Daily Post

Writings and ramblings from my daily life.

Daily Post 005: Recap and Unpopular Opinions

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Still rocking the whole “new method” thing for posting. Posts in the evening are my quiet reflection time where I can write about the day and any randomness I might have on my mind. Because of that, I can see these being my longer posts. I also intend to end the day with another gratitude section. I think that will help, both starting and ending my day acknowledging something I’m grateful for. 

Anywho… on to the good stuff. 

Daily Summary:
Today has been nice. The weather was warmer and it was sunny. There wasn’t an awful wind, biting through my skin chilling my bones. I’m still waiting for it to be summer. I’m still waiting to be able to enjoy a summer rather than working constantly or being in nursing school. Maybe this year will be the year.

I got a lot of my meal prep done. Not all of it. Still haven’t swept, mopped, or run the dishwasher. I still have time before going to sleep since I work late shifts now. Maybe I’ll still find the gumption to get all of it completed. Even if not, I’m content with all the things I was able to accomplish in that regard. 

Work was nice. I wasn’t as active in the Jabber chat my team has. Instead, I did a lot of computer training things. Each month they send out an email with “recommended” courses to take. A lot of them revolve around personal development. It’s where I got the idea to change the way I post. If it’s in smaller, seemingly more manageable sections, maybe I’ll be better about returning to my habit of writing and reflection. 

There’s actually been a lot of things recently that I have been incorporating back into my life. Reading is one of them. Nelnet has its own library on Overdrive. While most of the books available there are professional development and such, there are other books which have actually been very interesting reads. Atomic Habits by James Clear was one of them. Also, The Seven Necessary Sins for Women and Girls by Mona Eltahawy. While Atomic Habits gave me behavioral changes and actions which I can incorporate into my life, The Seven Necessary Sins was extremely thought-provoking. I enjoyed both books.

I’m almost done listening to Radical Candor by Kim Scott. While this is aimed more at managers or people with direct reports, it can be applied to anything in life where there is human interaction. Even in relationships, there is a need for feedback and clear communication. I have about an hour left in the book. I’m hoping to finish listening to it once I am done writing as I cross stitch.  

I spent a lot of time on the phone with Warren today. We talked pretty extensively about covid along with borderline personality disorder. He was able to give me some insight on issues I have been struggling with and I in turn was able to listen to some of the stress he has been going through. 

It was a connective conversation and I’m glad we were able to talk.

I finally mailed out a birthday card for my nephew. It’s going to be extremely late, but at least I sent one. John signed it as well. We’re both trying to get better about the little things. 

I saw Ox today. He came over after work. We had lunch together. With my schedule being opposite of his now, we don’t get much time. His covid test was negative this morning. I guess that’s something I should mention since I write so infrequently now…

Ornery Ox was not feeling well last Friday. His rapid covid test was negative, but Monday the results for his PCR test came back positive. So… we all quarantined for the recommended 5 days, all of which we were asymptomatic. So… Thursday or so when Papa Ox took a rapid test which came back positive quarantine started all over again. 

I’m still doing fine. Ox is negative and feeling fine. Mama Ox has been fine. And Papa Ox feels like crap, but is doing better. 

And that’s about it for my day. Pretty chill. Got a decent amount of stuff done over the weekend which carried over into today. It’s a slightly frail feeling, but I’m doing better than I was about not being depressed and I’m going to keep trying to foster that in the days to come. 

Random Ramblings:
And here is where I’m going to ramble a bit about covid. 

I don’t want to get the vaccine. This sort of came to a head the other night in one of my dynamics. Several people have expressed how it would make them feel better if I got it, but the other night was the first night I felt pressured to do so. 

I did a search to figure out the difference between “shots” like the flu shot and vaccinations. There isn’t a difference. The flu shot is a type of vaccine. The term shot refers to it being an injection. Vaccine refers to the type of shot; one that facilitates immunization. The length of immunization doesn’t matter. It could provide immunization for a lifetime or be required yearly, as in the case of the flu. Length of immunization does not differentiate if something is a shot or a vaccine. 

So there’s that. I’m ok with that information and it helps clarify things inside my head.

Since I had to quarantine, I looked up CDC guidelines for quarantine and isolation. The only reference I had to go by was from 2020 and I wanted to know if anything had changed from then to now. 

This is where things get dicey for me. 

If you are fully vaccinated, you don’t have to quarantine, even if you test positive for covid. 

What the ever-loving fuck?

Hear me out, or don’t, that’s ok. This is where I get to ramble and there’s no obligation for you to read what I write/think, nor to like it.

But seriously? What the fuck? Just because you are vaccinated doesn’t mean you’re not spreading germs. It means the effects of those germs, ideally, do not affect you as severely. You still have active, living, germs in your system and you are spreading them, regardless of vaccination status.

This whole situation is infuriating. The CDC has gone from being a respected source of guidance pre-Trump, to being so severely undermined by the government no one listened to them peri-Trump, to doing damage control and trying to gain back some semblance of respectable standing post-Trump.

With how society lost its collective fucking shit over a 2-week lockdown, it feels like the CDC is trying to appease the masses.

CDC: It’s ok that you have a highly contagious virus all up in your respiratory tract. You got the vaccine so it’s totally ok for you to go out unmasked and breathe all over everything so the virus continues to circulate. Especially as it continues to mutate. We definitely want to get those variants spread around!

Not actually said by CDC

For fucks sake. It’s not vaccinated versus unvaccinated. It’s humanity versus the fucking virus but no one sees it that way. It’s all finger-pointing and who’s fault is it. Anyone with covid on their hands touching things, anyone with covid in their system breathing around other people, that’s what’s causing it to spread. No the unvaccinated endangering the vaccinated because they’re the “filthy spreaders”. That’s not how the chain of infection works. 

Infectious shit doesn’t care if you’re vaccinated or not. The only thing the vaccine does is potentially mitigate your symptoms. It doesn’t reduce your level of contagiousness to others. 

This is literally the worst fucking group project in my life. >.<;

The people in my life who I have spoken with about this topic over the past few days continue to respect my choice without making me feel bad. They have concern for me, yes. They have also expressed their love and acceptance of me and that while it would hurt for them to lose me, they will not force me to do something I do not wish to do.

Which leaves me… nowhere. I have no answer on how I am supposed to navigate this situation. I feel like getting the vaccine isn’t the core issue within my dynamic. I feel like it’s something deeper than the vaccine and the covid issue is just a surface-level detail that will be replaced/displaced as time goes on. If I become vaccinated then it will shift to how there are breakthrough cases and I still might die. If I have the sniffles or don’t feel well it will be nearing the end of the world. What happens if I have to go to the actual doctor? 

On a deeper level, I feel like this concern stems from a fear of my death, but I am mortal and I have a higher chance of dying in a car crash than I do from pretty much anything else. I can’t death proof my life and I would rather live what life I am able to without feeling like I sacrificed my autonomy and personal beliefs for an issue that will never be fixable, avoidable. 

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to have this conversation. This feeling sucks and I wish there was an easy answer; one where everyone felt ok. 

Gratitude:
I’m grateful for my apartment. I’m grateful for the solitude I have had tonight to write and be with myself. I don’t think I’ve really figured anything out in regards to my covid situation, but I do feel better about reflecting on my day and actually writing. We’ll see where all of this goes. 

Daily Post 004: Something New

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I am going to try something new with my writing. You know… the writing I haven’t been doing… Yeah… that writing. 

Instead of feeling paralyzed by the thought because “where do I start?” I’m going to try using a bit of a template and see how I do with that. Here’s my first go at it. Woo.

Morning posts will be more structured with clear sections: Gratitude, goal, concern, and achievement. Evening posts will be more reflective: Daily summary, random ramblings. Hopefully, by breaking things out a bit more and providing a clearer structure I can get back into the habit of having time for myself where I not only hear myself but reflect on what it is I am saying. 

