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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. 

Musing Moment 142: Better Than Good

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I still don’t have a date for my surgery. By the time I got a chance to call Friday afternoon the office was already closed for the day because of course, it makes sense to close at 11:30 on Fridays…

Blarg.

Work has been going well. It’s been helping to keep me grounded, if just barely. It helps to keep things feeling “normal”. I still go to work. Days are still mildly crazy. I still see all of my patients. I still have cancer and I still save lives.

Ox and I tried having a date night last night. I wanted to go out. I wanted to get wings without having to drive halfway across town to a location that was nowhere near any of the other things we had been hoping to do; grocery shopping and such.

We found a place online that seemed promising. The service sucked. My food was not up to my standards of wing-ness. Though, to be fair to them… I have pretty high standards. Overall I wasn’t impressed and felt like it was a waste of the money we spent. We had to wait so long for the food and then the bill that by the time we left I was too tired to want to do the shopping. We went home instead. I slept at the house rather than going back to the apartment to be with the kittens.

It was nice, sleeping next to Ox. I so rarely get to do that now. I didn’t spend the night alone, trapped in my own darkness. I woke up next to someone I care about.

Despite feeling like the money spent on date night was a waste, it was nice to be out. It was nice to try to have a date night even though I have cancer. It was nice to feel normal and not defined by something no one can see. No one around us knew. I could pretend to be a normal person. I cling to the things that make me feel normal right now; that let me pretend that all of this isn’t going on. I can pretend that I’m not waiting for a call about surgery. I can pretend that I’m scared.

I’m just a normal person with a normal life and things will be ok. I don’t think pretending all of this isn’t going on is healthy, but I also don’t know how to confront or contend with all of the emotions going on so I don’t know what to do.

I know a lot of it is still a rat’s nest inside of my head. I’m not defined by my organs or lack of them. I’m not defined by sickness or lack of it. I’m not defined by my resolve or when it wavers. Strength isn’t defined by a lack of tears or the absence of fear.

I know all of these things and yet I can’t fight the evil voice which isn’t so little anymore. It has strength and power which gives it size. It’s not little whisperings which I can tell to go fuck themselves.

“Good girls don’t get cancer.”

That’s one of the things it says to me, stated like a fact, full of confidence and conviction. It doesn’t have to yell those words at me. You don’t have to yell when you know you’re right. That’s the type of voice it uses right now. It knows it’s right and that I can’t do anything to change it.

I don’t know how to fight Evil Voice right now because there’s a part of me who agrees with it. Trust me, I know it’s fucked up to have that type of mentality. I didn’t ask for cancer. I didn’t actively do anything to get it. But saying, “It’s not my fault,” isn’t enough to fight Evil Voice. I can’t say, “Good girls get cancer,” because that’s untrue. “Good girls fight cancer” doesn’t work because I don’t feel like having surgery is really fighting… I don’t know what to say to fight back as so I’m left feeling like I’m losing another part of myself that I didn’t know was such a part of my identity.

The whole “good girl” thing comes from the bdsm aspect of my life which may or may not be appropriate to write about, but fuck it, this is my writing and this is where my brain is at. When Ox called me a good girl during sex the other day I completely lost it. I was furious at him for calling me a good girl. Furious to the point of tears and breaking down in anguish because I’m no longer what I was; what I should be. I’m not a good girl anymore. How could he say that to me when I’m not deserving of that phrase.

Good girls don’t get cancer.

All of this sucks.

Who am I? Who do I want to be? What defines me?

Where do you start with questions like that?

I guess, first and foremost I’m a sister. To my brothers and my half-sisters. I’m there for them. I’m still a daughter to my mother and father. I am a partner to Ox. I don’t feel like I’m a very good partner at the moment. I feel like I take a lot of energy from him. I cry a lot. I talk about stupid things like zombie apocalypses and last wills and how I feel unworthy. He says he doesn’t mind but if I’m tired of myself then I don’t understand how other people wouldn’t be tired of me, too.

