DNR

I don't know why I write these things sometimes. I don't know if anyone has ever actually read these. Well, most therapy goes unnoticed.

Early Friday morning I finished two things. At three in the morning, right before I crept into my bed, I finished off my final pack of cigarettes - at least, I hope my last pack. Around 9:00, after several hours of much needed sleep, I finished my semester by typing and printing off six papers. Because of my lazy nature, I didn't finish everything until a couple of hours before I left. Yet, in light of everything, it was still better than other semesters I have had. For example, last year I didn't finish until a month or so after school was finished.

The mental clock struck noon and I was sitting in the back of a van waiting to head home. My seventh semester finished. I can't believe I have gotten this far. The semester went by faster than the last 24 hours. It isn't that I don't like being home; it's just that I received bad news Friday afternoon.

I stepped out of Dewey's van. I unpacked my belongings, along with my sister's, and I carried them inside. Pumpkin and Gracie, the family greyhounds, greeted me at the backdoor. They pranced and yelped until they realized that I was the only one that was going to come through the door. They returned to the living room and I started heading for my room. There's a bitter-sweet nostalgic feel I get whenever I enter my room. It's almost as if the carpet is kindly telling me that I am no longer standing in my room, but a room I occupy. The subtle, empty unfamiliarity of the room quickly haunts me. The feeling will sleep with me for a few days, but soon the feeling is replaced by a desire for my childhood. But by that time, I am usually heading back to school.

There were three letters waiting on the dresser for me. The first was a bill from Geneva. I forget what the second letter contained. The final letter was earth-shaking. It was the messenger everyone wanted to shoot. To think that a letter can throw someone into an emotional tornado, but it happens.

When I first saw the letter I thought, "CTY, oh, this must be repetitive tax information." I was wrong. Dead wrong. Here is a portion of the letter:

In reviewing your performance from last summer, we have determined that we will not have a position to offer you next summer, and so we will not be recruiting you for the 2008 summer programs. Both your direct supervisors and I were concerned that your emotional volatility did not allow you to have the necessary professional distance between you and the students on your hall. Your second session student evaluations were also problematic. This has been a difficult decision because we fully recognize your enthusiasm for working at CTY...
Thank you for your contributions to CTY this summer. We wish you the best.

Wow, talk about shit hitting the fan. See, I usually keep the fan running on high, so as you can see or smell, that's a lot of shit hitting the walls - and I have white walls. I should have hired a different interior decorator. Maybe I should have bought a fan that didn't attract shit.

Before I say anything about the letter, I want to say something about CTY. I loved CTY. There has never been a job that I enjoyed doing more. I loved the kids, I loved working with the people I worked with, and I love the challenges it provided. However, I guess it doesn't love me - a pattern I am starting to recognize everywhere. CTY taught me that I could work with people who were radically different than me. I came to love people I never thought I could love. Secondly, the memories I made are ones that are going to last a lifetime. I hope a lifetime. I grew attached to my students because many of them came from homes that weren't the best. I loved them because no one else would, and because of my emotions, I have been booted off the island.

After the summer session is over, parents and others can comment on any aspect of the program and these comments are taken into consideration. I guess some people made too many comments about me. "He didn't treat my son the way he treated everyone else." Well, maybe if your son didn't make blow job gestures than I would have been nicer. Maybe if your son didn't make grotesque dolls out of duct tape, I would have accepted him better. Maybe if your son learned to respect other cultures, I would have asked him how his day was going more often. Yes, I did become "close" to some of the guys on the floor. I didn't do anything wrong with them. I was friendly with them because they didn't treat me like shit. I care about the people I work for, with, and who I have to take care of. Yes, I am guilty for being emotional. My faith calls me to be compassionate. I guess my faith isn't accepted at CTY. Can you believe the nerve of my 19 year old SRA, "You need to be less emotional." That's easy for someone who was a self-indulging Hedonist.

Sure I had some run-ins with some of the people I worked with, but they were being dicks. It wore on my pretty fast, but I guess I got to pay for it, too. Maybe it was the fact that I wanted to tell the "Blue Balls" story the first night I got there. The story is a lot less vulgar than something of the things that were going on during CTY. Maybe it was the fact that I told my boss that I was attracted to her. Everyone else thought she was attracted to me, too. I guess that's a mistake I am willing to make. I am glad I had the balls to tell her. I am a blunt person. I am not going to sit on my hands and wait for things to blow over. I just don't live my life that way.

Then again, maybe I was just too depressed to do anything useful. Maybe they hated the way I acted. Maybe they couldn't deal with the fact that I make an ass of myself so that everyone else can relax.

Whatever, this letter shook me to the bone. Why? Because no matter what, I loved the job. And I guess I thought I did the job pretty damn well. What I can't believe is the way people treated me. During the summer they would say how I was doing a wonderful job or how they enjoyed working with me. I guess I am a gullible dipshit. But the nerve of some people, you tell people one thing and then you mean a completely different thing.

I just wish they wouldn't have been so foggy with their description of what I did wrong. How the hell am I supposed to change my behavior? And why wouldn't you give me a second chance? Did I do something that awful? Maybe I just get stuck with awful kids, or maybe I just don't know how to interact with kids that don't know Christ.

There are a lot of maybes and few answers.

Yes, the tone of this blog is meant to be angry. I am angry, I am broken, and I am just too frustrated to think clear headed. I just thought I had something to offer.

What frustrates me the most is the tone of the letter. It sounded as if they didn't want me to contribute anything to CTY...ever. I mean, they freaking ended it with "Thank you for your contributions to CTY this summer. We wish you the best." First off, they obviously aren't thankful for my contributions - they FIRED ME! Second, "We wish you the best." The best of what? Luck? "We wish you the best therapy money can buy." Obviously they think I am incompetent. But because the job has always been kind to me, I thought, what the hell, maybe I will give them some money if I ever make any. But I won't now. I mean, they really don't care about me, do they? Or maybe they do? I don't know, but I can kind of tell that they don't want me involved in any way. I wish it wasn't this way.

On the other hand, God knows what he is doing with me. He knows I have something greater in my future. However, I just wish I didn't have this awful letter to deliver that news.

I am a DNR - DO NOT REHIRE. Damn, never thought three letters would hurt me so much.

With much confusion and frustration,

Christian Eriksson