Gratitude:
Today I am grateful for my discipline. Mornings have been extremely hard recently. If I’m able to get out of bed, I’m fine. It seems to take a lot of effort and willpower to do that simple action though. I’m grateful I have the discipline to suck it up, do it, and allow that one action to kick start the rest of my day. Even if it sucks, I eventually do it, and because I do it my days start to suck less. 

#1 Goal:
My goal for today is to meal prep. That’s not a single task though. There’s a lot that goes into it. I have to analyze and be strategic about what to cook first, when to cook it, cutting up/preparing what is required for that particular meal, packing the food away once it’s done, cleaning up used dishes, cleaning counters. I’ll even though in sweeping/mopping the kitchen into the whole picture of “meal prep”. Heck, let’s go for broke. Loading, running and unloading the dishwasher, too.

I’m not only prepping my food, I’m cleaning up the mess I create and returning my space to a clean organized sense of structure. 

I have two more meals to go. I’ve done three already. A lot of what I’m cooking I’m freezing so I can have it throughout the next weeks. I’m almost done with the cooking phase. I’ve been doing dishes as I go. Once I’m done cooking I can clean the counters, finish loading the dishwasher, run it, then sweep/mop. 

There’s still a bit to do, but I’ve already done so much. I feel able to finish this goal and I like that feeling. Look at me being a badass and shit.  

#1 Concern
Keeping up with email/communication.

There are a handful of people in my life, a handful of dynamics, which are requiring a lot of energy and attention. This isn’t a bad thing. I am very aware of how I tend to leave communication on the back burner. I’m trying not to do that. I’m worried about falling into old behavior patterns.

I am concerned that I will fall short. Out of all the other worries and concerns I have going on, harming my dynamics is at the forefront of my mind right now. 

I’m trying to establish and keep safe boundaries around my energy reserves while still ensuring I am present. It’s… hard… a lot of the conversations invoke deep emotions. With reducing my antidepressant dosage, it takes more to work through the emotions that are brought up. It’s been leaving me tired with not much left to give at the end of the calls. It makes me crave solitude and silence so I can allow my internal space to also be quiet.

Maybe if it was only one area it would be easier. But it’s not. It’s typically 2-4 areas; dynamics. It feels like a lot when I’m still trying to also focus on myself. I’ll figure it out as I go. I know I will. That doesn’t mean it’s not a concern weighing on my mind. 

#1 Achievement:
I’ve been doing well at work. I’ve been an independent advisor for a couple of weeks now. Maybe three? I don’t remember. I’m doing well though not only in my assigned position but internally, personally. My new job is affording me the time I need to figure myself out and I appreciate that time. 

I think surviving training, my step towards independence within the role, and proving to myself that I can, yet again, survive a career change is an achievement and I want to take a moment to allow myself to feel that achievement. 

So here I am, feeling achieved and stuff for being an adult and still getting a paycheck. 

Daily Post 003: Puzzle Memories

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Hello Universe,

I should have known that eventually, I would be back here talking to you and wishing you would give me insight. 

Today has been a good day and yet I am sad. I miss mom. I started working on a puzzle I got for myself; a birthday present. And now I am sad. I miss the times mom and I worked on puzzles together. I miss her getting excited when she got a piece. I miss HER. All of her. The her that can’t be put into words. 

I wish I knew what I was supposed to learn from the pain. I wish I understood.

But I don’t. I’ve had a fairly productive day and I enjoyed my time working on the puzzle and yet I hurt and want to cry. 

I wish you could talk to me. I wish… I don’t know… that I didn’t feel like a failure every time I want to cry over things people think are silly. I wish society was better about embracing emotions rather than forcing people to be happy all the time. 

I wish you were here, Mom. I think you would like this puzzle. It’s pretty. It has lots of weird-shaped pieces so it would be easier for you to find matches. I miss the hours we would spend together listening to music and talking about nothing while we put tiny pieces of colored cardboard together. I love you so much. I’ll get through tonight, but I feel like it’s going to be a hard night and I hope that’s still ok. 

I’ll try to write a more cheerful post tomorrow. 

I love you, Mom. Forever and for always.

Daily Post 002: Monday Funday

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It’s Monday. Woo. And here I am at the end of my day actually writing. Double woo!

I shoveled snow with Ox yesterday. We even did some work in the addition. It’s going to be a long process. I’m hoping as we get small things done, momentum will build because there will be visual progress. Here’s to hoping.

It was nice being able to do things with Ox other than computer games or sleeping. It was nice to be up and moving around rather than going crazy because it was yucky outside and I couldn’t go anywhere. 

I put two more puzzles together with Mama Ox and Lil’ Ox. That was fun. Did some prep work for things I wanted to get accomplished Monday (today). I also finished Atomic Habits by James Clear. It was a good book. I still have some chapters to take notes on. My plan is to finish my note-taking throughout the week. 

This morning I woke up, let my car heat up, then stopped at Target before going to the apartment for work. I needed a few things for meal prep. Once at the apartment I set up my new keyboard and mouse.

Going to have an introverted geek moment real quick… My new keyboard is sooooo quiet. Soooooo quiet! It’s amazing. Best keyboard ever!

Training for work was pretty uneventful this morning. I’m ahead of the other people in my group so the trainers let me do my own thing while they focused on others who needed more one-on-one time. I’ve found a lot of different “new hire” activities. I also have done a lot of “Professional Development” computer courses because I have nothing else to do and I don’t want to sit around doing nothing.

The Professional Development stuff is actually pretty cool. A lot of the ones I’ve been doing center around Emotional Intelligence and such. It’s a fun way to spend my downtime.

After lunch, my class was in “ready” status, which means we were in the queue to take calls. I got one… one call… all day… Not really complaining. I still have mild anxiety when I take a call since I’m all new and stuff. At the same time, I know I’m not going to get over my anxiety until I take more calls and prove to myself I can do this job without dying because for whatever reason answering the phone is terrifying. #INFJ_Problems

I found out John has covid. That news sucked but it wasn’t the end of my world like when I found out about Jason and his wife. Maybe because I went through this scare once already I was better able to handle the news. I think it also helps that John’s a 15-minute drive from the apartment.

Because I didn’t go to his New Years Eve party, which caused him to be pissed at me, I wasn’t exposed, so I was able to pick him up Dayquil and Nyquil. I think he’s reconsidering the whole being pissed at me thing…

I was able to leave the meds for him and his partner on the front porch. We were able to wave to each other. I don’t know… seeing him up and moving around made him having covid not as scary. Don’t get me wrong, he looks and sounds miserable, but he isn’t a billion miles away. I do think that helps keep my fear in check. 

After I was done being an amazing sister, supplying loved ones with drugs, I got a bunch of cleaning done at the apartment. I have a bag of stuff for Goodwill again. I finished cooking not too long ago. I haven’t finished my cross stitch like I was hoping to. I didn’t start my new puzzle either. I guess I’m alright with that, though. Today has been a decent day overall. 

I did find out my health insurance is expired… I have to call HR and figure that out tomorrow. I got my new eye insurance card set up. I rescheduled the dentist appointment I had. Originally I made it while I was working at DaVita. Since my schedule is drastically different now, I had to change the time. 

I talked to my cessation coach. Things are going well in that department. I’ve been keeping my cigarettes in the car while I’m at the apartment. If I want to smoke I have to go down three flights of stairs, smoke outside in the cold, then come back up. I can’t get them unless I’m on a break since I can’t be away from the computer that long. That helps cut a lot out because fuck stairs. Oh. And cold, snowy bullshit… yeah, fuck that, too.

I have some thank you cards I need to write. I already pulled the cards out so I can take care of those tomorrow. 

The morning routine I outlined yesterday went fairly well today. Not perfect since I didn’t start out at the apartment, but I was able to get nearly everything done, so that’s a good feeling. Lots of green marks from all of the tasks I accomplished. I’m mostly through the evening stuff, too. More good feelings. 