He says I’m still “His good girl,” which helps, though I don’t know why. Maybe because it takes away my perspective. His view of good and my view of good can be different. My having cancer doesn’t change his view so his view of “good” is still valid and allowed while my view of “good” needs to be more definitively defined so as to combat Evil Voice.

When I talked to my instructor she said as caregivers, most of the time it’s easier for us to give care than to receive it. I feel like there’s a lot of truth in that statement. I don’t want to be a burden to people around me. I can’t be the happy and optimistic me I normally am and I know that bothers people. They want to help. They want to do something, but there’s nothing for them to really do other than let me try to swim through the tidal wave of feelings when they come.

Most of the time I’m so tired of feeling that I feel nothing and there’s a part of me wondering if that’s the cancer fucking with my thyroid or if that’s legitimately how I feel. And there’s still yet another part of me who wonders if it even matters where the emotions come from or why they’re there. The end result is the same regardless of the source. Maybe it’s the fact that it is winter. Or the holidays. Or that it’s a day that ends in “y”. Who knows.

There is this pervasive feeling of… something. I’m tired of figuring stuff out. I’m tired of caring. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of explaining. I’m tired of people. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not good enough. I’m tired of defending my self-worth against myself because I’m the only one saying that I failed.

I’m a failure. I’m a fuck up. I’m too much. I’m too little.

No, I’m not, damnit. Fuck you, Brain.

You know what? Yeah. That’s exactly it. That phrase right there is the thing I didn’t know I needed to say. Fuck you, Brain. Fuck you and all your thoughts and emotions. Just… fuck you.

Angry. I guess that’s what a lot of it is at the moment. Anger and frustration and helplessness because none of this is in my control. Fuck you, Universe and all your trials and “adventures”. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of your games. I’m tired of proving myself.

I’m angry that now I finally have the insight to want to talk to mom about things she went through that I can’t. Fuck you. Fuck you for putting me in this position after taking her away from me.

Fuck you for making me think that I am going to owe this doctor my life and be in his debt. Fuck you for the mentalities you fostered in me. Fuck you for making me an INFJ who’s constantly aware and considerate and understanding of others but completely unable to provide or apply the same understanding to myself.

I’m always in a different category simply because I’m me and I’m sick of it. Fuck you. I’m no different. Ok? I’m the same. I’m a fucking human, too, just like every other person on this fucking planet. I’m a human even if I don’t have my thyroid. I’m a human even if I have cancer. I’m a fucking human, too, and I’m allowed to be angry and frustrated and tired and not ok.

I’m allowed those things. I’m allowed to feel those things.

You can’t take that away from me, Universe. I’m still human. No matter what you do to me, no matter what you take away from me, I will always be human. I will always be my mother’s daughter. I will always be my brothers’ sister.

I think that’s a step in the right direction. I feel better for having found it at least. I’m human. Cancer can’t fucking change that.

Yeah. That’s right. Fuck you, Kevin. You can’t change me; the real me. The human me was human before you and will still be human after you, you son of a bitch. Fuck you for fucking with my life. I won’t let you make me think that I’m less than awesome. I won’t let you tap me out. I won’t let you win because you don’t deserve to win.

So what if I’m not a good girl anymore. Maybe you’re right, Evil Voice. Maybe I’m not a good girl anymore. Maybe I’m an awesome girl now. You want to play this fucking game? Fine. I’ll destroy you, Evil Voice. I’ll crush you with every fiber of my being. I’ve fought too hard to get to where I am for you to hurt me like you used to.

I don’t need to be “good” anymore, Evil Voice. I’m better than simply “good”. So go ahead. Keep your stupid word, you selfish bastard. I’m graduating, up-grading, transforming, evolving.

Thank you for pushing me to this point, Evil Voice. Thank you for making me realize I’m better than good.

Daily Post 170: The Post-Work Feelz

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I just got out of work.

