More Than A Job

I grew up in a loving home with a wonderful family who wished nothing but the best for me. I was an only child, and was endlessly spoiled due to the lack of a sibling to share the spotlight in our home, but I remained forever kind and respectful to those around me and intended to become the best version of myself the more I learned and grew.

As I approached my teenage years, my brain began to cloud, and it felt as if the wiring throughout my body and mind had begun to tangle. The first memory I have of this feeling is myself at eleven years old.

A diary entry, in a journal that I had kept to plan my outfits for the next day of school and reflect on childlike crushes and interests. I would have forgotten this particular entry if I had not later stumbled upon the journal, torn and bent at the edges from years of collecting dust in a cluttered closet.

This entry reflected my confusion at what I was beginning to experience, and it contained a string of words formed into a sentence no child should ever sit down to write.

This was only the beginning, and as I entered high school, my mood continued to inexplicably plummet.

Years of being told I was a gifted child began to weigh heavily on my mind as I suddenly struggled to force myself out of bed in the morning. I would carelessly throw on the same tattered Abercrombie hoodie I had now worn for days on end, pull on a pair of black jeans and brush my hair so recklessly it would look just as disastrous as it had when I awoke. My focus would be less on schoolwork and more on just making it through the day.

Naturally, my parents began to notice this change in my behaviour and grew concerned. My mother would desperately reach out to find someone, anyone, to have a word with me and help me understand what could possibly have gotten twisted up within me.

I was around fifteen years old when my journey of seeking support for my mental health began, and it has continued to this day.

After many sessions with a psychiatrist and a therapist, my diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder would shed a light on the root of my debilitating anxiety and desolate moods.

Anxiety would overtake me on a daily basis, and leaving the house at all was an extraordinary feat. I began to participate in online schooling rather than attending a normal high school with my friends, but even through this I could not maintain the grades and excellence I had once been able to achieve. I did the best I could at the time, and I am well aware of this, but to this day I wish I could have done more.

As the years passed by, I continued my regular sessions with the professionals supporting me and cycled through numerous medications in an attempt to find the right combination for my brain, but these would only alleviate the symptoms. There was no cure for my disorder, only treatment.

Even on this cocktail of experimental medications, I would often spiral into a darkness so deep I couldn't imagine pulling myself to the surface at times. I pushed on despite this.

I began searching for a job, and failed at many before I found something that seemed to not only suit me but bring me a sense of happiness.

I began working at a bookstore chain. The chain was expanding into more of a department store, but this particular location was far down on the list of renovations and still maintained the homely bookstore feel that us bookworms adore.

I missed the days of my childhood that I would spent soaring through books of five hundred pages in a single afternoon. I hoped that my new place of work would reignite the spark I once held so dearly within my love of reading.

While I worked, I felt a sense of success I hadn't experience in as long as I could remember. I remember a particular instance where my old primary care doctor, who had first offered me assistance for my growing depression and anxiety, was shopping in the store. He was shocked to see me here, and asked how long I had been working. I had informed him that I had been here for months now, and tears filled my old doctor's eyes.

"I never could have predicted you holding onto a job like this with how much you were struggling. I'm so proud of you. Go home and tell your mother you made me cry."

I nearly broke down in tears on the spot.

Alongside my own success, my team of coworkers and management felt more like a family than a set of employees, and one of them stands out to me as someone who deserves a place in this story that I will hold dear to my heart forever.

For privacy reasons, I will refer to him as Patrick. Patrick was my manager at this bookstore, and he was well loved by customers and employees alike. We considered him a friend before a manager, but still had the utmost respect for him and the rules and regulations put in place by the company.

Patrick was not the typical manager that you would expect to hold onto the classic rule of focusing only on work and leaving your personal problems behind when you clock in for your shift. He seemed aware of any struggles his team may be experiencing outside of work and cared deeply for each and every one of us.

I was in a particularly dark place one day when I placed an order for a book to be delivered to the store for me. The title of the book made the topic very clear, and I had neglected to consider any concern this may cause as I believed it would simply go unnoticed as it was packaged and prepared for me to pick up.

After retrieving the book and attending my next shift, I was called into the office by Patrick. He motioned for me to have a seat, and took his own in his fancy leather office chair across from me.