Since I have about an hour before bedtime, I’m going to go for now. Maybe I’ll be able to sneak in a bit of stitching. At the very least some reading. That would be a nice way to end everything; some quiet personal time.

Daily Post 001: Starting 2022 With an Apology

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First post of 2022. That means Daily Post numbers reset. Woo. At the same time… I only wrote 10 times last year… That’s something to reflect on at a later time.

For right now, let us start off with the most obvious INFJ thing to do… apologizing. XD

I’m sorry, Universe. I don’t really hate you and it was unfair of me to use those words when cursing you out in my previous post. I’m not sorry I called you a mother fucking son of a whore because sometimes you are one. But I am sorry that I lashed out and used inaccurate words to express my feelings of frustration and helplessness. You do not deserve hate; after all, you’re only doing your job even if during the moment it makes you look like an insensitive bastard.

I do love you and I appreciate all of the good things you have given me and allowed me to experience.

Hugs and Kisses – A slightly Less Rage-Filled Dragon

I felt better after writing. I talked to my therapist about it during our session Monday evening. She was proud that I utilized a healthy and effective coping mechanism to release the emotions rather than keeping them bottled up inside or potentially doing something less than healthy. I didn’t write for people to be proud of me. In all honesty, it’s a bit of a struggle not to feel shame when rereading some of my words. At the same time, I know what I felt, and I know I’m not alone in those feelings.

We all, at some point, reach a breaking point. That’s human and I would rather not feel shame for being human; after all, there’s not much I can do about that. I can either accept that sometimes I act with less than perfect grace or spend my life resenting myself for something that can’t be changed. That sounds like a waste of energy, so I would rather acknowledge that it happened, apologize to the offended parties and reflect on how I could have handled the situation differently in hopes of doing so in the future.

Moving on to the other concerning issue of my last post… The kids and all family members are feeling fine. No one has had symptoms of covid. Christmas was enjoyable. Lil’ Ox loved the puzzle I got for her. We put it together Friday evening. For me, it was only 300 pieces, but that’s the biggest puzzle she’s done so far. Everyone was impressed that we were able to complete it in one sitting. It was an enjoyable experience and I’m glad I was able to spend time one-on-one with her.

She wasn’t a huge fan of the makeup palette I got her, but she did like the sparkily snowflake nails. Maybe she’s still too young for makeup, maybe she’ll never like makeup; either is ok. If it’s not something she’s interested in there’s nothing wrong with that. I try to instill in her the knowledge that she’s perfect the way she is. The makeup was simply a gift if she wanted to play around with it; it wasn’t an obligation.

I spent the majority of the week at the apartment. It’s hard being away from the cats. I have grown to love them, which may sound weird, but it was part of the healing process for me. I got them specifically because I was having a hard time trusting and loving after mom’s death. I knew eventually the kittens would teach me how to love again and they have. So now, being away from them is hard. It’s quiet, lonely even, at the apartment by myself. It’s hard being away from Ox as well. Maybe things will change in the near future with my lease ending at the end of May, but for now, during the week I stay at the apartment most nights and try to get as many Cat Cuddles in during the weekend.

Cessation has been going well. I was at around six yesterday. Six when before I was doing 30 or more. I’m proud of myself. I’ve been reading Atomic Habits by James Clear and listening to The Easy Way to Stop Smoking by Allen Carr. Both books have interesting points and insight into human behavior. Both books have given me much to think about and reflect on.

Part of what I’ve struggled with, during the end of my time with DaVita and even into the present with Nelnet, is returning to habits I once had. There’s a lot of emotion wrapped up with everything. Shame, guilt, fear, feelings of being a failure… All sorts of stuff. Atomic Habits especially gives me clarity on why some things work and others don’t as far as habits are concerned and where the obstacles I am facing may be stemming from.

I think a lot of it comes down to uncertainty about my identity. Who am I? What do I stand for? What are my beliefs?

That had basically eroded away to nothing by the time I left DaVita, and without my previous job defining me, I had nothing to go off of aside from the feelings of burnout I was left with. Not much of a resource when you’re trying to figure out who you are, what’s important to you, or what you want your purpose in Life to be.

If I tell myself I’m a failure, that’s on me. That’s me allowing myself to assume the identity of a failure, even if I don’t want that identity. Our brain believes what it hears, especially when it comes from our internal voices.

I am not a failure. I am not weak.

I am extremely strong-willed and capable. I am a warrior. I am a fierce dragon. I am loving, compassionate, committed, and determined.

This isn’t a “new year, new me” mentality. It just happens that I began reading these books at the end of 2021 and am writing now in 2022. This was happening not because of the new year. It was happening in spite of it being a new year.

My current goal is to work on my daily habits/routines; especially those regarding the morning and evening. I need that structure back in my life, and while I have haphazardly stumbled and fumbled my way back to some of my pre-DaVita normalcy, there’s still a lot that is found lacking.

I have my sheet created, not only of habits I already do, but the habits I want to return back to, why I want to go back to them, and how/where I can fit them into my currently unstable routine to ensure they get completed.

I’ve unknowing been working on environmental architecture; arranging the apartment in ways that reduce the friction for certain tasks. Since I’m working from home, part of that architecture has been designating specific areas for specific tasks. “This is purely work”, “This is only for sleep”, “This is only for working out”

It would be easier to separate things if I wasn’t keeping my brothers room off-limits. He moved out a while ago to be with his partner, but he still pays half of the rent, so I’ve kept the room for him. Having a whole extra room would be nice and helpful, but for now, I’m doing alright with what I have. Bit by bit I’m arranging things the way I want and that not only feels good but visually having order and structure helps calm my brain. It gives me a sense of security. Everything has a place and is in that place. All is right in the Dragon Den.

So yeah, I’ve unknowingly been doing some of the suggested things in the books. Others I’m now consciously aware of, which means I can consciously leverage those concepts in my life rather than being pleased when unconscious intuition turns out right.

On the subject of consciousness… When I step outside for a cigarette now I have a new habit; one which I am hoping will deter me from the habit because it now has a “negative” reward.

Which… all of that goes into what Atomic Habits is about. We do something because the “reward” at the end is something we want. Turn it into something we don’t want and we no longer want to perform the actions which lead to the “reward”.

So… whenever I have a cigarette I take a red sharpie and I slash a line over my wrist.

I know that may sound extreme, but hear me out on this…

When I was in high school I self-harmed as a way to cope. I didn’t talk about my feelings. I internalized them, and cutting became my method for releasing the emotions. Fast-forward to my first healthy relationship; my partner did not want me to self-harm.

Completely understandable. I didn’t want to self-harm to begin with. I didn’t want to feel worthless, unseen, unloved, and all of the other things I was feeling. I wanted to be able to share my emotions. I wanted to be able to trust people and feel connected and like I had value.

That lead to me promising not only my partner but also other extremely important people in my life (who continue to be important people in my life) that I wouldn’t self-harm. I would reach out and talk about what I was feeling before hurting myself. I learned that hurting myself hurt others and though conversations may be hard and there would more than likely be lots of tears, I felt better after talking with safe people than I did when I hurt myself.

This brings us to the past few days of reading and meditating.

Smoking sucks. For lots of reasons. And if we look at cutting versus smoking, smoking is way way worse than cutting ever was. So each time I step out and have a smoke, I’m effectively self-harming. The only difference is cutting gives you a visual cue that you’ve done something. You have a reminder that “hey, you did this thing that you said you wouldn’t do”.

Smoking doesn’t have that. At least, for me, it didn’t until now.

My red lines are my reminders that I choose to dishonor myself. I choose to light up and inhale poison into my body. It was a choice. No one made me do it. Choices have consequences, even if they are long-term and do not affect my present.

I now have a way to visually see what I am doing to myself. I am hurting myself. I am breaking my promises. And by hurting myself I am hurting those that I care most about.

I know some people may feel that my method is a bit extreme, and I agree. It is extreme. It’s most likely not a method for everyone. It doesn’t have to be for everyone. It needs to be for myself. When I think of how many marks my arms would be covered with had I done this from the beginning, I’m saddened. I have hurt myself so much for so long. It makes me realize that smoking, for me, was a cry for help.