It was a day…

And by “it was a day” I mean I got there at 3:45 because I was listed as C2. Census 2. That means as far as how this clinic breaks up tasks, I was supposed to set up the floor. I needed to put out needle packs and treatment sheets and dialysers and string the machines. And today was the day after they bleached the loop, so all of the machines had to be tested for residual bleach so bad shit won’t happen because while bleach is amazing, it’s not amazing inside of your body; specifically inside your bloodstream.

Add to that the knowledge that the new tech, the one I actually don’t really like because she has an avoidance issue when it comes to doing pretty much anything in the clinic, was supposed to open the water room post disinfect…

If somethings going to go wrong it’s going to go wrong this morning, so yeah. I’m going to get there early and work off the clock until 4:15 when I clocked in, because we need to be ahead of schedule for when shit hits the fan… like it did.

There was an issue with the bicarb she mixed. Conductivity on the machines wouldn’t come up. Not a fun way to start the morning.

We recovered. In the grand scheme of things, having to remake bicarb isn’t all that awful. The morning mellowed out after that. Change over wasn’t horrific. I got to dip out 30 minutes early. But even leaving early puts me at less than 12 hours before I have to be awake to get to my own clinic on time for another full day with a nurse from a different clinic who doesn’t know our machines or patients… Less than 12 hours before another rough day where I keep everything afloat… at least that’s what it feels like. I’m the “go-to” person. I’m the one everyone thanks for my hard work.

It would be nice to not be that person right now.

I don’t know why today rubs at the inside of my brain so much, but it does. I’m glad it’s over. I don’t have to go back to that clinic until Wednesday.

My own clinic’s TTS second shift is pretty much full. It’s good in that I can now get all of my hours at my own clinic. Sucky because there are no longer “easy” or “light” days. All days have a changeover and the one for TTS needs to be looked at. I already told my FA that it’s on the borderline of undoable with how patient off and on times are working out. Everything has to run perfect and that’s not how life goes. We need more of a buffer between events or another person on the floor, which won’t happen because there’s such a push on labor hours right now from upper management.

The coming weeks will be more telling, as far as the schedule goes. I’m expecting to have to have some super sucky days before anything changes. The change has to be justified because running behind 30 minutes when there were three of us on the floor wasn’t proof enough. /sigh

Anyway… I guess there really isn’t a whole lot to write about which is sort of sad.

I baked 250 muffins for the patients at all three of my clinics over the past two days. That was fulfilling, though at midnight on Wednesday I was wondering what I had gotten myself into and pretty sure that muffins would be listed as my cause of death. I really was up that late baking, and I still didn’t get all of it done. I had to finish it up Thursday afternoon.

It’s already spread around through the region that I did this “amazing” thing. One of my coworkers today joked about me getting employee of the year to which my reply was “please don’t punish me like that ;-; “

I didn’t bake muffins for special recognition. I don’t want an award or to be called out. I want to stay in the background and to be left alone to do my job. I know it sucks for my patients to come to dialysis on a holiday. So I made them a healthy protein muffin that they could have to celebrate the day in a special way. I didn’t do anything miraculous. Anyone could have baked muffins. And they’re just muffins. I mostly sat around waiting to take them out of the oven and wondering why I was too cheap to buy a second cupcake pan because holy fuck that would have made my life so much easier.

Don’t make it sound like I went to the moon and back because I didn’t. I baked muffins because that’s what I wanted to do. It’s how I wanted to spend my day… sort of. Day… not night and next day, but that’s what the project turned into, so that’s what I did. I had to see it to the end. Hell or high water.

Blah… I don’t want it to turn into a big deal but I feel like maybe it already has. Part of the introvert in me wishes I could undo it. The rest of me, the me who got to see all the smiles and hear all the compliments about how awesome the muffins turned out… that me doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone says or who gets emailed about me being an overachiever. It was worth it to make a bright spot in my patients’ day.

Ox and I are doing alright. The apartment is going ok. Still no internet. So much sad. ;-;

Maybe I’m too burnt out to really appreciate writing right now. I’m sitting at a Slim Chickens with food in front of me, ignoring it as I favor typing more than eating. I have to go across the street to Costco for gas. I figured food and internet would be a nice way to try to decompress from work, but I don’t think it’s really working all that much. I have my headphones in, making my own little bubble in the world as I try to type through this internal frustration and… anger? Maybe that’s what it is?

