Jester and the Discussion Document

I might have mentioned once or twice that, although I maintain a happy demeanour most of the time, I am a part of that unhappy statistic: people who have been diagnosed with depression. I don’t think for a minute that my depression is clinical; in fact I am sure that it has environmental causes, which I might one day write about. My depression is known to my employers and my managers are very good about it. It usually manifests itself in uncontrollable tears but occasionally, I go the other way and blow my top.

Which is how I ended up getting a Discussion Document last week. I usually manage to cope well with stressful situations but if things start piling on me, for instance worrying about Bobbie’s illness (see my previous blog, Jester, Bobbie, her kidneys and the Resource Planner), getting two bad calls in a row and having more work on my list than I can hope to do, I get stressed and, if it’s too bad, I blow my top spectacularly. This is what happened a couple of weeks ago.

I usually sit there brooding about what’s going on for a few minutes and let it all get on top of me. Then I decide I don’t want to work at the Dark Satanic Mill anymore. Then I start packing up my things, turn off my computer, log out of the phone. Then the swearing begins. I’ve done my best to keep foul language out of this blog and I think I’ve succeeded but in real life I swear like a trooper. In fact, I think my language would make a trooper blush, even when I’m in a good mood.

So this series of events unfolded a couple of weeks ago. My manager wasn’t in that day. She would have jumped on it (not me, just the tantrum) very quickly and diffused the situation. The managers who were in are both new to the company and I think they were gobsmacked. My colleagues were either laughing at me (I believe I’m comical when I lose it) or trying to calm me down. Eventually, one of the managers came over and took me into a private room and asked me what was up. By that time, I had vented my head of steam and explained what was going on. She came up with a practical solution, which was to get me on standard complaints for a day to give me some slack. I was then to be off for 5 days (including a weekend, I had already booked the leave) and I would be able to return to work after that ready to resume my normal role.

When my manager and I were both back at work, I got the discussion document. I always thought these were a preliminary in disciplinary proceedings but this didn’t feel like it. It felt much more like a welfare call. She wanted to know what had led to my outburst and how they could have prevented it. I actually felt very repentant and made sure she knew I thought I’d acted badly. I was my judge and jury and she was my psychiatrist.

I think my main regret about the tantrum, though, was Mr Grumpy didn’t witness it. He’s always wanted to see me lose it. The sad thing is, though, I have to be very careful not to lose it again, so I’m hoping he will never see me throw my toys out of the pram.