Happiness Hit Her Like A Train On A Track

PART FIVE:


So.
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Once I got the job at Amsterdam, I knew my days of cheap health insurance were numbered.  

OH WAIT.  I forgot a very important part of the story.  I left the internet for a while.  I Tweeted and Facebooked less (and hello?  Crickets in this corner). I shied away from sharing anything. Because I discovered someone tattled on me for a couple of flip comments I made on Twitter about my place of employment (the second admittedly more alarming, but anyone that knows me knows it was a joke and this person knew me: the tattler relayed to my employer stuff about me that I have told few people).  I was reported to the office that deals with such reportings.  Twice!  The first time, I was lightly reprimanded and the second time a little more, but still left my bosses’ office laughing.  Both incidents he and I knew were ridiculous, though serious on some level.  Serious for my job and my well-being.  I have an idea who may have reported me, but no proof.  I shall just trust that karma does its magic if it is so warranted.  

Guh.  I felt a little like how Daniel Tosh might have been feeling a few weeks ago. No, not smug; gun-shy. Maybe. I don’t know his style. I left the internet and I wasn’t interacting much with others (no really, those are just “likes” on Facebook, not interactions), I pretty much ceased most Tweeting, and I hardly did any G-Chatting.  (Me, in 1990: “What in the Jesus Jones is she talking about?”)

I am social by nature.  I have a ton of friends, even though I’m not particularly close to many of them, I would help them out of a bind or connect them with a potential partner or collaborate with a grip of ‘em.  Sitting at a desk around only 1-5 people for 8.5 hours a day (desk lunch, HAYOO), 5 days a week has to be supplemented by my 1600 friends on Facebook and Twitter.  I postulate I just need the interaction.

So with my self-grounding from the internet, I was alone.  I live with my boyfriend, but there was a hole in me that he’s not big enough to fill.  He fills his hole very well though.  I don’t totally mean that to sound dirty, but, well, sometimes I’m predictable and cliche.  And I am okay with that.  But I do mean his hole in my soul.  (D’AWWW) But he can’t always make me LOL with 140-character quips in all caps.  

I started shelling up.  Well, more.  I had been shelling up for almost two years.  And now I felt like I was encased in a cocoon of Nobody Knows The Troubles I’ve Seen.  Finally, I went to a doctor.  I took an evaluation.  I was depressed for sure.  I know how I’m going to kill myself?  Okay, it’s progressed to orange on the self-terrorism alert advisory system.  “Let’s get you on anti-depressants,” the doctor who lets you call her by her first name said.  And after years of refusing to go that route because I knew, I just KNEW, I could solve myself through yoga or macrobiotics or meditation or just doing my art regularly... I said yes.


to be concluded...