Last Friday was my last day at the psych ward– please hold your “I’m so glad they let you out” jokes because let’s not forget: the staff are WAY crazier than the patients and the patients actually get better. The staff? They’re just one more decision away from a prison sentence.
At least that’s what I said in my exit interview.
I’m torn between giving you an explanation and assuming I don’t need to. After all, why would anyone want to work at a place where the CEO makes fun of mental illness, everyone is banging each other, the doctors can’t speak English to the patients they’re treating, the guy across the hall is plotting your death, and your boss thinks the rapture is happening next week?
Me, that’s who.
I loved the patients. It was the first job I’d ever had that didn’t make me despise humanity (hello, retail). I believed in their recovery, I believed in their dignity, and I wanted to play the most minor of roles in making that possible.
But then I saw how the hospital was actually run. Faith in humanity = ruined. I experienced the assbackwardness of the system first hand and decided not to tuck tail and run. I thought I could make things better and when I realized I was wasting my time, I decided to stick around for the laughs. Every single day was another level of absurdity and I took fastidious notes so I could eventually write a book about it.
But at some point I stopped laughing and became angry. Amusement gave way to a dirty feeling of complicity. I was a cog in the wheel of our country’s fucked up mental health system and I’m ashamed it took so long for me to turn in my resignation. But I finally did. Right after getting a week and a half of vacation time approved. This is what Alex likes to call “taking the back door” out of a situation.
I asked my internet friends to help me properly describe my last-day-of-work feelings and, as usual, they did not disappoint. I live my life in constant fear of being turned into a meme but thanks to Lindsay my life is now complete:
This is the one I posted for all my coworkers. I didn’t realize it was the gift that would keep on giving.
Let’s not read too much into the fact a hospital is being blown up in the background. Or maybe we should.
Then Keri Jens got in on it with “needs more Julie Andrews.”
Here I am in a scene from “One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest,” which I still haven’t seen (other than that time I took Ambien and thought there were people in my hallway and don’t really remember anything else that happened.)
I think we have a winner.
And before you panic, YES there is a story behind this whole resignation. And YES it involves my vulva. And NO I will not run out of batshit stories to tell you. Do you know me at all? Stay tuned.
Have you ever dramatically quit? Is there anything in your life that you want to say BYE FELICIA to? What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?
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