herself out of self-hatred? If so, she should come out and say it. If not, who cares whether or not she found her boss annoying?
you know what? people are annoying. we all find our little group that we dig and are comfortable with, but often times people (especially in the workplace) are annoying as hell. but obviously this woman had a husband, children, grandchildren, and frankly the author probably didn't really know about the woman's friends because she seemed pretty uninterested in anything and everything about this woman's life. to imply that her life was empty because the author didn't understand it, and for a bunch of people in the comments section to jump all over the deceased on some pretty lame complaints from the author... i don't know. i find it quite disconcerting.
and btw, virginia woolfe wasn't a trend. she was a woman and an author. and her committing suicide wasn't a trend either. it was an instance of her making a choice that is available to all of us at all times. you may or may not understand or agree with what she did (or the "nemesis" for that matter), but to reduce her life, her pain, and her profound choice to a "trend" is either poor writing or a really warped view of life.