I was already a bit apprehensive about going to work however
I had been assured that Mr Bully would not be working on Friday.
Friday 27th December 2013 7:30am Mr Bully with
his pigeon chest and gunslinger swagger walk comes through the barriers and
heads to his office. I had seen him come through and already the back of my
shirt was damp with sweat.
I had told them I could not work for or with him without the
senior manger being available. The two complaints I made against him are still
yet to be dealt with.
I now notice my chest tighten and breathing becomes difficult.
I tell my supervisor I can’t stay. He tells me not to go just yet. My mind
races and throws up ideas of what to do. None of them actually register in my
brain.
I make my way to my station and start packing my bag
fumbling as my hands shake vigorously. My stomach heaves wanting to throw up
what little contents it has.
I walk or rather pace around trying to do some of the
techniques I have learnt to ease the trauma of the anxiety. They are not
working.
My supervisor arrives and I tell him I am sick and need to
go home. He asks what’s wrong and then watches as my body convulses, shaking
uncontrollably and then I burst out crying. Don’t cry I hear him say just go.
I make my way through the store trying to hide my condition
as I pass customers and staff. My attempt to clock out fails and I leave the
store.
My wife had been pre-warned that I maybe coming home. I
walked quickly about a kilometre before I start to calm down just enough to try
the breathing routine I had been taught.
Every noise from the traffic and surrounds is deadened by
the sound of my chest thumping. I reach the pick up point where I am to meet my
wife. I sit on a bench and throw up. I try the breathing techniques again.
My wife arrives and I slump into the car. My wife tells me
my face is ashen and sweaty, and that my breathing heavy. She talks me through
the breathing once more and slowly it settles. All I want to do is sleep.
Author Steve Boddey
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