Three years ago, I finished my masters degree and fell into the black hole that is unemployment. I lived in an eight square meter student room, was ill and borderline burned out to start with, sent out job-application after job-application after job-application. I received no unemployment pay from the government because I was under 26 and apparently when you're under 26 you're magical and capable of existing on air determination alone. I felt utterly, completely useless and, this being only the start of the crisis and the rise of the unemployment-rate, got told by many people that I wouldn't have any trouble finding a job if only I just 'worked harder' or 'got better at job-applications'. It was one of the darkest winters in my life and, when I finally did start finding both meaning and employment late that spring, the one thing I resolved never to do again.
This week I found out my contract at my current job might not be renewed due to unexpected, unrestrained, unnecessary budget-cuts. It was like the ground opened up and swallowed me whole.
I'd taken this job for the job-security of it. While IT-helpdesk work was never my dream-job, it gives me a steady income upon which to built my dreams and a group of people that I love working with. It gives me the certainty that even if the yellow-brick-road leads nowhere, my ruby slippers will still protect my feet as I follow it and my companions will catch me when I fall.
While I still think back to that winter three years ago and shudder, I hadn't realised how much I fear it returning until, this Monday, it became a very real possibility. Suddenly, it was like my throat closed up and I couldn't breath. Like I was back there in that tiny room with the walls closing in on me and nowhere to go. Like I was once again utterly useless, utterly worthless and utterly helpless to do anything about it.
Like I was stuck in a nightmare with no way to wake up.
It's an odd thing, fear. I know that this time around, things are different. I live in an apartment where each individual room is larger than that one room I had back then. I am much more balanced, emotionally. I have meaningful work that allows me to make a difference in the world, even if I don't get paid for it. I am 26 and thus the government acknowledges that I need food and a roof over my head to survive. Society is much more aware of the fact that not having a job doesn't mean you're incompetent, just unlucky. I am much more aware of that.
And yet, thinking of the possibility that come January 21th, I might not have a job, I choke up and freeze, the sheer terror of being unemployed again taking over my body and incapacitating it. I feel myself teetering on the edge of a cliff, nothing but yawning emptiness beyond. I know this is irrational, I know it's not even certain and I know that things are different now. That doesn't help any. The only thing I have, the only thing I cling to is this: I have survived before. I can do it again.
And only after I realise that, after I realise my own strength and capability I realise something else too; maybe, just maybe? I won't have to.
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