“Help. I can’t do this on my own. Help. I don’t know how to cope with how I feel. Help. I hurt. Help. I’m scared of this social situation. Help. Help.”

Every time I stepped out to smoke at work it was to try to get just a few minutes to hear my own thoughts. Or when mom died; it was how I could get away from people and hurt alone because I didn’t know how to hurt around others. Not at that intensity anyway.

I am sorry for my past self. I am sorry I wasn’t there for her. I’m sorry I didn’t listen more when she said she wanted to quit.

So yeah… That’s what a lot of my weekend has been. Listening to how I can get back to my life and figuring out how to make the negative choices I’m making more apparent and real.

I’ve been cross-stitching a little bit. I’m hoping to finish the pattern I’m working on today. I haven’t colored since earlier in the week, but I’m ok with that. I have my projects with me if I feel the urge to work on them at some point. I would like to finish at least one of the books I’m reading, which I can do while I stitch.

It’s a cold day today. It snowed last night, which lead to a spat with my brother about New Year’s plans. That’s a writing for a different day. Maybe tomorrow. For now, I’m going to have breakfast with the family and be content with a quiet day.

Again, I’m sorry, Universe. I don’t really hate you. I love you, truly, even if you are a mother fucking son of a whore sometimes.

Daily Post 010: Holiday Rage

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There is a lot of emotion in this post.
A lot of cursing and raw, unadulterated typing.
I’m not sorry because fuck holidays.

Dearest Universe,

Once again I am here; fucking lost and frustrated internally. I feel like there’s sandpaper on the inside of my skin trying to rub its way out, but it can’t get out because it’s not real, not physical and so I’m left with irritation, borderline rage that I have this sensation with no way to release it.

I’m hoping writing helps. I’m hoping by letting my fingers move over the keyboard, dancing the feelings away that I might find some measure of peace for the restlessness that has been my life for the past month or so; ever building, seldom ceasing. 

I quit my job. I think I wrote about that. I finally chose myself over bleeding out for a company that continuously disregarded my struggles and cries, pleas, for help. 

“Increase your anti-depressant.”

“Fake it until you make it.”

Fuck you guys. I have survived too much in my life to be told “fake it until you make it” when I come to you in tears. When I say I have anxiety and panic attacks when I feel hollow and empty when I have nothing left to give when I feel unsupported when I see my teammates and patients suffering… DO NOT tell me to increase my anti-depressant. 

I didn’t need anti-depressants when my mom died. I shouldn’t be told to take them to cope with work and a lack of life balance. 

Instead of taking their advice, I changed my life, because fuck being miserable. 

And yes, this post is most likely going to have a lot of cursing in it as tears run down my face. Tears of anger and hurt, of lostness and grief, sadness and frustration.

I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE MY JOB! I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE MY PATIENTS! I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE MY TEAMMATES AND “MY” CLINIC!

I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE!

That’s what I scream inside of my head, but when given the choice between my life and a fucking paycheck, the paycheck isn’t going to win. There is too much else I am capable of doing. Too many other skills that I already have and can learn; be taught. 

Fuck being miserable, and fuck your advice that I need medication to cope.

What I need is an employer that values me as a human rather than as a cog that’s only useful and valued when it’s performing. As soon as it needs any sort of maintenance then all of a sudden it’s an inconvenience. As if working 12-hour shifts five days in a row is realistically maintainable. As if constantly coping with death is doable without time to mourn or even vaguely process the loss of people you have known for years. 

It is been a little over a month since I left. 

I am still in training with my new job but the reduction in stress is ridiculous. I didn’t realize how dead inside I had been until about a week ago. Each day gets a little better. I have ups and downs still. Especially with it being the holidays, but workwise I do not regret leaving. I’m angry that I had to make that choice. I’m angry that I enabled such an atrocious business model for so long but I do not regret honoring myself. I do not regret being loyal to myself and taking care of my own wellbeing when for so long it was clear that the company wasn’t going to help me live or be ok. 

I have formed close connections with my trainers and fellow classmates. I’m doing well in training. I’m already looking at cross-training for other areas. Work is easy. Learning and retaining information is easy. I took a pretty steep pay cut, but I don’t care about it. A pay cut gave me my life back. A pay cut gave me better benefits. A pay cut wasn’t really a pay cut because had I not tried to quit once before, I still would have been making less than my brother as a new hire. 

Fuck your company. Fuck its disregard for human limitations and lack of empathy or compassion or even trying to understand what it was like working the floor. 

Anyway, I don’t really want to write about work anymore. I like my new job. I “graduated” phase one of training this past Thursday. I cried. It was silly and cheesy and mom would have been proud. She would have been happy for me and it helped me realize that I can be and will be ok in my choice. 

All of the thoughts of “did I make the right choice?” “Am I a failure at life?” “Would mom be proud of me?” All of those thoughts eating way at me could finally rest; stop. The worry and fear could finally stop eating away at me because of this one act of kindness from my trainers, and I wrote them an email explaining why such a silly seemingly trivial thing meant so much to me. 

Teachers, trainers, touch lives in amazing and unknown ways and I wanted them to know how they touched mine so I told them. They both were appreciative of my words and I’m grateful they were. They deserve to know they are valued and seen. 

The holidays have sucked. No surprise there. They haven’t sucked as much as in previous years. Maybe that’s part of the sandpaper feeling. I don’t know. 

I didn’t do anything for my birthday. I worked. No one remembered in my class which I was ok with. I stayed at the apartment and ate a pizza I cooked in the oven. I responded to messages until I couldn’t anymore and then I gave myself permission to stop looking at my phone; to stop poking at a wound that was already bleeding invisible blood. 

I let myself go to sleep. I lay with my pain and grief and in the morning I woke up more ok. I didn’t have to push myself to endure a birthday party. I didn’t have to smile when all I wanted was to break down and cry. I gave myself the gift of space and acceptance and that seemed to help this year. I did birthday stuff later; on “not my birthday” and that made it more ok. 

Maybe that’s how I will handle my birthdays from now on. The day before or after is ok, but my actual birthday is MY day to do what I want rather than people-pleasing or feeling pressured to be something other than what I am. 

Maybe in the future, it will change. Maybe I’ll look forward to parties and celebrations and whatnot in the years to come, but for now, reclaiming that one day as “my” day, helped get rid of all of the pressure and guilt, and shame that I have felt in the past years since mom died, and since I felt better, coped better, I feel like it’s something to keep in mind.

Life is different than what it was, what I thought it would be. I’m allowed to do things differently than I have in the past. I’m allowed to create new traditions and to try new or different things until I find what works; what I’m ok with. 

I was ok with this year for the most part. Ox was ok with it. My brothers and dad were ok with it. I survived and in the morning, after sleeping I was actually better than I thought I would be. I didn’t have depression lingering over me. Life didn’t feel pointless. I didn’t dread the thought of training. I worked out. I ate breakfast. I did all of these things I was fearful of not being able to do because “birthday blues” usually last more than one day. 

But they didn’t this year and I’m grateful for that. I feel like that’s improvement and I would rather focus on the positives I gained rather than having hyper-focus on the singular thought of “but you were still sad”. 

Yeah, I was fucking sad. My mom is dead. I’m always to some degree sad. But I’m especially sad when the one thing I knew I could look forward to, the one day I knew no matter what that she would call, is silent now. I won’t get my one phone call. 

The only thing I want, deeper than anything else in life, I can’t have, so yeah. I’m fucking sad and it’s my party and I will cry even if I don’t want to because that is what I need to do to be ok. 

I want to go out to a field and just scream FUCK right now. FUCK! FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!

My older brother and sister-in-law tested positive for covid. Because, you know, it’s not enough to contend with the loss of the most important person in my life. I have to also deal with the fear of losing the one person who was my rock while mom was in the hospital.

“Do you need anything?”

