Hard Press
An unfinished short story of a Highly Educated Black Woman
Brianna held her breath until she couldn’t any longer. Grasping for air she went back to breathing normally.
Box breathing used to work, at least momentarily during stressful times, but her anxiety was so high recently she resorted to simulating her own death just to reset her nervous system.
Some mornings she would wake up confused and exhausted from arguing, and stressing and running in her dreams. Nightmares were a constant feature in her life, often taking the shape of letting someone down, missing important meetings, having conflict within her workteam, or overhearing that everyone hates her. She wondered if anyone ever felt rested after sleep.
Today was her interview with Wake Forest University. Her chance to get out of the known hell of her current teaching position. But fear still surrounded her every thought. “The devil you know”, she kept reciting in her head.
She lost track of when her mind became such a negative space, perhaps it always was. She remembers her peers in graduate school always touting about how positive she was, but graduate school was also the start of her mental health problems. In hindsight, she was most likely outwardly positive just to offset the amount of social anxiety she felt in her majority privileged and white private graduate university.
The graduate school was one from a story book. Her classes were in little homes, her professors were widely known, the opportunities were ever present. Unfortunately, majority of the opportunities she earned she also fumbled. Depression bound her to the bed for up to 14 hours a day and anxiety kept her from putting in any good effort towards projects and assignments. She was fired from two on-campus jobs, in very dramatic and devastating ways, and just silently ghosted her third on-campus job. By the end of her program she had a PhD in psychology and years of built up low self-esteem.
Now 6 years later, well into her 30s with a family of her own, her mind is riddled with self-loathing, self-pitty, and constant fear. Where was that daring, confident young woman she once was in undergrad?
In an all Black suit, with her mid-size fro out in fresh twist out, she sat in front of her home computer 30 minutes prior to her Zoom interview. She tested the spot, and lighting the day before but wanted to get on from her own zoom account early just to double check. It always felt like she would double check the things that don’t need double checking and overlook the things that did. She just kept failing it felt like. But today, she had to be a little different, pick her self-esteem out of the toilet, shake it dry and wave it around like racists do with the confederate flag.
Interviews were performances and Brianna loved to act, or at least she used to. She trusted that she could throw on the charm and win over the committee. If they liked her application packet enough for a first interview, there should be nothing in her way now. But the stake are different. She had to consider her husband and her 2 year old son in this career decision. Attempting to sell their home that they just bought and uproot their family would be a tall ask, and a great deal of pressure. But for the next hour and a half she had to control her brain enough to not think about the worse case scenario.
It’s one o’clock in the middle of October, the sun is shining bright in the sky and Brianna wished she could just be a child again and run freely, basking in the sunlight. With 5 minutes left, she straightened her notes on her desk for the 5th time and refilled her coffee mug with water, she intentionally chose her must professional looking mug, all black with no logo or print.
Her office was the back bedroom in her home, a 10 to 10 foot room with one wall painted a bright fuchsia pink. This was supposed to be her dream home office, but as a tight wad with money, she felt uncomfortable spending the necessary funds to support the bold fuchsia wall. Instead, the room looked like an unfinished child’s playroom. She considered sitting in front of the painted wall for her interview, but thoughts of “professional” flooded her mind, which she resented with a passion.
In the previous year she participated on a hiring committee for her department and felt very confident in the types of questions they would ask, and attractive answers. She researched the school thoroughly, the private university located in Winston-Salem, North Carolina department of psychology prided themselves on acknowledging and respecting cultural differences and strive for inclusion. They even used the bad word “diversity” which was banned at her current university and part of the reason she wanted out.
Plastering a smile and saying the affirmations her mother desperately wanted her to use, she felt ready for the interview.
****
Signing a non-sucide contract felt like one of the lowest points in Briana’s life. She cried a tamed and professional cry in the small primary care physician’s office, wanting to completely fall to pieces but knowing that there is truly no public place that can hold that type of space.
When she was younger she dreamed of her adult life and signing a contract stating that she will not kill or harm herself was not in the plan. Where did it all go wrong? Was her path doomed from the start, was it one or several decisions that led her to this dismal and embarrassing fate? Is this just the nature of adulthood? What the absolute fuck is happening?