Why anger?

Maybe because Jon tried calling me while I was at work. I called me once I had clocked out but by then he had company over and wanted to chat later. I want to talk to mom, but I can’t. The closest I can get to that is talking to Jon and he didn’t want to talk. It sucks.

I want to work only at my clinic and not have to worry about covering at one I don’t like with sub-par people who make the day harder than it should be. I’m sort of angry that I’m scheduled to close said clinic I don’t like only to turn around at have to be at my own clinic super early in the morning. What the hell? How is that even fair? Did you not see what you were doing when you were making the schedule? How the hell am I supposed to get sleep inbetween those shifts?

This is one of those moments where I know I’m tired. I know I’m tired and I should just go to sleep because I’m so out of care that I just want the world to burn to ash around me.

When I ask myself “Is it worth it?” My answer is no. I don’t care. I’ve spent my entire day caring and so now I’m done. I have no more care left. The only thing I care about is being able to cry to let it all go and I can’t even bring myself to do that because that requires more effort then I can give.

I want someone to say that they understand that it sucks. That it hurts. That it’s not fair.

I want understanding but the person I want to understand can’t talk back to me. She can’t answer the phone. She can’t sit across from me at the table I’m sitting at. She can’t be here and that sucks. It sucks and it makes me angry.

Maybe that’s where it all started today… One of my patients was saying how he was grateful he was alive and how he is turning 63 and blessed. He’s older than my mom was when she died. It’s just fucking unfair sometimes. And I have to be understanding and supportive while I ache and hurt over a comment that wasn’t meant the way I took it.

It just… fucking sucks sometimes… And right now is one of those sometimes.

I miss you, mom. I’m still doing well. I’m doing so much at work and involved in so many things. I know you are proud of the difference I’m making. I love you. I guess I just need you to know that right now.

I love you and I miss you. I hope you’re doing well where ever you are. I hope you’re doing awesome things, too. I hope when we get to see each other again that we’ll both have tons of stories to tell each other. Good ones. Bad ones. Frustrating ones. Silly ones. Ones that make us laugh and cry and beam with pride and nod in understanding because yeah that might have been a mistake but we’re all human and as long as you learned from it that’s the important thing.

You’re still the best, mom. The best listener. The best confidant. The best perspective. The best. There’s still no one who can replace you and while I’m grateful for that, it still sucks. It sucks because I wish you were here. I wish I could hear you, listen to you, hug you.

I’m sorry it hurts today, mom. I’m pretty sure it hurts you, too, when I’m like this and I don’t mean for it to be that way. I’ll be ok. I’ll get better in a few days. I’m pretty sure what I need right now is to have a really good cry and to go to sleep for 16 hours.

Maybe I’ll be able to do that Sunday. Maybe that’s what I can give myself to look forward to. I can get everything done Saturday so I can sleep Sunday away; staying in pjs all day and not having to interact with people or do things. Just me and myself and solitude and maybe Ox and maybe a movie where we cuddle together again and enjoy being together since we don’t get that very often anymore.

Thanks for listening to me, mom. I feel better for writing to you. I still want to cry, but it feels like when I do actually do it, it will be a clean cry; a healing cry.

I’ll talk to you later, mom. I love you. Forever and for always.

Daily Post 154: Writing Through the Frustration

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I’m writing at the advice of Mother Earth, not that she specifically said to write. She said to give myself 30 minutes. 30 minutes to rage and cry and cruse and throw all of it at the Universe, because the Universe can take it. At the end of my 30 minutes, I can ask myself if I need 30 more…

So here I am. Sitting in front of my computer in the dark with the only light coming from my computer screen and Beady’s heat lamp. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that Ox has a ball python, but there you go. He does and his heat lamp is on. A faint red glow to clash with the bright white of the computer screen.

