Well, looks like it's depressingly official. I'm going to have to settle for a shitty fast food job. I'm trying not to worry myself sick over this development.
So many things concern me, though. Everyone's telling me it's supposed to be "easy" work, but will I be able to work quickly enough anywhere where speed is such a priority? That's a large part of the reason why the Subway thing didn't really work out, by the way. (It can take me 2-3 minutes just to prepare myself a very basic ham sandwich, outside of a restaurant scenario, with no distractions.) I never really learned how to make everything click into place at Subway, so I have reasonable reasons to doubt I'll manage anywhere else. Far more minor, surprisingly, are the usual social anxieties, which I think my new situation has helped considerably with.
My situation really shouldn't be as bad as it is, either. Beyond the simple social anxiety disorder, I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me, though my money's on autism of some sort. Whatever it is, the point is that I should know what it is. I should have known, for a long time. My mother should've at least tried to get me some sort of help, instead of just trying to smack me into being functional. The closest she came was taking me to the doctor's office in Absarokee in second grade, wherein someone who had not technically even achieved doctor level (I don't remember the exact circumstances behind this - might've been a Physician's Assistant or some such) gave me the absolute minimal amount of analysis before slapping me with a prescription for Paxil. (I didn't react well, and the meds caused me to become suicidal. IN THE SECOND FUCKING GRADE.) So, thanks to her medical neglect, here I am. Still completely unable to handle the world. And with no sympathy from anyone, because it's not a physical handicap, so it's "all in your head, Jesse, just suck it up and stop being such a pussy".
Obviously, I am not optimistic tonight.
- (no subject)