Depression and Work

I'm not at work today. I'm not picking up Pau's fantastic wrappingness, I'm not serving customers, I'm not filling box cards.

I can't.

And my parents, and Janice, don't believe this is real. I know it's frustrating to have calls coming about me saying I can't work, usually with less than 24h notice. Or even 1h notice. But this is the face of my illness. This is the compromise you make by hiring me, someone who is dedicated even with a job I hate, who will keep on answering, "Are you charging Canadian or American prices?" without swearing at customers, who will spend her break working because there's only one girl on the floor and it's busy.

I know, I know I shouldn't say this, but I wish this had been an illness that people could see, or measure. Something that didn't come with stigma attached.