I can remember that question so clearly. It was the first night at the house. I had been in Vegas for less than 12 hours. The bank had canceled both my debit and credit card because I didn’t list them as “traveling” when I booked my flight. Funny how stupid shit like that slips your mind when your parent is dying. 

I was standing at the kitchen counter. Jason was across from me. 

“Do you need anything?”

“Please don’t die.”

That was most likely the most selfish and unrealistic thing to ask for, but it was the only thing I wanted, needed, in that moment. I could handle mom being in the hospital as long as he was there to help me get through it. As long as he was ok and I didn’t have to worry about losing anyone else I could hold my shit together. 

And then I find out he has covid. 

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! FUCK YOU UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING THAT YOU CONSIST OF YOU MOTHER FUCKING SON OF A WHORE!

It’s no different than when I found out I had cancer before Thanksgiving. No different than fucking up a holiday with Life’s bullshit. 

I survived my birthday only to prepare for the onslaught of Christmas a mear four days later and I find out that my brother isn’t ok.

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! WHEN WILL IT BE ENOUGH? WHEN WILL YOU STOP TESTING ME, PUSHING ME? WHEN AM I ALLOWED TO NOT BE STRONG? WHEN AM I ALLOWED TO BE TIRED AND SCARED? WHEN AM I ALLOWED TO BE SAFE? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! THERE AREN’T ENOUGH FUCKS TO FUCKING FUCK THIS FUCKING SITUATION! FUCK!

And I write all of that knowing that my sister-in-law didn’t really hit my radar. It would have sucked, and I would have been sad, but it wouldn’t have been the devastating, earth-shattering, disaster when compared to my brother and I know that most likely makes me a terrible human on some level, but fuck it. It’s the truth. If I had to pick someone to die and someone to live, it would be my brother and I’ll carry that truth with me like all the other scars I wear. 

It’s been a few days since I found out about their diagnosis. They’re both doing ok, which helps ease the fear and uncertainty. It helps something inside me, the four-year-old who cries for mom. I can’t have mom but at least I can have my brother. I know at some point the universe will take him away from me, but for now, it hasn’t and I cling to that with every ounce of my unstable mental and emotional strength because fuck holidays. 

I made it through yesterday. I’ve been coloring a lot more recently. It helps. It gives my eyes and hands something to do with I try to trace thoughts and feelings through my head, trying to make sense of them, trying to hear my inner self and understand what I need. 

It’s how I made it through most of yesterday. Watching gorey anime, cuddling with the cats, and coloring. 

Today we get the kids and will be opening presents and doing all of the actual Christmas stuff. I keep swinging back and forth between being ok and not ok today and I’m so fucking tired of it. 

I’M TRIED! I’M SO FUCKING TIRED YOU SON OF A BITCH AND YET YOU KEEP FUCKING WITH ME! GODDAMIT UNIVERSE! WHY CAN’T YOU LEAVE ME BE! WHY CAN’T I BE NORMAL FOR ONE FUCKING DAY? WHY CAN’T I HAVE A CHRISTMAS WITH THE KIDS AND NOT BE AN EMOTIONAL WRECK? WHY DO I HAVE TO DRAG OX THROUGH THIS, OR JOHN? WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO CRY? WHAT’S SO UNREALISTIC ABOUT BEING ABLE TO BE HAPPY?

Typing out the frustration helps. I know they’re irrational, emotional thoughts. Typing them gets them out of my head. Gives them their time. Makes the sandpaper less abrasive as if screaming through my fingers wears the paper down, grinding away the coarseness. 

There’s been a lot of death that I haven’t written about. My sister-in-laws-dad died. One of my mentors from Full Sail died. Several patients I deeply cared about have died. I haven’t written to them like I normally do to express my grief and now it’s been so long that part of me feels like my words won’t reach them even though I know that’s not true.

There’s so much that I haven’t written though, expressed, just kept inside.

I started a cessation program with work and have cut back significantly on smoking. 

There’s all of this stuff going on in my life and none of it is inherently bad. It’s just… stuff… with emotions, but there are so many of them all at once that internally I’m getting overwhelmed, drowning in the onslaught of waves with refuse to give me reprieve. 

The kids will be here soon. They, too, were exposed to covid. I’m going to have Christmas with them even though I’m unvaccinated. I know people are going to read that and think I’m dumb. Dumb for not distancing myself. Dumb for not getting a vaccine. Dumb for being dumb. 

I’M GOING TO FUCKING DIE AT SOME POINT. LET ME HAVE ONE CHRISTMAS!

Just one Christmas… one where I see lil’ ox open up a palette of makeup for the first time and do something girly with her. One Christmas where I can be fully present emotionally with Ox’s family. Just one where I can appreciate being part of a family that has taken me in as their own daughter, flaws and fucked up emotional issues and all. A family where I have never been judged and always loved. 

I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of hurting. If I’m going to eventually die then I want to have lived first. 

This isn’t a suicide letter. This isn’t goodbye. I’m done fucking being afraid. I’m done walking on eggshells. I’m done fucking crying. 

Fuck you Universe. I’ve given you more tears than you deserve. I’ve given you more than I ever wanted to. I’ve been stronger and survived more than I ever had a right to. So yes. Fuck you. 

Happy fucking holidays you insensitive, unfeeling bastard. I hate you so much right now. I hate you for everything you have taken from me and everything you keep fucking with. I HATE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH RIGHT NOW AND I DON’T CARE HOW INSIGNIFICANT MY RAGE IS. I DON’T CARE THAT I SOUND LIKE A CHILD. I’M HUMAN! I’M EMOTIONAL AND IRRATIONAL AND ILLOGICAL AND I DON’T FUCKING CARE BECAUSE THIS IS WHERE YOU PUSHED ME TO THIS YEAR. 

So yeah, happy fucking holidays you son of a whore.

Sincerely from a rage-filled dragon who doesn’t give a fuck. 

Daily Post 009: Therapy Journal and Dreams

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I didn’t write yesterday, but I did journal in my new “Therapy Journal”.

I’ve been going to therapy for a while now. Not sure if I wrote about that since I’ve been writing so infrequently. I greatly enjoy my therapist. She is supportive and accepting of a lot of my mentalities. I was nervous at first because she is a faith-based counselor and since I’m a follower of Freya… yeah… the chances of there being friction were pretty high; at least inside my head.

We’ve been able to talk about faith, spirituality, sexuality, grief, fear, tiredness, medications… just… everything. Anything. And when there is a difference or something new for either of us, we’re able to talk through it and find understanding with each other. It’s beautiful. It’s safe. It lets me be me and that’s what helps to find peace and acceptance with my emotions.

Well, one thing we tried in a previous session was me doodling and writing on a whiteboard. Since I’m a kinetic, visual person, and because writing is already something that I know helps figure out or clarify my thoughts, we gave it a shot. At it was amazing. It was one of the best sessions I can remember having, and that’s saying a lot for how many sessions I have had over the course of my life.

Her dry erase markers don’t get used all that much, and several of them were nearing the end of their life. Not that I tried every single marker that she had… but if I had tried every single marker she had… I may or may not have wanted to get her new ones… >.>;

Which brings us to this previous Wednesday. Normally I have my sessions on Thursday, around 10ish. This week we met on Wednesday though. Thursday was pretty booked for her. Since I typically leave the house with enough time to have about 15 minutes to wait in the lobby, I decided to stop at a CVS and pick up some dry erase markers. While I was there, I was left unsupervised in the Office section of the store… surrounded by pens and colors, and notebooks.

There was one notebook. A half-book really. Smaller than my normal to-do list notebooks, with a hardcover, tarnished golden rings on the side. The cover itself was a blue and white design. It was calming to look at. Pretty without being glittery or flashy. Without some dumb “motivational” message on the front. Just an open, welcoming designs and blank pages on the inside.

I decided to buy it, along with a set of G2 pens. The pens I love using so much because they write so smoothly. I also got a pen case. These would be special pens. Different and separate from my normal pens, even though they are the same brand, the same colors.

