Dear Myself,
I see kids, running around and making noise, crashing plastic cups down onto the floor with a bang and arguing over the toys in the sandpit by the window. That sums up the first week me and Michelle have had working at the nursery. It was choes from the get go. Kids can be cute but also cruel, never did I think they would be extremely hyperactive though. After getting the good luck messages from Tammy, we entered through the doors of the nursery on Tuesday morning to be greeted by our new boss and team leader. The rules were simple, keep a firm eye on the kids, take them to the toilet whenever they needed it and break up fighting if it happened in front of us. Needless to say, my legs were sore from constantly running around.
With my anxiety, you get that doubt in your mind about life choices. I was utterly thinking during and after the first day if working with kids was really for me. I mean, the behaviour from some of them towards me and Michelle at times was shocking. I get that the age range is under five years old but you would think that they would appreciate the fun we both want to bring to the play times and learning, not call us mean names. She was tired after the first shift but somehow still upbeat, trying to talk some sense into me that the first day was always going to be the hardest. But with my anxiety, I'm just not feeling it at all. What if I had a panic attack in front of them? They would have no idea how to respond to that. It would be hell putting them at such a young age through the stage of contacting the emergency services and I end up in hospital looking like a fool.
The following day, I woke up to the ears ringing, still from the screaming and crying yesterday of two little girls, sisters in fact who had both had a row with each other and wouldn't stay quiet even with our team leader’s attempts to remind them that we were new and only here to help. I can't help thinking about whether my appearance had something to do with the first day being uncomfortable. I don't look like an eighteen year old but then again, I am not a fan of looking like a thirty year old either. I need a new image and fast! Hopefully next term, I will book an appointment with first a hairdresser and then in one of the department stores, a makeup expert and have a top quality change to myself which is a crave of mine.
When I got to the nursery on Wednesday, I realised just as I dumped my bag in the back room out of sight that my fake nose stud was still in. It's against health and safety procedures to wear studs in this particular nursery but somehow, I really didn't want to take it out. For the first time, it felt comfortable, and me, truly truly me. Instead, Michelle whispered in my ear that I shouldn't get in trouble so early on in the placement so as I sulked, the kids continued to scream. No wonder my head ached come home time and again the legs sore from standing up too long. I remembered that I had the therapist's number still logged onto my phone so I sent a quick text asking for an appointment before leaving to escape to the tea store and away from the drama. I didn't wait for my girl because I was trying not to let her see me upset. Phone off, I walked down towards the aroma of tea and ordered a brew as soon as I stepped through the glass double doors.
I can see myself working around tea, I mean, not only can you brew it for other customers and chat about it but also, you can sample all of the flavours in the storeroom downstairs out of sight and kind of not get into trouble for doing so? I write that with a smirk, it's such a sneaky thing to do but since I've started to go in there, everyone is super friendly and the jobs not stressful whatsoever. No vacancies at the moment but will be keeping an eye out should the College course fall completely through. My sore legs took me in the opposite direction from the bus station and instead down a busy street, past cafes and houses on the market for a couple of million pounds. A fountain in the middle caught my eye as a flock of seagulls tried to push each other off the marble and into the water. Still, I walked and walked until I finally came to a halt by a bridge over a set of railway tracks. I was to stay there for a while.
I needed space, time, thinking. My mind constantly liked to play evil tricks on me. I am not good enough Diary, for Michelle, for the City College, for the kids and most importantly for myself. The cold snap in the weather certainly hasn't helped my mood much. Snapping open my notebook, I slowly started to write the start of a story, I may continue it but… I'll just add it in here.
Unwanted
Once upon a time, stood a young girl alone as the crowds flocked by. No-one saw her, she was a ghost, a flicker in the mind that came to haunt. Her body floated gently towards a busy street filled with loud music and good cheer. Just as she stepped forwards, a freak gust of wind spiralled into the air and blew her off course towards the next street over. An abandoned one with boarded up shops and broken bottles on the side.
A small tear trickled down her cheek as her left hand reached up to feel her way forward. “Do you want to end up like this?” she heard from out of nowhere. “No, I don't.” She tried to say but the words wouldn't come out. One crash, two crashes, a third before her eyelids fluttered open again. She was now at a bridge occupied by a single robin sitting on the stone. Reminding her that she was home, the place destiny had chosen for her.
“Times up.” chirped the robin. She knew for sure that whatever happened yesterday, the outcome would occur today. What about tomorrow? Would anyone come for the poor little girl?
End
That's all I've written for Unwanted so far, now looking back on it, it does feel rather depressing but hoping that I can write some more uplifting words soon. I did get home OK but avoided everyone, College was awkward on Thursday but with Friday a day off, the half term could finally start. Michelle is waking up now so it's time to crawl into her arms and let her understand that I still love her.
Yours,
Morwenna.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
