I drank their KoolAid, then one day, out of the blue, they waterboarded me with it.
One day, the CEO took me to a café and said “The business is dismissing you. We can’t tell you why. The decision is final.”
They still won’t tell me why.
My supervisor hasn’t been in touch.
The Directors won’t answer my email.
In the absence of honesty, the vicious weeds of rumour have blossomed in the agency. Former colleagues have been told not to contact me. The references that management promised haven’t materialised.
“Move on” my girlfriend soothes. Yet my brain won’t let me.
Why?
Why?
Why?
My head scans every word, email, incident and meeting and still comes up blank. I did nothing wrong and I know it, but my nervous system doesn’t.
It’s 52 days since it happened and every day, my heart races, my sleep is tormented by nightmares, and my stomach only reluctantly accepts food. Still my emails replies are blank.
“We thought it would be kinder for you not to know” they say when I phone them.
“You can’t do this” I cry.
“We can. You had less than 24 months service” they purr.
I try freelancing. But now, my head is filled with cotton wool. “I’m not good enough/ I must have lied to get where I am/ I’ll get found out here/ I should go back to being a junior/ everyone can see I’m an amateur” says the devil at my shoulder. I leave and return home to pyjamas and a fizzy mind.
I put my wedding plans on hold. I’m not good enough.
I send a late night email asking again for some heart. Why did I get thrown out with no explanation? I erase the formalities this time and suggest the physical and mental pain that I’m experiencing, always dancing a fine line between professional and confessional.
Click. Send.
My email bounces back.
The next day, I find out I’m not alone.
Another domino has fallen. Another desk wiped clean, another victim told “We’ve just decided we don’t want you.”
And on the agency smiles ...