These would be my therapy pens, and I would keep them in a special case so they couldn’t get lost or mixed up. And this notebook would be my therapy notebook, so I could keep my doodles and writings and notes from therapy.

My therapist was so grateful for the dry erase markers. She wanted to compensate me for buying them. I refused, saying if I had expected compensation, I would have talked to her first before buying them. It isn’t fair to do something without another’s knowledge and then hold them accountable or responsible for the effort or resources you willingly chose to expend.

Me: If they are able to help me, then maybe they can help someone else. That alone is worth it to me.

I didn’t use my notebook during the session. It was more conversational rather than introspective, which I was ok with. Instead, I reflected on my session yesterday and wrote within my therapy journal the things I wanted to remember from it. Reminders for me as we go into the holiday season and this period of restful, cold winter.

I did a fair amount of chores and cleaning yesterday. I folded all my scrubs so they can be packed away. I don’t feel it is right to get rid of them just yet. Maybe in the future, I will. But for now, they will be packed away and kept. I cleaned up the bedroom. I swept. I did more laundry. Ox came home with a ham, and I cooked it for lunch. I made my own breakfast yesterday, an egg and cheese burrito. It was warm and tasty, and I ate all of it, rather than aimlessly picking until I threw it away.

I cooked ribs the night before, having dinner ready before Ox’s mom came home.

Mama Ox: Well, this is a nice surprise.

Part of me fluffed up and felt good about making her day better. Giving her something to let her know she’s cared for and not the only person contributing to the family. Another part of me hurts because it really has been forever since I have cooked for everyone. I used to do it all the time. But for so long I haven’t because I haven’t had the willpower to. It saddens me that all of us had to go through that period of my life. That I allowed myself to go through that for so long. That it affected people I deeply care about in such ways.

But at the same time, while I feel that heartache, I’m getting better. I’m doing more. I’m feeling more like myself. Ox and I are playful again. He tickled me the other day as I teasingly tried to wake him up from a nap. There are all of these little things, things I have missed and longed for, which are slowly coming back. I haven’t made it to the gym yet, but I know I’m getting closer to going. I can feel it building within myself.

Each day I return to another thing. Being consistent with meds. Sleeping without melatonin. Eating meals. Doing chores without crying. Planning a meal and cooking it… all of these dumb, little things that are considered part of everyday life which for so long I wasn’t able to do because of depression and burnout… It’s only a matter of time before one day I wake up, rested, restored, able, and willing to take on the day, and not just the day, but my health as well.

I’ll feel able to go to my kickboxing class and be around people and bow in before stepping on the mat. I feel able to make the drive there and back without wondering “how”? How am I going to be able to do ALL of that and still make it through the rest of my day?

I won’t have to wonder how. I’ll just know, I’ll feel, that I can, and I will and it will be amazing. I’m looking forward to that day. I know it’s closer than it is far away.

Today I woke up with a headache. I also had a dream.

It was about mom. She was there. She was so alive. She nearly glowed, vitality radiating from her with a warmth and beauty that words will never be able to do justice. We were together. She was smiling and I remember thinking that I love her smile.

At some point in the dream, she turned away. She was going to go get something. Food or some such. I remember she left and there was a noticeable change in the room/environment. Her glow was gone. The absence of her warmth and presence was physically felt.

I don’t remember specifically the events in the dream. But I remember being confused. How could mom have been here? How could she have looked so alive? Hadn’t she died? The thought tore at my heart. I knew I couldn’t “just ask” that question. In the dream, I needed to find a safe person who would give me an honest answer. I remember finding them. I don’t remember who it was. But I asked, “Did mom die?”

Instead of answering, they held me, and their answer didn’t matter because from their actions I knew. Mom really was dead, and I was dreaming and when I woke up, she wouldn’t be there.

Ox had been getting ready for work as I dreamed. He was running late and a little grouchy at me when I was slow to get out of bed. I hurt from the dream he didn’t know about. He didn’t know the depth at which I hurt. He didn’t know how his words made me want to cry.

While we were outside having our morning cigarette, he asked how I slept. I told him about the dream. He held me as I cried.

Me: I wanted it to be real.

Crying turned to sobbing and through it all he held me.

I do want it to be real. So badly. I want mom to meet Ox and his family and the people who have become important in my life. I want her to be alive and smile and hug her and feel her warmth. I want all these things and I’ll never be able to have them the way I want.

And while I’m sad and tears are running down my face as I type all of this, I cling to the memory of my dream. Seeing mom happy, smiling, so… alive and well and ok. I will cherish that. I think she is happy for me. I think she thinks I’m doing well.

I know I’m doing better, but I’m still in the transition phase. I haven’t started my new job. I haven’t gone through the two weeks where I won’t get a paycheck. There’s still a lot of things that will transpire before life settles into its new normal.

The waters of life haven’t stilled just yet, but I’m still going to swim forward with strong sure strokes knowing my mom is watching me figure it out and that she’s proud of me. Happy for me.

I love you so much, mom. I miss you and I hope you’re doing well. I’m going to get through this because I’m your little Earth Dragon who Can. Your Earth Dragon who Did. <3

Daily Post 008: Post-DaVita

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Today is my first day writing post-DaVita. It’s my third day being “not a PCT”. It’s… different. It’s… not heavy. Each day I do a little better. Each day I get a little more done. Each day I add a chore or a task or a “thing”, whatever that may end up being. Today it’s writing.

I had counseling today. It focused more on the holidays and my plans for them and how I cope with the emotions that inevitably surface. It wasn’t until roughly the last 15 minutes of our session that I mentioned how I had quit my job and already accepted another. Talk about dropping a bombshell.

Overall, it was a good session. I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel the need to cry. Even when we started talking about mom and death and grief. I felt ok with my emotions. I know they will come and visit. I know it will be hard to sit with them again and break bread. I won’t “want” to welcome them but being angry or sad or frustrated with myself for feeling those emotions isn’t going to make feeling them any easier.

I have had dreams lately. Positive dreams, or at least reassuring.

The one I remember most had to do with swimming. I was at a swim meet. I was supposed to do laps. The pool side was crowded, and I was worried. I couldn’t find where I was supposed to be. I couldn’t see my spot through all the people. But I found it, an empty spot just for me. The place I was supposed to be, where I belonged. The race started and I dove into the water. I knew what I was doing. My strokes were strong and sure. I was headed in this direction, all I had to do was keep going and focus on my intention.

Part way through the race I got nervous. I couldn’t see through all the splashing water. I’ve never swum laps before. I know, in theory, how to turn once you reach the other side of the pool, but I personally have never done it. During the race I became worried. How was I going to pull off the turn when I couldn’t see the wall? What if I made a fool of myself in front of everyone? What if I ran headfirst into the wall and hurt myself? What if, what if, what if…?

Suddenly the water stilled, and I could see the wall. I dove and completed the turn without issue, continuing to swim was ease, knowing that I was still doing the right thing, that I was able to do the right thing and that events would fall into place as they were meant to.

I woke up feeling more ok with my choice. Right now, I’m still in the process of swimming. Things are still in motion and some things on the other side of that motion are unclear. Just because I can’t see the other side doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing or that the direction I’m going in is wrong. I need to focus on my intention, my purpose, and keep going. Everything else will fall into place and be clear when it’s meant to be clear.

That’s how I’m choosing to think of my dreams at least. All the uncertainty and confusion, fear and self-doubt… that’s all normal. I know myself and my ability. I need to have faith in that, in myself, and so I am. One day at a time, one step at a time.

I miss my team. I miss my patients. I no longer feel a soul-crushing weight when I wake up in the morning. Some of my patients and I are friends on Facebook now, since I’m not longer an employee. It might be the ending of me starting their treatments, but it means we can have a beginning as true friends. It’s so much different on this side of my choice than I thought it would be. So much more supportive and… connective. I feel free to be me and I’m enjoying the process of self-discovery.

