Honestly, the FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act) is pretty much the only thing keeping me "employed" and insured right now. I'm going into week three without working, thanks to my little meltdown at the store and subsequent issues. Looking down the barrel of a smoking gun called "no paycheck." I got my letter in the mail the other day from corporate that I qualified for FMLA, and that they needed some paperwork from my doctor. Here I was, thinking it was a confirmation that they received said papers, and I could arrange to have all of my shit covered.
Yeah, no. And apparently nobody at my store knows what the hell is going on, because all of my arrangements to use remaining personal and vacation time have to go through the store- not corporate. I'm out of work because I have fucking panic attacks at the THOUGHT of calling those people, or going back to that store, and in order to get my affairs straightened out... I need to go to the store. I thought about possibly texting my manager. Seeing if she'd meet me on neutral ground somewhere, but... what if she says no? What if she thinks I'm weird, or trying to set her up?
I don't know why I obsess over that so much. What if they try to say I'm faking it? Maybe it's because my parents were never very...understanding of mental illness. Or maybe it's because of the social stigma attached to behavioral disorders. I am having problems. I'm not just seeing three different doctors (soon to be four- got my appointment with the psychiatrist at my therapist's practice, finally) because it's fun. I hate doctors. And hospitals. I spent enough time on all that for a thousand lifetimes while my mom was fighting a losing battle with lung cancer. I know my problems are real. My doctors clearly believe my problems are real. My girlfriend, the only thing in this world keeping me clinging to sanity and actually fighting to stay together believes.
Why does it matter to me so much that other people don't judge me and find me wanting?
Something to add to the list of things to talk about with my therapist tomorrow. Worrying at it like a dog with a bone isn't helping me right now.
And hey. At least we're not moving now, right? Silver linings.
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