I’m frustrated. I’m burnt out. I don’t want to do anything and yet I have all of these things that only I can do and figure out and so spending the morning struggling to find motivation has me more frustrated until I find myself here. It’s 10 am. Ox is almost off work. He’s been outside working in the snow all morning and I have nothing to show for myself.

No. Instead I’m sitting here wanting to cry, wanting to be angry, wanting to throw in the towel and say, “I’ve figured out enough shit, I’m done. Not for forever. But for right now. I’m done until I’m not done anymore and leave me alone until I say it’s ok to tap me back in. Figure it out for yourself for a while.”

Yesterday sucked. Ridiculously sucked. Hardcore sucked. Sucked on a level of suckage that I haven’t had to deal with for a while and I wonder if that’s part of the issue. I’m out of practice with suckage. Things have been going well for the most part, so long, hard, fucked up days full of other people’s shit just aren’t my forte anymore.

I don’t know, but I feel like all of the tar and gunk and shittiness of yesterday is still clinging to me and I can’t get it to go away and it’s messing up my today, my present, the only moment I know for sure I have because we never know what’s going to happen in the future, and instead of doing something with it, about it, I’m continuing to let it spin my wheels.

So, here it is. All the thoughts and things I wanted to tell you yesterday. Yell at you. Scream at you. Rage and cry. This is what I have felt for almost 24 hours now.

I AM NOT THE NURSE!

I AM NOT THE CHARGE NURSE!

I AM NOT THE LEADER OR THE DECISION MAKER. I AM NOT THE FA. I AM NOT THE BOSS. I AM NOT THE ONLY WORKER ON THE FLOOR. I AM NOT THE ONE WHO IS SUPPOSED TO MAKE SURE THAT EVERYTHING RUNS SMOOTHLY AND ON TIME.

I AM A PCT. I AM THE LOWEST RUNG ON THE TOTEM POLE.

I AM NOT YOUR COACH OR YOUR MENTOR. I AM NOT YOUR CHEERLEADER.

GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND HELP ME GET THROUGH TODAY INSTEAD OF SHUTTING DOWN AND CLOSING OFF AND SPIRALING DOWN IN A BLAZE OF SELF-DESTRUCTIVE THOUGHTS!

How hard is it to do that? To do your job? There was no reason for us to run an hour behind. There was no reason for it to take you 30 minutes to initiate one treatment. ONE!

In the time it took you to do that one treatment I taped up four people, cleaned and restrung two maybe three machines. I got two additional patients onto the floor for their treatments.

Why did it feel like I was by myself, alone, trying to take care of everything? Literally, everything. I made sure the labs were spun and packed. I made sure the printer worked and that treatments were generated for the next day. I made sure we had the bare essentials for supplies on the floor because I didn’t have time for a full lunch, let alone restocking everything we needed.

Why couldn’t it have felt like you were a member of my team helping me instead of accepting our fate to drown in despair? Why did I have to swim for both of us while you did nothing except try to let us drown?

Yesterday didn’t have to be the day it was. It didn’t have to suck nearly as bad as it did.

I’m frustrated with you. Not with myself. Maybe with myself… with how much I am letting all this bother me, but mostly I’m frustrated with you and with the Universe which constantly reminds me that though I’m smart and capable and able, that I’m still not good enough to do your job. I’m frustrated that you have a degree in this and I don’t yet that piece of paper doesn’t seem to mean or do much of anything. It doesn’t make you a better worker than me. It doesn’t make you better at strategy or stress management or self-awareness.

I’m angry.

I’m angry that I CAN’T do more. I’m angry that I’m not allowed to do more even though I know, KNOW, I could do it better because I already am.

You need to work on you. Just like I know I need to work on myself. The difference is that I actually am working on myself. Those self-destructive thoughts, those shadow beliefs, I confront them. I know they’re not true even though they’re really good at feeling true. They’re not. They’re lies and I refused to be lied to, even by myself.

Right Brain: Fuck you, Brain. I’m not going to deal with your bullshit.

