Bitch with a Pumpkin

Breathe through it.  It’s okay. Don’t think about that now.

(snort) Yeah right.

I’m not a person who can side step her pain. I don;t compartmentalize or repress. I can’t even delay an emotion until i’m in the ladies room. I out and out cry in public. I giggle when something is funny no matter the occasion. I bounce when I’m happy, I raise my voice when I’m mad or frustrated.

I run at whatever feeling is ahead of me and crash through it like a missile through a brick wall. I’m gonna shatter that bitch and get it out of my damn way if its the last thing I do. Once I realized I was pushing aside anxiety symptoms, not real emotions, expressing myself has become a more accesible form of herion.

Today, I took a particularly awful call in the call center. And by awful, I mean that it came out of no where and bitch slapped me. A routine call turned into an email to my both me and my supervisor accusing me losing the company money and reputation points.

I panicked.  I was scared that I could lose my job and be back on public aid, stressed out and exhausted from trying to keep our heads above water.  the slighest tp of the scale and everything could go to hell.

So I cried. I cried because I did the right thing. I cried because another persons entitlement was getting me in trouble. Mostly I cried because I wasn’t wearing waterproof mascara and god is cruel that way.

Amongst the back-pats and reassurances, I dragged myself up and quick stepped to the company gift shop. I bought a glass pumpkin, one of those autumn decoration knick knacks and sat it on my desk. I practically skipped through the rest of the day.

So go ahead, call me a bitch when it doesn’t go your way. You just earned me something shiny.


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