I was really nervous about telling my boss about my illness. I wish I had a better opinion about him – everyone there likes him, so he’s gotta be nice – but in my 4 months there, all I’ve heard from him is that I’m the slowest.
Just what someone who has been recently diagnosed with a mental illness needs to hear.
I couldn’t talk to him until the end of the night. When I noticed he was back in his office, I went back, knocked on the door, and then tried to delay the process by commenting about his lovely flowers on his desk.
I told him I needed to make a schedule availability change. He told me to speak to so-and-so who handles scheduling. But then he asked why.
I just jumped right in. I told him I have Bipolar Disorder and that the lack of a consistent sleep pattern is causing a lot of trouble. I can’t work nights anymore …which means I can’t work during the week…which means I can only work Saturday and Sunday lunch shifts.
He didn’t really like that. He looked like he had just been put in a bad position.
I took the opportunity to say “You know how you say I’m slow? The illness causes cognitive dysfunction. My memory is horrible sometimes, I have trouble processing information, and I get confused and indecisive.”
He expressed understanding and said his daughter is “like that too”. Weird. Her name is Melissa too.
Then he said “You know, technically, you have to be available to work 3 days a week. Why can’t you work a lunch during the week?”
“My (many) children.”
“I was only diagnosed 5 months ago, so I’m still learning how to adjust my life to the illness.”
(I made effort to say ILLNESS as much as possible. I had no plans on how to conduct this conversation, but I did know I would be using that word a lot.)
By this point we’re walking out of the office. It felt like the conversation was drifting off, so I said “I’ll make sure to talk to so-and-so. Thanks.” To which he replied “Uh hu.”
Well that’s it, committed readers. Now I have to send an email to so-and-so who I’ve known for 2 weeks and seems infinitely nicer, which means she probably wont be.
My therapist today, upon razorblade revelation, insisted I stop working altogether. Grand idea if you weren’t poor.
She inaisted that if things aren’t taken care of properly and in a timely manner, yours truly would be hospitalized .
Pillars took it poorly…he was planning on my contribution to our financial well-being being more than two days a week.
Ill let you know what the scheduling manager says!