"I noticed you ordered a book into the store recently, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay." he says, his voice full of sincerity and his usual care.

I couldn't manage to hold back the emotions that began to overflow within me at the realization that somebody noticed, somebody cared.

Patrick informed me that I could reach out to him anytime, day or night, by phone or even by personal email. He would always be there.

It was late one evening when I relented and picked up the phone to call Patrick. I was struggling through one of the more difficult periods of my life, and didn't know who else to turn to. I knew I had other friends and family that cared deeply for me, but I felt that at this time Patrick was the person that would express no judgement towards myself or this situation.

During this call, and the unfortunate word-vomit regarding my circumstances, the weight started to leave my chest and I regained a sense of calm. Despite assuring Patrick that I would be okay, thank you, he would offer a few more minutes just to be sure that I was telling the truth and needed nothing more. I felt guilty for exposing him to this part of my life that I held so much shame towards, but the relief of this support and understanding meant so much more.

Some time later after I began to run low on money and needed a higher paying job, I reluctantly left the bookstore behind, but Patrick stayed in my life. He would occasionally reach out to ensure I was doing alright, and if my responses of positivity weren't entirely convincing, he would gently offer up the same question again to give me an opportunity to be honest.

I was endlessly grateful for this friendship. Our communications, other than the check ins, were filled with book recommendations and shared opinions about current events.

I recall an email I received from Patrick at 12:01am on January 17th one year. It read:

"Hi Olivia, it's 12:01 and it's your birthday! Happy Birthday!"

My birthday had never been something I held any form of excitement towards, but this particular message filled my eyes with tears. The little things, the small steps people have taken to display care towards me in my life, always meant the most.

A few years have passed now. Patrick has since retired from his position, and made this choice during the pandemic as the importance of family and friends grew so much clearer to us all amongst the chaos of the world.

Despite his retirement, we have kept in touch. I last spoke to Patrick only a few days ago, and he was excited to share with me the wonderful expansions to his family as well as listen to my stories and updates on my own life. He continues to check in during every phone call, often repeating the questions later just to be sure that I am continuing to be honest.

My love of reading stalled during the pandemic, but as my communication with Patrick continued, I fell back into the hobby. I was excited about our calls to discuss each other's recommendations and our reviews for the most recent books we had read. My reading list is longer than ever, but I am progressing faster knowing that I have a friend to share my experiences in the world of fiction with along the way.

Today, a couple of hours short of my birthday, I have found myself reflecting on all of the heroes of my own story. Each and every one of them deserves a letter of their own, but this one is dedicated to the unexpected hero I discovered in a manager.

My mental health continues to take a toll on a daily basis, yet, I have grown more than I ever thought possible. Recovery is a daily battle, and treatment will continue for the foreseeable future, but I have learned so much about love and kindness during the battle.

Patrick's effortless light and kindness effects everyone that has the pleasure of interacting with him. He holds the same genuine respect and care for each and every living being that crosses his path. To this day, regular customers of the bookstore return and inquire about his whereabouts. He maintains a special place in the heart and minds of each of his old employees. Simply mentioning his name to any of them will cause them to launch into a memorable story or moment of hilarity that they experienced during their interactions with Patrick.

Patrick's duty was one of a manager. His job description did not include bringing the thought of his employees home with him, but he would do it anyway.

Patrick would offer the shirt off his back to anyone who may need it, even if there would be nothing to gain in return except a smile or a nod.

Upon the mention of his name to my parents, they smile and reiterate how wonderful of a person they believe Patrick to be. They're aware of how much he has done for me over the years and hold a deep respect for him. Patrick had provided an extra layer of support to my life that gave my parents a sense of comfort in knowing their daughter was safe even outside of their line of sight.

As my battle with mental health continues, my appreciation for my heroes only grows.

Patrick, I could never fully express how much your support and kindness has meant to me over the years. I never could have asked for such an amazing friend, and I never could have predicted it being in the form of a manager. I only hope that I can show the people around me the same amount of positivity you have shown me. You make the world a better place every day, and our opportunities to speak about books and our lives together always brighten my day.

Thank you for all you have done and continue to do. I can't imagine what my life would be like today without that impulsive application to a customer service job at a bookstore. I don't believe I would have had the same level of success within that job if I had had anyone else guiding me alone the way.

Sincerely,

A friend