My anxiety builds listening to Edith and one of my other supervisors
talk about the new virus. I’m chopping carrots, trying not to show that I’m
listening to their conversation. With the first COVID-19 cases reported in
Saskatchewan and a pandemic declared, many people are absent today, and the day
program will likely shut down, too. A day program is a sheltered workshop for
people with disabilities to learn job skills and to prepare them for being out
in the community.
“RaeAnne, do you
have a minute?” Sarah, my program director, asks. She is standing in the
doorway.
“You can go with
her,” Edith says, seemingly defeated. “But please, make the right choice. I can’t
run this kitchen without you.”
I stop chopping,
wash my hands, and follow Sarah to the meeting room, where Carol is already
waiting with a pen and notebook. I sit across from them.
Sarah says, “As you
know, there is a pandemic, and we are giving some clients a choice. You can
continue working here, but that means no contact with anyone outside the agency
except for weekly supervised phone calls with your parents. You’ll also need to
quit your other job, the one you got through that political party.”
“The other option
is to temporarily drop out of the program,” Carol adds. “Which means you won’t
be allowed to come to work, and you won’t have support workers. However, you
can continue your other job. Also, you can communicate with whoever you want.”
I’m quiet for a
moment, pondering the options. “Could I think about it and give you an answer
by the end of the day?”
“Of course,” they
both say.
I’ve already
decided, but I want to make it seem like I’ve put more thought into it. They
don’t know that I’ve already been considering leaving Opportunity Works.
Back in the
kitchen, Edith asks, “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m
thinking about it. I’ll make my decision by the end of the day,” I answer,
keeping my decision to myself.
“If it was my
choice, I would stay working. Your job is the most important thing there is,”
Edith says. “You know you won’t ever get a job anywhere else. It’s best you
stay here where you are safe and accepted.”
Am I really “accepted”?
You constantly point out everything I do wrong. When I do something right, you
take credit for it. Doesn’t feel very accepting to me. I smile and nod, how I always respond to
Edith. My involvement with the Melville-Saltcoats New Democratic Party of
Saskatchewan (Sask NDP) Executive has given me self-confidence and made me
question some of the things the staff at Opportunity Works have told me.
I give my answer at
the end of the day to temporarily drop out of the program. I figure I can
manage just fine on my own. The support workers have mostly just visited and
not helped me for the past few months. The rules have also become much tighter,
restricting my freedom and choices.
Listening to the
music I enjoy is a luxury reserved for my monthly trips to Regina to see The
Honky Tonk Heroes at Canuck’s Corner Pub. Otherwise, I must listen to the music
the rest of the clients like, even when I have headphones on or when I’m at
home.
Other rules that
have come into effect are mandatory attendance for group outings, even on
weekends, no refusing help from anyone, and that we must take our breaks
together and talk to each other during those breaks.
As a result of my
past mistakes, I have to turn in my phone at the start of the day. I get it
back during breaks for good behaviour, but if I have a bad day or make
mistakes, I will not have my phone until the end of the day. There are probably
dedicated storage lockers for all the write-ups about me.
I have never truly
felt like I fit in at Opportunity Works right from the beginning, and the
feeling only intensified over the years. I’ve been searching for a chance to
escape for some time now.
I leave at the end
of the day and wonder how things will look when I return.
I put my earphones
on, tap play on Spotify, and get ready to walk home. A familiar song by one of
my favourite musicians from Regina begins to play. My thumb hovers over the
next button, knowing I’ll be in trouble for listening to it. Oh right! They
won’t be checking anymore!
I let the song
continue playing. I empathize with the couple in the song, trapped in an
unfulfilling life situation they can’t escape from, filled with regrets about
not leaving sooner. I can’t help but relate to their emotions, feeling trapped
in a life that doesn’t bring me happiness. I regret not leaving when I was
younger. It’s too late now.
Several weeks pass.
I’m on a phone call
with Jared, the boss of the casual job I got with my involvement with the Sask
NDP. I confide in him about how I feel trapped in my current life.
He says, “RaeAnne,
I’m going to ask you something I don’t want an answer to. I want you to just
think about it. What do you actually need support with?”
The simplicity and
complexity of that question take me aback. After ending the call, I lie on my
bed, deeply contemplating Jared’s words.
What do I
actually need support with?
I ask myself and drift into a daydream.
Comments
Post a Comment