I went shopping for interview clothes, today. I didn’t bother looking through my closet to see if I actually needed anything, first. I simply took a shower, put on makeup (a rare occurrence), took a blow drier to my hair (another rarity), held my head up high and pointed the car towards Macy’s.
Macy’s was not my first choice. My first choice was Anthropologie; however, Macy’s is much more affordable. And a lot closer. And since it was getting close to rush hour, and I’m still unemployed, and I need to be practical about anything I purchase these days, I headed to Macy’s.
I told myself that today would be a good day to shop. My hair is long, now, and that’s the real kicker: I feel far more beautiful than I did a year ago. And I did have on makeup. Also, I actually wore a jacket I purchased at Anthropologie back when we still had money. And heels. And my new (cheap but at least they’re new) jeans.
The problem really started the first time I passed a mirror and saw myself out of the corner of my eye. I looked nothing like I had looked when I left home. I was hunched over. I had no neck. I was greyish-brown all over. And that’s when it happened. That’s when it always happens: I turned in to a freak of nature.
I became certain that everyone in my vicinity was distracted by my freakishness, disturbed by my presence. Became certain that even beyond the ‘freak’ judgement they were all throwing my way was the immediate certitude they all shared that I was digusting; weak, self-indulgent, reprehensible.
Now, I should interject here that I am aware, when this happens, that it is a symptom of insecurity. I went to a dressing room and stared at myself face-on in the mirror until I liked what I saw again, but that only fixed things for a few minutes. I felt guilty and ashamed for wanting to buy something for tomorrow’s interview. I felt guilty and ashamed for being so fat. I felt guilty and ashamed for not knowing how to put a simple interview outfit together; for being so unsure about weather to wear panty hose, a dress, a skirt, slacks, a blazer… I began to fixate on my body in front of the mirror. The slackness everywhere. The fat stomach that pouches out in such an ugly way even when I don’t know it’s doing it, even when I thought it wasn’t (but that was before I caught a sideways glimpse of myself). The hair that turned dry, brittle and flyaway the minute I stepped in the store.
As I continued shopping I became certain of one other thing: that nobody will hire me. Nobody. That it doesn’t matter who I meet in an interview – I will be rejected because of the disgusting freak thing. And because if that doesn’t drive them away, my paranoia will.
The intensity of my insecurity is such that it messes with my ability to think clearly, to speak clearly, to make sense. I know I come across as someone with something to hide. I added ‘criminal’ to the list of things I figured the other customers I passed were labeling me. If and when I did see someone who appeared to work at the store, I assumed they were simply following me at a discrete distance to ensure that I didn’t steal something.
Last night I told David that I was going to write down every fear I have about going back to work, and about interviewing for a job. So I’ve started this post to do just that. The hope, by the way, is that I will be able to face these fears head on. That I will be able to sort the wheat from the chaff.
God but I feel so strongly that I have lost myself somewhere along the way. And yet, that doesn’t make any sense at all. With the exception of a year (one, single year) when I first moved to Austin, almost all of my clothes shopping expeditions since I was a teenager have felt the same way. From 107 to 177 and everywhere in between – I simply panic when I am shopping. But panicking about finding a job is something new.
It feels pretty much the same, though.
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