The purpose of this communication is to dispel any concerns you may have of late about my performance. Believe me, I have been discouraged many times to be so open and vulnerable in a professional setting. My hope is that you hold up your end of the bargain in telling me your company sees employees as people and not machines that are replaceable at the first sign of defect.
You see, I am fighting for my very existence as we speak. Every moment of every day, I am holding onto what I can in a tsunami of depression, and at the same time trying to recall what the standards of proper financial statement presentation is. My mind is flooded with thoughts like “I just want to disappear” and “I hope my job can survive this time.”
I promise I had all the best intentions and gave my honest assessment of how strong of an employee I was when I interviewed four months ago. It is just, two months ago, I was ushered into a doctor’s office and given grave news that I am still processing. The life-saving medication I had taken every day religiously for seven years was no longer an option and I was given two weeks to sort out what my future plan of survival would be.
Ironically, health insurance companies do not operate that quickly. They want to know all else failed for six months prior to approving the best and most effective treatment. I don’t fit that category. I was doing well on an unconventional drug that is not in their list of “try this first.”
But I digress into my own woeful experience. Back to what matters, and that is how is this going to impact you. I’m stuck in trying to explain how my brain is in complete dysfunction. First, my memory is shot. I know I passed all four exams for the CPA on the first attempt, something only 5% of accountants can accomplish. But I feel like none of that or the decade of experience is accessible right now. I forget to write an email moments after discussing it. I can’t remember how to format a document after a two hour training. Second, my concentration is infantile. I struggle to even remember what I needed to say in this letter. Finally, my energy or drive or motivation, however you want to call it, is at an all time low. You know how an overweight person gasps for air after climbing one flight of stairs. This is how my brain feels after one 30 minute meeting.
So, instead of doing what society says I should do, and “faking it til you make it” or just staying positive, I am sending this letter to ask that you please let me be a human and just suck at my job for a little bit. Let me be forgetful, and unfocused, and tired. Let it not matter until the insurance approves the treatment I need.
Because I am a life and a human and i don’t know that I can do even that right now. I know I haven’t proven my worth to you yet, but just wait and I’ll show you someday it was worth it.
Sincerely,
Someone who wishes I could actually send this letter to you
4daystil 