There is so much and more to write about, but hopefully this is the start of many more to come. I’m starting to look forward to the future again. I’m starting to be and feel alive and that is a deeply missed and appreciated feeling.

007: Confronting Burnout

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I’ve been reading a lot about burnout. I guess because I’m there. I’m past there. Since about the second or third week of June I have worked 5 days a week.

That might not sound like a lot. After all, the rest of society works five days a week. Why should I be burnt out over a “normal” work schedule.

It’s not a normal schedule though. I wake up at 2 am on the days I work. I work 10 to 12 hours on the days I work. I all EMS on the days I work. I have to make wellness checks when patients don’t show up to treatment or answer their phones when we try to call. I have to be told by the Sargent that our patient was found deceased in their home. That I’ll never be able to joke with her again; never tell her stories about the kittens or what Ox and I got done on the addition. I’m an introvert constantly empathizing and caring and giving while barely getting enough sleep to keep myself healthy.

I am so out of touch with myself that I don’t know how to care for myself anymore, and I allowed it to happen.

My former supervisor went on vacation for two weeks. During that time I lost 5 patients. Some withdrew from treatment, deciding to go do palliative care instead. Some actually died, as was the case with the wellness check. One moved out of state, but I’ve been so present in our sister clinic that I never got to say goodbye to him before he left.

On top of that, my brother also went on vacation. I knew it would be hard when he left, but I didn’t know I would have panic attacks and feel mom’s death all over again while still having to go to work and hold my shit together.

A couple of Tuesdays ago, I hit my breaking point. I was training a new teammate. We were on the floor taking care of patients. One of my coworkers came on the floor, took one look at me, and asked in an extremely concerned voice, “Are you ok?”

Out of all of the responses I could have given her, all of the things I could have said, I didn’t have it in me to lie; not to myself, not to her. Not to anyone.

“No. I’m not,” I said, on the verge of tears.

We stepped off the floor and I ended up crying in her office explaining how I was exhausted, how I had so much loss that no one could prepare for and the panic attacks due to Jon’s absence.

I’m only human and each of us can only handle so much and I had reached my limit. After emotionally dealing with so much with so little reprieve or self-care I had finally reached the point where I literally couldn’t give anymore because the only then I had left to give was tears.

That coworker ended up covering the rest of my shift that day. I went home and slept for hours. When I woke up I ate then went back to sleep. The next day I went back to work and was able to function.

My former supervisor heard about my break. When she got back from vacation she sent me a text asking me to call her when I had time.

“I wanted to make sure you are ok.” It was so good to hear her voice. It was so connecting to have someone reach out with genuine concern. As I sat outside smoking too many cigarettes, tears silently running down my face I told her everything that had been going on. I told her how I felt like I wasn’t doing anything to create a culture change in our sister clinic. It felt like the only thing I was doing was working more and living less and that I didn’t know how to live anymore. I didn’t know myself. I didn’t have the energy or drive to do any of the things I used to love to do. No cross-stitching, no working out, no dojo.

Nothing.

Just work, sleep, followed by more work.

It’s sucked. It’s sucked so much and now it all feels pointless.

Working 50+ hours for over two months has put a huge strain on my relationship with Ox. It’s left me with nothing to give to our relationship.

My former boss asked if she could have a conversation on my behalf with our new FA. She said she felt like I needed to be back in my home clinic for a while to rebalance. That I needed to work less and be in a familiar environment with familiar people and away from the drama and chaos that is our sister clinic.

She said she is always here for me. I asked, “Even when you’re on vacation?” To which she replied. “Absolutely. Even when I’m on vacation.”

I felt loved after our conversation, much like I felt loved and cared for when my coworker finished out the five hours I had left on my shift. I felt like a person and like I mattered to someone, anyone. That I wasn an invisible cog, replaceable and insignificant. People in my life cared about my emotional, mental, and physical wellbeing and they were actively helping me, not just giving me pretty words about holding on or digging deep or “It will be ok”.

I want a consistent schedule again. I want my three days. I want my days off. I want my routines and quiet moments. I want time away from people and saving lives. I want the energy to save my own.

I want so many things but mostly it comes back to, “I want to be left alone.” I want to not problem solve. I want to turn off my emotional system. I want to disconnect so all of the damage from overworking and begin to heal. I know it’s going to be an extremely slow process. I know it’s going to take a while to recover from what I let the past few months be.

I also know it needs to happen. I need the space and time to be tired, to sleep, to slowly regain energy and drive and purpose again. After that step, I’ll need time to begin returning to the habits that I know are good for me. Working out. Eating well. Sleeping deeply for enough hours. Keeping up with chores and my personal environments. Things that help me feel like I have autonomy and like I’m an adult able to function and cope with life.

I want to get off my antidepressants. I want a life where I don’t have to be on them to cope with burnout. I want work to be sustainable and realistic. I want to have experiences and run mud obstacle 5ks. I want a dojo where I can spare and laugh and learn and be part of something larger than myself. I want to stop smoking but right now it’s my only way to get away from people; to get off the floor, so I keep doing it.

I’ve reached out to another coworker today asking for the contact information for her therapist. I feel like I’m back at the point I was at when mom died. There’s so much not right in my life that I don’t know where to start. I don’t need someone to fix my problems. I need someone to listen; to be a safe place where I can talk, where I have a whole hour devoted to myself where I can start to figure out and untangle things.
Where I can get an outside perspective and other ideas I might not have thought to try.

I don’t need someone to fix my life. Only I can do that. I need the time to figure out how to do that and the resources that will make my efforts successful.

I have today and tomorrow off from work. I haven’t had two days off in a row for so long. The thought of that much time makes me want to cry in relief but at the same time fills me with anxiety. I don’t know what to do if I’m not at work, and that’s so sad and heartbreaking to say.

How can one not know what to do outside of work? How does someone not have a hobby or passion or an idea of what would make them feel ok?

I don’t know. I really don’t know how I let myself get here, but here is where I am.

Ox has been supportive today. Well… he’s supportive every day, but today we both didn’t work. We were both home. We did chores together. We put clothes away, together. We organized things, together. We were together through all of it and that made it feel doable. I wasn’t alone. I didn’t have to figure it out by myself. We could take breaks. We had a homemade breakfast. I didn’t have to drink a protein drink on the way to work because I didn’t have time to digest actual food.

I’ve been having nightmares. It’s the first time I can remember ever being afraid to sleep. Which super sucks because I’m so physically, mentally, and emotionally tired but my brain is being a terrorist and so I’m terrified that if I sleep I’ll have dreams again.

Dreams of rotting teeth or sliding downward and screaming for my mom, or searching the grocery store for the one thing I know I need to get and being unable to find it no matter how hard I look. Or dark monsters who travel from deep in the underworld through tunnels made of bones to attack me.

They’re awful. So awful and I don’t want to have them but I don’t want to take meds so I can’t make myself not dream any more than I could will myself to do it before they started.

I need my life back. I need myself. And deep down, and I want to say I need my mom but I don’t know what good it would do to say that out loud. She’s still going to be dead. She’s still not going to be able to answer the phone.

I want my mom. I may not “need” her the way I need air or water or food, but I want her so badly right now. I want her hug, her scent. I want her words telling me that it’s ok, that I’m safe.

Ox has been doing that a lot today. Whenever we step outside or he’s close to me I reach out and put his hand on my cheek or the top of my head. I don’t know why it makes me feel safer, but it does. It’s helping through today.

Cleaning helped. Eating helped. Showering and meal prepping helped. It’s not fixing anything major, but it’s reminding me that there are shreds of me still left under all of the exhaustion and shattered stress and loss.

I’ve been trying to cross stitch more. I’ve watched all of Cursed on Netflix. I started watching Sweet Tooth. I’ve been cuddling with the kittens and sleeping when I feel tired.

I’m burnt out. Severely. I feel like burnout is its own time of injury and injuries take time to heal. They take rest, and calmness, patience, and understanding. Compassion.

