Yeah, I get it, I call in sick a lot and I leave work early unexpectedly a lot. But you know what? That’s between me, my manager, and my doctors. That’s right I said doctors with an “s” on the end. You see that happy face I put on all the time is a carefully crafted mask. It’s a mask designed to hide the physical and mental pain I endure every day. Every once in a while it slips because I just can’t hold it anymore. Those are the days you label me a bitch.
You think you know my struggle through observation and then you deign to tell me what I should do based on your keen powers of observation. The reality is you only know the little bit I let the outside world see. You don't see my pain, you don't see my anguish, and you don't see my tears because I don't let you. I don't let you because it really is none of your business, and honestly I have too much pride to let you know that I am that far beaten. Not beaten by you, but beaten by my own body and mind. Beaten by the pain that rips through my joints and muscles and beaten by the angry and horrible thoughts that race through my mind day after day, hour after hour, minute by minute. Thoughts that have been with me for years and now feel like an old companion that I will never be free of. But that's none of your business either.
Yet you have decided it is your business. You think it's okay to speak up and tell me what I can and can't do. How I should live my life, when I should give up and roll over and play dead. You think you know me better than I know myself. You think you can tell me when I have had enough. Well guess what, you don't know shit. Yeah, you see the mask slipping so you think you are seeing me at my worst. You think that's my breaking point. The point where I am going to call it quits and go home. You ain't seen nothin' yet toots. For all I have been through and all I carry every day I am a hell of a lot stronger than you will ever know. You would be amazed what I can push through.
Those times when I do go home, or even call in sick, those are the times when I just can't lift that mask up anymore. Where the weight of it has gotten so heavy and the pain of carrying it around so great that I just can't muster up a smile to face the day. Maybe the physical pain is so great that I can barely crawl to the bathroom and back, or maybe the mental anguish has gotten so bad that I am at the point of hysterical anxiety. Either way, that's none of your business either.
So the next time you think you know what's best for me. Or you think you have my life figured out based on your observations. Just don't. The best thing you can do for yourself and me is to close your mouth before you open it and mind your own beeswax.