I would show up late.
I would leave early.
I would be hung over and look like shit almost every day.
I just didn't care.
I still did my job, the basic requirements... but it just took so much energy.
I could not function.
I was having a nervous breakdown.
My boss, Doug, clearly did not like how I was behaving but he never told me this, he was just awful to me. This did not help motivate me. It made me not care even more.
One day a coworker, Mel, pulled me aside and told me that I was going to get myself fired.
She told me that I needed to help myself and go to the doctor to be put out on stress leave.
That night I found a blank file in Doug's drawer. When I opened it, it was letters to Doug written by another co worker, Laura. Laura was documenting my every move down to how many cigarette breaks I took. How many times I went to the bathroom. Exactly what time I left every day. She wrote that she couldn't work with me and it was either her or me.
One of us had to go.
Laura was transferred. I stayed.
Mel pleaded with me. She begged me to go out on leave. She told me I was the one to stay because termination was the desired outcome.
I made an appointment with my doctor the very next day. I saw him and he put me out of work on a 6 week leave of absence. He also put me on Lexapro.
I couldn't bring myself to call Doug so I called my Mel and told her I was put out on a leave.
I asked her if she could let my boss know. She did.
Doug was fine with me not talking to him. I think he was just glad to be rid of me.
About three weeks into my leave I went out drinking with some friends. I needed cigarettes but only had my check book. The only place I knew would take checks was my workplace. It was 11 o'clock at night so I knew there was no chance that Doug would be there. BIG mistake.
I stumbled into work, bought my cigarettes, and caught everyone up on why I wasn't at work and what an asshole Doug was.
They tried to give me a ride home but I wouldn't let them. One of my employees ended up following me home to make sure I made it safe.
The next day I went grocery shopping at another store. In the parking lot I ran into the security guard. He told me he was on his way to my store. He was asked to pull up video of an associate who showed up drunk and made a scene the previous night.
He was talking about me. Apparently everyone told my boss about my little escapade.
My anxiety turned into darkness. Hopelessness is a very dark place to be.
I spiraled even further into my deep dark hole.
After my six weeks was up, I had to return to work.
I was not any better.
My first day back I had a meeting with my district manager and human resources.
We met in another store.
When I walked in to the meeting my district manager told me he had wanted to fire me, he told me I don't deserve to work for him, and I don't belong in his district. He told me I had our regional vice president to thank for my job. He's the only one who said they should give me a second chance.
I told them I had been struggling with alcohol and was getting help. I lied to them about the getting help part. I lied to myself about the alcohol part.
I was sent to Rhode Island. My district manager said he doubted I'd have my job in another 6 months. He said I'd bury myself.
I was told that I had to report to my Rhode Island store in one hour. I drove there stunned. The knot in my stomach grew tighter and tighter. I cried the whole way to my new store.
But I had done this to myself, hadn't I?
One night, a few weeks later, I was sitting at home drinking my wine. I had a case cutter on the table next to me. I have case cutters everywhere from work. I opened it up and stared at it.
I felt so numb.
So emotionally drained.
Who would even care if I just... disappeared?
Then I shook my head and cussed myself out for thinking that way.
I was alone. I was so very alone and I couldn't reach out to anyone. The only thing I have ever accomplished is hurt. Everyone who enters my life ends up leaving worse off. I had no one to talk to. I had no one to bring into this darkness. I didn't want to bring anyone into this darkness. It was more than black. It was all consuming. A total void of any light. No hope.
My mind started to wander again and I thought to myself, would it even hurt if I just dragged the blade across my skin. Would I bleed?
I sliced real quick and watched the top of my hand open up. It didn't hurt.
I was absolutely mesmerized. It didn't bleed. Not immediately. It just... opened.
I took the blade and sliced at my upper thigh. Three times. The same thing. It didn't hurt.
I sliced my stomach. Again. No pain.
Why couldn't I feel pain? Why didn't this hurt? Why wasn't I bleeding? What was wrong with me?
Then I snapped out of it. What the hell was I doing? People are going to think I'm nuts!
The next day at work I told everyone I was pushing the trash down and there was broken glass in the can. I must have hit that and it sliced my hand open. I should have gotten stitches but where's the fun in that?
The scar is still there to remind me of how far gone I once was. I still tell people it was from the trash.
I made up another lie for the scars on my belly and thigh.
I had started to become good at lies.
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