Sometimes Briana dreamt of escaping her life. NOT by killing herself, she did sign that contract and although it was a small and embarrassing declaration she was holding herself to that promise. She dreamed of doing something that was just different. Like going on tour with Chris Brown as a backup dancer, or doing a set at an open mic, or shit anything honestly, anything that wasn’t blah blah blah chores, blah blah blah parenthood, blah blah blah work.
But finally she got a doctor to listen and give a damn to the mess she calls her life. Finally, the doctor prescribed her an SSRI, prior to this moment it felt like SSRI were given only to people that knew the secret password. I guess the password was, “I’m going to kill myself.” But now that she has the SSRI in hand, now a host of other issues started to flood her mind. What if this isn’t the answer? What if this makes things and life worse? She wanted to start taking the medicine right away when she was told that the doctor has put in the prescription. But after picking it up from the pharmacy and having her Husband read out the side effects she worried if there was anything that could truly fix her.
She decided not to take the medicine, mostly out of fear. Fear that she would wake up 15 hours later missing work and feeling like shit. She decided that she would take it tomorrow.
Life is very mysterious. During class, her students delivered elevator pitches. All relatively nervous but one student a military vet presented in such a distant and nerve racking way. It was strange. After class the student approached her very tight and tense looking professional and polished clearly took the assignment seriously. She asked “Will we have to do any more presentations?” Immediately Brianna thought she was fishing for more opportunities to practice, and hesitated to answer because there weren’t too many more. It was interesting because this student at the beginning of the semester was very vocal, answering questions and contributing to small group discussions, so her elevator pitch was surprising but practice makes perfect. Clearly she wanted more chances to practice. But with the hesitation the student filled the awkward silence with more information. “Because this was too much for me. I have PTSD and I could barely take doing this.” Brianna was used to this, with a family background in the military she was sensitive and empathic to PTSD from the military, how could anyone not. “You can get an accommodation, we can tailor something for you.” Immediately and a little too quick to the point were it felt like her words felt like a slap “No I do not do that.” Confused Brianna wondered what this student wants. No accommodation but wants to make sure the class just happens to fit with her personal needs. She continues to talk in a sharp but emotionally distant manner. She shares “I’ve been on SSRIs for my PTSD and I haven’t felt any emotions for weeks.” WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?
Why do coincidences happen in ways to teach you lessons, why isnt it coincidences like - I was just thinking about how I needed a million dollars and wouldn’t you know…
Briana attempted to keep her mind at the present moment more motivated to calm the feelings of the student than to be present in her thinking. She ensured the student that, this will be the last presentation, which later she realized was a lie. They will actually be doing something more nerve racking, engaging in mock interviews in the front of the classroom. But she was only able to remember hours after. The main thought that circulated her mind was “shit, I have an SSRI.”
Brianna’s mind could not let that go, she couldn’t wait to share it with her Husband. She believed the student but how could the student have no felt emotions but clearly have felt stress and anxiety over the presentation? Wouldn’t those emotions be the better emotions to block? But the student absolutely was impacted by the medicine and there was a lack of engagement when she spoke. Wow, life is too damn hard.
What would the medicine do for her? The horror stories are now in center stage. But why couldn’t she ever just be happy. Prior to getting the prescription she was upset that she didn’t have access to this medicine now having access she worried that it will make her worse. What reality can she live in that feels more like a win-win and not a lose-lose all the time?
*******
“All hail Briana, queen of us all. Her glory has entered the room, please bow.” The grand marshalls proudly declared fitted in their black hoodies and grey suitpants. The two men were beyond fine, one with long black locs, brown skin, and full round lips, the other with a mini curly fro with beautiful deep brown eyes. Their prints were showing, big and thick and just her type, as all of her staff were, intentionally and purposefully.
When she walks the ground feels plush underneath her bare feet as they glide on the velvet carpet that is always laid out when she walks. The deal she made years ago with her now buddy, the fairy of goodness, promised her health and wellness all the days of her life without any effort or pain. She never had to work out and her body was beyond banging.