Group Therapy

Chapter 1 “Breaking Down”

My heart is racing. My breathing is shallow. The walls close in around me. A framed diploma from university pulsates on the wall. The 15th anniversary statue I received last year dances on the shelf behind me. Dizziness threatens to overwhelm me. Sweat drips off my body. The glow from my laptop makes me nauseous. Why am I sweating so much? I really hope I don’t ruin my Chanel suit.

“Carlie, open the door! You can’t stay in there forever. We need you to box up your things. Security is here to take you home.”

Security? What is he talking about? Joe is so annoying. Like most Ad Sales managers, he is a pompous jerk. Doesn’t he know how sick I feel? I don’t need security. I could be having a heart attack and he wants to move my office now for the new carpets coming? Oh no…I think I have to puke. I need to get to the bathroom NOW!

“That’s right Carlie, just open the door and we’ll help you get home.”

Oh…here it comes…can’t…stop…

Joe is blocking the door. “Get out of my…”

“Oh my gosh, what the, what’s the matter with you? Hey, Merk, she just threw up all over me. Get her out of here. I don’t get paid enough to deal with this kind of issue.”

Good riddance, Joe.

I can’t feel my legs, but I feel like I’m floating. Yes. Floating. There goes the row of cubicles in front of my office. Goodbye Margie. I always hated her. So fake. Oh, there’s the Keurig machine, my favorite thing. Ha ha. That reminds me of The Sound of Music. “These are a few of my favorite things.” Hee hee. I think I sang that aloud.

Wait, we’re in the elevator now. I am going to push the button for the lobby. I could use some air.

“Oh for crying out loud, now we have to stop on all 20 floors. Carlie! What happened to you? You’re clearly not yourself today.”

I don’t feel well and everyone is treating me terribly. Are these really the people I have worked with for more than 15 years?

“I’m not the one who is sick. YOU’RE sick.” That’ll shut up him up.

“Sure Carlie, I’M sick.” Merk smugly replies to me. Humph. Security Guard. Who does he think he is? What kind of name is “Merk?” More like jerk!

I’m floating again. Out of the elevator, down the dreary beige hallway, past the awards, plaques and philanthropic photos of people with oversized checks all over the walls screaming, “Look at us. But don’t look at us because we are so humble.” PUH-LEEZE.

“All right. Here’s a cab. They’re going to take you home. Best of luck, Carlie. “

“Sure Steve. See you tomorrow.”

“It’s Merk, and no you won’t. Oh never mind.”

I watch security guard what’s-his-name getting smaller and smaller. Is he going back inside the building or am I running away? I can’t tell. Now I seem to be moving faster now. I think I need to just close my eyes for a minute.