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...
to be concluded...