Member-only story
The Burden I Carry Makes Me Strong
I get it. The illness is loud.
“Would it help if I turned out the lights?”
My manager was trying to be helpful, so I squeaked out a “yes” between hyperventilating breaths.
I was in the midst of a flashback.
It was not set off by anything in particular — I was just going through a hard time, after finding out that my father was terminally ill.
I had clawed my way to the back room, after helping a customer whilst dissociating, and collapsed into the rolling chair. The hyperventilation was just the start — soon, the screaming would overtake me.
I know it’s hard to look at the picture I’ve just painted and not feel sorry for me. But I don’t want sympathy. I was just going through a hard time and needed a moment.
My manager at the time was one of those saintly people who seemed to understand that. He left me alone in that dark room for almost an hour, and when the screaming overtook me I locked myself in the bathroom, muffling my shouts against my arms.
One thing I always appreciated about working with Shawn was that he got things that most other people didn’t. Like the central thesis of this essay, which is:
