Yo, New Year!! Part Un - The Rant

Bismillah-ir-Rahman-ir-Raheem

Assalam alaikum wr wb,

It's been a wild one, this past year.

The year began for me with a broken heart and a broken spirit. I was prowling the house like a tiger, not knowing what to do with myself, my own hollow laughter ringing in my ears.

Then I started looking for jobs. Hell is staving off a panic attack hours before an interview. Hell is feeling like a ten-year-old in her mother's heels, staring potential bosses in the eye, trying to look confident when I feel as useful as a dead cockroach. Hell is my mother expecting me to be something when all I wanted to do was sleep and never wake up. I wanted all the pain to go away and I would have given anything just to go back to the girl I was – the one that enjoyed Third Rock from the Sun, the one that loved chocolate cake and stubbly brooding men, the one that had something to give.

Hell is being given the job over and over again.

I kid you not. Everyone wanted a piece of Zed.

I can't for the life of me figure out why. The only way I can explain it is that the publishing industry has mighty low standards and I don't just mean that they like short people :D

And then came the worst of all. The anxiety that lasted days, so many days that I couldn't stop crying. This really big publishing company offered me a job with a salary higher than I had ever hoped. And then there was this little intimate company that seemed close-knit and happy, that seemed to offer me a chance to heal.

As always, I'm a sucker for the underdog.

My mother was so disappointed. But what could I do? My brain went back and forth like a perpetual motion machine – my future, my peace of mind, my future, my peace of mind. Happiness, hard work, happiness, hard work. Lord, why can't I have both? What had I done to deserve this torture?

My father took me to the psychiatrist. He said I wasn't well. This I knew, but, like most people, you believe it more readily from someone who has a degree framed on the wall behind him. He gave me pills. I felt better. Much better. On top of the world for many months.

A few crushes came and went, bringing with them pangs of self-pity and tears. I had a blast at my new job – I got into some of the coolest shows for free and met people I wouldn't have dreamed of meeting in a million years.

And then I made the mistake of pitching in with Rochelle's magazine, which is a weekly digest. I found myself immersed in a nest of vipers so venomous they almost shattered my belief in humanity.

The worse thing is – I used to really look up to Rochelle. She was healing from an ugly break-up just like me. She was beautiful, strong and angry. She reminded me of my mother. I now realise that that comparison is an affront to my mother. Rochelle was selfish, self-centred, nepotistic and despotic. She pushed her impossibly high standards onto everybody in the office, causing much frustration and quite possibly a few soiled underwear. You shouldn't be terrified of your boss, especially not in publishing. That's just bad for the magazine. She isn't God. She's just a person.

But obviously, she thought otherwise.

Worst of all, Rochelle needed a coterie of fawning employees to feel fulfilled. In return, these brown-noses were allowed quite shocking lapses in professionalism and sometimes basic human decency. I'm not one to put lips to buttocks, so I was, of course, not one of the chosen few. In fact, in an incident I will never forget, that cow gave me hell for not telling the photographer Phyllis (one of her lap-dogs) about a photo-shoot I needed to go with my article. She went above and beyond a reprimand. She called me unprofessional and disrespectful to my colleagues.

Honestly, that broke my heart. It cut me to the bone. I have never been rude to anyone in my entire life. I don't even know how to put on an attitude. I'm a really soft-spoken person. In fact, with what I perceived to be the hostility bubbling beneath the surface at our office, I began to speak barely above a whisper.

Going to work every morning became like walking to the gallows. Eventually, I told my other boss, Meryl that I was leaving at the end of October. I told her my job was boring – which was the truth. It was all editing and transcribing and compiling and thankless late nights, with no writing, no pay-off. Copy-editing, week in, week out, is like being kissed by a Dementor. It sucks the joy out of your life. Besides, I took one copy-editing class in my last semester. This is not what I was trained to do.

I felt sorry for Meryl. She's always been nice to me. While she too has high standards, she doesn't shout or intimidate people into getting things done. As of now, I really feel that she cares about my future and me as a person. Compared to Rochelle, she is an angel from heaven. But still, I couldn't stay just for her.

Somehow it blew over. I was offered more writing for both Meryl and Rochelle's publications and I accepted. As long as I didn't have to copy-edit The Digest (sparing myself a weekly panic attack) or deal with Rochelle's ratty, immature designer Michael

Things looked up. I got really close to our PR, Elizabeth and Meryl's designer Marv. He really made me laugh.

Still, my dealings with The Digest were always fraught with anxiety for me. I was frightened of Rochelle and her unpredictable flare-ups. I was struggling to get hold of my disorder. I had another severe attack – heart pounding, crying. I was so crippled that I cancelled my interviews, left work and cowered under my blanket at home. My parents were reduced to tears That's when I knew the pills were not working.

I found myself a counsellor. As you know, the process is ongoing, but things are looking a lot brighter. For the first time in months, I feel like the captain of this ship.

And then, of course, the crunch came. I was glad. It killed The Digest, which wasn't making much money from advertisers. It got rid of all of these bad eggs and left only the people I got along with. Don't get me wrong – The Digest is a kick-butt magazine, probably the best weekly in the market. But no magazine is worth my peace of mind.

What did I learn this year?

I learnt that not everyone is nice all the time and not everyone is bad all the time.

I learnt that good friends are there for you, come rain or shine, even though they are an ocean and a rock away.

I've learnt that even though good friends will always be good friends, sometimes bad things happen to them and they just can't be as emotionally available as they would like. I've learnt to live with being lower on people's priorities' lists – sometimes, not all the time.

I've learnt that it's okay to love me a little bit. I'm not that bad.

I have learnt that I am simple and sincere and that more than anything, I hate mealy-mouthed hypocrites.

I've learnt to roll with the punches, something I never thought I would be able to do.

I have learnt that I have a huge heart and much to give to as many people and in as many different ways as possible.

I have learnt that if I can manage my time, I will be able to take over the world a la Pinky and the Brain.

I have learnt that being wise doesn't mean being cynical.

I have a great job.

I've written quite a bit – blog posts, articles, forum posts.

My novel has finally gathered shape.

I've made quite a few new friends.

Alhamdulillah for a fruitful, if not always easy, year.

For the first time, I feel hopeful at the New Year, not despondent that another year has passed me by and I have little to show for it. Alhamdulillah indeed.

Wassalam, dear readers and Fee Amanillah,
Zed.

P.S. I don't know if you guys know what the above salutation means. It means, "In peace and the protection of God," – probably the most loving words I have ever heard.

P.P.S I've decided I will follow up this blog post with a more upbeat post expanding on everything I have achieved and learned this past year. So watch this space.