To be stared at like you are a mad-hatter on crack...then to be questioned about your sanity. If anybody (let alone your boss) asks you whether you are "well"....then, for fuck's sake, why on earth would you ever say no? Unless I'm bleeding out my left ear and my limbs are amputated...I have no fucking reason to divulge about how "unwell" I may feel. Christ's sake people....I don't walk around assuming the role of a god damn victim. I am well as far as you all are concerned. I AM VERY WELL, thank you for asking.
Mortified at the series of events that took place yesterday...and my poorly executed efforts to compensate. I thought i was an amazing actress....until i watched myself crash-and-burn trying to prove how "happy and well" i was to the entire office staff. I think at one point I was rambling about how I've traveled to such amazing places...and how my life is the epitome of quality bliss. Instead of coming off as "stable and happy"...I just came off as a fucking snob...and possibly perpetuated the "erratic-psycho" label.
Can somebody say Britney-batshitcrazy-Spears circa 2007? Can somebody say Lindsay-lunatic-Lohan circa...all her life? Paging Dr. Damage-Control.
Just as all the commotion was settling down...I started having chest pain. Talk about bad timing. Too afraid to cause any more drama, I didn't dare say anything about my potential heart attack. I figured if I ignored it...it would go away? But the pain just kept getting worse...so i retreated to the break-room to get some tea. I was leaning forward in my chair, with my head between my knees, clutching my chest....when one of the secretaries walked into the room....I didn't even hear her come in! She freaked out when she saw me sitting all funny in the chair....in a matter of seconds, she had alerted the entire office. I tried stopping her...practically begging her not to make a scene. I tried reassuring her I was totally fine...that I had no risk factors for heart disease. You know what she said to me? "Well, honey, you're crazy - that's a risk factor."
Ummmm, bitch, what do you even know about heart attacks? Next thing I know, I'm being wheeled out of the office, onto a stretcher, and into a fucking ambulance. I wish I was kidding right now. Liiiike, it was so humiliating...and then the humidity outside was giving my hair it's own version of a heart-attack. So now I will forever be known as the crazy girl with bad hair (....who almost had a heart-attack). In an unexpected twist of events, my boss intervened just as I was being forced into the ambulance. He took one look at me and realized the absurdity of the situation.
He brought me back to his office (for the second time that day) - and laid it out, cold...but honest. He had received an email from my shrink about my "fragile-state"...which had prompted my boss to look up my health records (how that is legal is beyond my comprehension). So much for confidentiality agreements! Why it was necessary (or what it even means?) to inform my employer that I have "red flag tendencies" - is a question mark. Then my boss said:
"Listen, I know about your various hospital admissions. I know about the time your parents had you 302d. I know you're taking meds that they prescribe to "crazy people." But with all that said, I also know that you aren't crazy. You're a work of art, Ely, and you've got a heart of gold!"Swooooooon. No wonder I was (I am?!) madly in love with the man. He has a way with words. And he has a way of making me feel so incredible. He even gave me the day off today to recuperate from all the stress. The first task on today's agenda: fire my motherfucking shrink.
until next time,
ElyVas
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