I was recruited from one company to the next, each bringing more rewards, bonuses, money, and prestige. I had finally made it out of Cabbagetown and I wasn’t looking back. My list of possessions was growing and upgrading. I thought that if I had the mega-mansion, the Mercedes, the perfect outfit and jewelry for any occasion, belonged to the right clubs, took the right extravagant vacations, and threw the most expensive, elaborate dinner parties, then nobody would know I was a white trash girl. I became obsessed with “things” and there were never enough to fill the hole inside me and the feelings of being worthless and not good enough. I mean, even my dad abandoned me so there must be something deeply wrong with me.
My friends thought I had it all. I was the true self-made woman having made millions. However, deep inside still lived that white trash girl and no matter how much money I made, I spent it all trying to shut her up and make her go away. Every purchase and acquisition contributed to the façade and there was never enough to make those voices in my head and those thoughts and beliefs about myself go away. With every year that passed, I needed to make more money so that I could prove to everybody that I had indeed made it. I was a prostitute for money, but instead of the traditional sense, I was selling my soul to scale the corporate ladder.
At my last corporate job, I was the CEO of a publicly traded company, tap dancing in New York to raise money so that I could get the big-ass bonus at the end of the year and be lauded as the savior of this struggling company I was leading. Then my body starting rebelling against me. I could no longer take the strain of the hours and stress it took not just to keep up with, but to far surpass, “The Joneses.” I started having anxiety attacks, insomnia, frighteningly high blood pressure, and depression. I could barely get out of bed to do my job, but if I didn’t, the whole house of cards would collapse and I would be seen as a failure, a phony, and a white trash girl. I soldiered on but secretly wished that someone would see how much pain I was in and come to my rescue. I worried that I would have a nervous breakdown or a heart attack.
PREVIOUS PAGE
