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Welcome To The Bitchery

I had a really challenging day, yesterday, and thinking about it has paralyzed me all freaking afternoon.

Normally, I'd take the time to write it out pretty-like, try to find a moral, try to flex my prose-muscle. But I have shit to do: I'm going to tell the slapped together version in an effort to get it out of my system and my ass off the couch.

I have this awful coworker who has a crazy wife. The awful coworker and crazy wife have a kid with pretty severe behavioral issues, which are kind of funny in a schadenfreude way when you aren't violating the kid's privacy by posting about them on the internet. (You'll have to trust me about this, because it's definitely the first place every. single. real-world person I've talked to has gone, but I just can't bring myself to skewer the kid.)

So I've been having a rougher patch with regards to management of my mental health stuff, and I was at the local counseling center yesterday for an appointment. And so were they.

And we definitely saw each other in the waiting room, and it was definitely one of those, "Oh, hi, awful, gossipy coworkers who totally use people's personal lives as fodder for cocktail party stories and political maneuvering at my job."

See, I feel like it's ok for them to be there, because it's not their fault their kid isn't adjusting to societal norms. But I was there by myself.

This is where the pretty would help, because I think there are a lot of important things to say about mental health stigmas and blahbitty blahbitty blah.

Naturally, we had a work-related event last night, followed by a work-related reception, and who should walk over to me and ask the most work-related question, "So what, exactly, is wrong with you?" In front of other work-related people. And my husband. And y'know. Lots of innocent bystanders.

For the record, I think that's the first time in the two years that I've known them that either of them has ever asked me a question. So ... progress?


I don't know if I want your advice, your condolences, or your snappy one-liners. I WILL ACCEPT ALL.

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