I work through those thoughts and seek help and I don’t give up when it gets hard. I don’t throw my hands up and leave my teammates to pick up the slack.

And while all of this is going on, I’m having our new RN, the one still in training, shadowing ME. ME. NOT YOU!

I’m the one showing her the machines and how to string them and watching her cannulate and explaining processes and what I do as a tech and all of these things. Not only am I having to run the day, but I’m also having to do that under the scrutiny of someone I’ve never really interacted with before. Does she think I’m a bitch? Am I overbearing? Am I explaining this well enough? Am I throwing her to the wolves by having to constantly run around to keep things going, moving, progressing? Does she feel ignored?

Right now I just want to scream, scream over and over again in frustration because I’m just so done with yesterday and thinking and figuring out and problem-solving. I just want to cry until all of that frustration is out and no longer eating away at me. It’s not a cry of despair. It’s a cry of rage and anger and heat and frustration and wrath. A cry which will burn away everything that was yesterday and leave the ground scorched and bare so something new can come from the soggy mud that was once ash.

It was one day. It’s over, it shouldn’t matter anymore. No one died. We made it to the end of the day. Just let it go. How hard is that to do, Brain? Why can’t you just let all of that negativity go? What good is it doing me right now? What am I not learning from this moment? What more is there to figure out from the experience of yesterday that I haven’t found to make you cling so strongly to those emotions?

Just. Let. It. Go.

We need to shower. We need to start the brisket which means we need to find the recipe again. We need to figure out the shopping list. We need to listen to the rest of our leadership chapter. We need to do the reflection section.

We NEED to do things.

Why won’t you let me do them? What more do you want from me?

I figured out school. I took care of so many things last week. I’ve been delving so far into myself with this stupid leadership thing. I’ve reconnected with several people. I’ve found out one of them is dead.

I’ve handled all of your shit up until this point. What more do you want? What more can I do?

And this is where I’m going to stop my rage, anger, frustration filled rant and focus on all the good shit that happened yesterday. Because, fuck you, Brain. There was good shit and I’m going to make you remember it. Acknowledge it. I’m going to force you to type everything out, word for word, as if they were weapons to slash through all of the anger you want to wrap yourself in as if it were armor.

No. You will face me and you will do what you’re told and I will not let you keep me here in the dark, wasting away one of the few days off I have.

My FA corrected my time card for me because I forgot to clock in Wednesday last week. She’s working with me to come up with really awesome ideas for our Wall of Fame. Mother Earth and I got to talk for a little bit yesterday while I drove home. The roads weren’t complete shit while I was driving. Not awesome, but not nearly as bad as I thought they would be. The patient I thought would be in the hospital wasn’t. The new nurse actually jumped in and helped during change over so I can only imagine how far behind we would have been if she hadn’t. She seems really sharp and caught on to things quickly and I seem to get along with her really well. We were actually able to talk. I have a better read on her as a person and I think she’ll fit in well. Mama Ox cooked dinner last night. It was already done and on the table when I got home. I didn’t even have to take my plate into the kitchen. It was mind-blowingly amazing and kind and even though I know it’s not true, I feel like I didn’t deserve that kindness. I could have at least taken care of the dishes. We sat down as a family and figured out what meals we wanted for the coming week. Everyone got to put something on the list. It was awesome. I loved it. I get to make green curry at some point. I had a cup of hot chocolate with peppermint Smirnoff and I slept the whole night. I slept curled up in Ox’s arms and he stroked my shoulder as he fell asleep. We make jokes about “teeth hugs” since I’m “not allowed” to bite him. Our relationship is going really well and I’m a wife and I’m ok with that.

Yesterday wasn’t all awful, so screw you Brain.

I AM going to go shower. I AM going to listen to my book while I cross stitch and pull the curtains back because even if it is below freezing still, at least there’s sunlight. I don’t need to sit in a dark room with only the glow of the computer screen illuminating my world. My world is better than that. My world is more than that. My world is more than yesterday and I won’t let you take today away from me, so there.

Screw you, Brain. I’m off to be amazing.