I have two more weeks to go before the new schedule comes out where, in theory, I will be back at my home clinic.

This next week I only work four days. Most of them are shorter days, and one of them is at my home clinic. The next week is another week of 5 days, but two of them are at my home clinic. And then, maybe, possibly, things will get better.

There’s so much more to write about other than my burnout, but this was what I needed to spew the most. I can get through two more weeks. I can get through one week. I can have two days off in a row and survive. I can be something other than work. I can be tired and drained and lost and still be whole; not broken.

That’s something I’m still trying to keep in my mind. I’m still trying to work on being my friend rather than my enemy. I’m still not broken. I’m just really really, tired and that’s ok.

Soon. I’ll be through this soon and maybe then I’ll be able to breadcrumb my way back to me.

006: Confessing to Being Whole

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I have been.

I have been so many things between my last writing and this one.


I have been happy. I have been sad. I have been alone. I have been suicidal. I have been on the verge of quitting my job. I have been promoted. I have been lost. I have been found. I have been connected. I have been confused, numb, hopeless, devoid, hungry, cold, hot, rage-filled, desperate, confident, unshakeable, and shattered.

I have been so, so many things. Tiring things. Exhausting things. Passionate and human things.

And at the end of it all, I arrive here.

I am.

Simply that. I am.

I have been waiting, avoiding, rejecting, searching, grasping, flailing, falling, sinking, drowning, dying.

I have known that I needed to write for months. Ox has suggested it over and over again, but inside I knew it wasn’t time yet. While I “wanted” to write, I didn’t WANT to write.

I didn’t want to sit with myself and hear myself. I didn’t want to figure it out. I didn’t want to understand or deal with pain and truth or any of it.

So I didn’t. For so long, I didn’t hear myself or let others hear me. The inner me. The me that’s been hiding soft, frail, vulnerable things for three years now.

One of my friends from work, a close friend, someone who in the timeline of my life is fairly new, but deeply loved and valued, gave me a book two days ago.

Untamed. I have already read it.

I have also read a book recommended to me by my dad. Unfuck Yourself

I have thought deeply on both books.

While Unfuck Yourself spoke to parts of me, Untamed touched things in my core. The words and messages in Untamed left me stripped of my outer armor and made me sit within myself. My inner self would cry out at points in the book, “This! This here! This is what I need you to hear. This is is why I’m dying inside you! This is why we hurt. This is why we feel unfulfilled.”

There was and is so much in that book. So much honesty. So much life. So much vulnerability. So much truth, about society, people, experiences…

And so here I sit.

I sit here, grounded, after a night of crying while Ox held me and I confessed to things I never thought I would confess to. Things I never thought I would share because they’re “dumb” or “stupid” or “fucked up”. Things that are too precious to me to risk the change of them being hurt or injured by rejection. But after reading Untamed I couldn’t NOT share them. These are my truths. These are my heartbeat and heartbreak. These things are why I keep going and why each day is agony.

And so, as we lay in bed, so far past our bedtime, we talked. We connected. I shared and cried and breathed and was held through all of the pain and vulnerability.

Me: I’m terrified of losing you. I’m terrified that you’ll die and I’ll have to figure out my life all over again and I don’t want to do that.

Me: When you say “I love you” I hear mom through you. I feel like she put you in my life because she knew I would need you. I hear her because you say it the same way she said it. With unconditional acceptance.

Me: Inside all of this is so small and frail and I want to protect it because I don’t want it to get hurt. I know not everyone will believe me. I know it’s not logical, but I know what it feels like inside me. I know it’s real for me.

And so I’ve said it. All of it.

I’ve admitted to it out loud for the first time. I hear my mom through Ox. I feel my mom through his hugs. And I’m terrified of losing that and I know people will read or see this and think that I still have issues to work through or that I’m fucked up or that feelings are dumb and logically none of this is right or ok or whatever other things people say.

I KNOW! Ok!? I ALREADY FUCKING KNOW!

And I type that with all of the internal rage searing through my body that I feel towards my evil inner voice which for so long has kept me from truly being me since mom’s death. From truly living my life and just being at peace with who I am. And I’m so fucking tired of it.

I’m tired of feeling like I can’t say things or express myself fully or be me because there’s something about me that’s too much. Too big, too small, too strong, too weak, too hard, too soft, too logical, too emotional…

Reading Untamed was very similar to when I finally read about INFJ personality types. I finally had permission to simply be. To exist. To breath. To think. To feel.

And so here I am, no longer hiding, searching, avoiding, struggling, flailing.

My biggest fear is losing Ox. The kittens would be my left vest, keeping me afloat through the destructive waves of grief which I know will crash over my life when he dies.

It will not my brothers, or my dad, or my friends or patients or my job which keep me going…

Saber and Dagger would be the two, tiny creatures that would keep me connected by thin, invisible, unbreakable strands to life.

Despite my grief and pain, they would need me to love them. They would need cat food so I would have to work to afford it. They would need to be fed so I would have to get up in the mornings. They would need and want cuddles so I would have to touch and interact with them; feel their warmth and their love.

I would have to do these things for them and so I would stay. For them. Because of them. And I would, in time, learn to live again just like I did when mom died. I would stay through all of the hard, all of the pointless, all of the lostness, and because I would stay I would eventually learn how to continue.

Another inner truth; I honor my mom and Ox by living. Dying would be so incredibly easy to do. Almost effortless when compared to living. I honor them by not giving up even though I want to. I value my connection with them enough to keep going. It’s worth the pain of being alive to have moments like last night where I can awkwardly, introvertedly word vomit all over Ox and still be loved. Unconditionally loved. Unconditionally accepted. Held and safe. Warm and unalone.

I’m done hiding. I’m done lying to myself. I’m done trying to force myself to be things I’m not or not feel things I do.

I’m done telling myself that what I feel is fucked up or wrong. I used to be my friend, but somewhere along the way, I stopped. I forgot how. I fell back into old habits. I’ve let them consume me because they are comfortable, familiar, known, and so much older and easier than the newer habits of self-love and self-acceptance I had been working on after mom died.

I have either not been there for myself or I have beaten myself down internally because that’s easier than trying to help myself grow.

I slept close to 13 hours between last night and today and for the first time in a while, I woke up not feeling dead inside. I woke up emotionally and mentally exhausted, to the point that I canceled my dentist appointment (woohoo! canceled plans are the best plans!), but I woke up feeling whole, cleaner, lighter; like I wasn’t carrying all these dirty secrets around inside of me that if people knew they would point at me in shame or disgust and reject me from the group because I was no longer acceptable.

I woke up not fearing unworthiness.

I woke up knowing that I am not unworthy. That is what last night showed me. If others reject me for being authentic and having the integrity, the loyalty to myself to stand beside and with my emotions, then that says more about them than it does of me.

I am still growing, learning, hurting. I am still becoming who I am. Constantly. Continuelessly. Tirelessly. I accept the death of my old self, my self before mom’s death. I accept that I am strong. I accept that I have pain inside my heart. I accept that we, all of us, are mortal and that life can be prolonged but death cannot be stopped.

I accept that I am flawed. I accept that I am whole. I accept that this new whole is different from my old whole. Nothing is missing; it’s that life is different and I do not fully understand all of those differences yet. That is what makes it uncomfortable. Because it’s different and unknown and as a human I crave the known and comfortable.

I am not and have never been broken.

I have been and am human.

I have been unlearned, undiscovered, unheard, unknown; but never, ever have I been broken and I finally accept that about myself. After over five years of listening/not-listening, or avoiding/searching, rejecting/accepting…

I accept I am different from what I was.

Different doesn’t mean bad. Different doesn’t mean damaged.

Different does not mean broken.

So here I am. Whole. Whole within myself, within my relationship, within my life. My mother is dead and I am whole, not broken.

I guess that’s the main thing I realized while reading Untamed. I’m not broken. I’m me. And me is a very beautiful, real, and messy thing.