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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. 

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.

Letters to Mom 030: Letter of Resignation

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Hey mom,

I did it. Finally. I officially accepted another job AND turned in my letter of resignation.

It’s weird. I feel better in some ways. Less heavy. Less stressed. Less… lost?

In other ways I’m worried. Is this the right choice? Am I going to be ok?

I feel like it’s the right thing to do. I feel like I won’t die on my way to work Friday because I know all I have to do is hold out long enough and it will end. All I have to do is make it through two more days. I can do two days. They’re most likely going to be hell. Tomorrow is most likely going to suck because I’ll get messages or phone calls asking what’s going on and won’t I stay and how I can’t leave.

Except I can and I am. I’m done bleeding out from wounds no one can see or that no one cares enough to help heal. It’s always “increase your anti-depressant” instead of “let’s fix the issues that are contributing to your depression”

Life is too short to spend it miserable and knowingly allowing myself to stay in a place where I don’t want to be.

I’ve done it for three years. I’ve waited for it to get better for three years. I’ve held on and dug deep and the only thing it has gotten me is depression and burnout.

I don’t know if this specific direction is the right one, but it’s a different direction and that has to count for something, right? Even if it ends up being a “not smart” move, at least I tried something, and mistakes mean that you’re trying. You’re figuring things out.

I’m still trying to figure out how to live life without you. Originally I wanted to be in health care so my life meant something. If I didn’t show up to work people’s lives were affected, so I had to show up to work. It gave me something to cling to. My life had value still, so I had to keep living.

I’ve lost so much of myself along the way. I don’t feel like Jennifer anymore. I feel like a hollow shell who cries on her way to work and sleeps while I’m off the clock because I’m so soul-weary and tired that I can’t do much more than that. I’m proud of myself when I get the laundry done. I’m proud of myself when I don’t cry at the thought of going grocery shopping.

I’m so far away from who I used to be. The fire of passion and purpose is so low right now that I honestly don’t know how I still get up in the morning. I don’t know how I have more to give each day I do because there is so little left.

I’m working on changing that. I’m working on living a life where I honor myself and my needs and it started today by accepting an offer instead of turning it down. I’m not going to stay with the evil I know. I’m going to try something new and if it doesn’t work then I’ll try something else new.

I’ve changed careers before. I’ve moved halfway across the country once. I can do hard things. And I can do them because you taught me to be brave and that effort matters more than results. I’m going to start trying my best again, mom. And it’s going to start with caring about myself.

I know my current work culture is one of burnout and I know I’m slowing dying on the inside each time I go to the clinic. That’s not self-love. If a stranger told me my own story, I would think it’s fucked up and that they need / should leave. If that’s the advice I would give a stranger, then why am I not giving myself the same advice? What makes me different that I should stay in an environment that is mentally and emotionally unhealthy? That actually causes me to have health problems because of the levels of stress with the lack of facilitating effective coping mechanisms?

Tomorrow, tonight really, is a new direction. A scary direction. A direction back to myself. I know it’s the right direction even though I don’t know where it will take me or where I will end up. Maybe this is the last career move I’ll make. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Actually… I know it doesn’t matter. You taught me that. Through all the different things you did in life, all of the positions you held… It’s about trying to do your best for yourself and your loved ones. Jerad deserves a partner who isn’t emotionally destroyed. Jon and Jason deserve a sister who is present and able to participate in life. Dad deserves a daughter who is strong. I’m strong because of you, mom. I’m strong enough to get through the next few days. I’m strong enough to stand my ground. I’m strong enough to care for myself, to love myself, to forgive myself.

I’m strong because you took the time to love me, teach me, to let me mess up and learn from my mistakes. I’m still learning, but I’m also still listening and remembering and figuring things out.

I’m doing what’s right for me. I know you’re proud of me. I remember the dream I had. I remember the message you sent to me. I love you, mom. I’ll keep making you proud. Forever and for always. I love you.

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.

Daily Post 005: Prescription Refill

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Today is the first time in ages where I have woken up and felt awake. I’m not deathly tired. I didn’t go back to sleep after haphazardly stumbling to use the restroom. It’s such a weird feeling… feeling rested… that I don’t really know what to do… so here I am, sitting in front of my computer, trying to figure it out.

I think there’s a lot that factors into this “rested” feeling. The main one, I think, is medication related.

About three weeks ago I ran out of my Zoloft. I didn’t think much of it. I would get around to refilling the prescription “eventually”. I had stopped taking it before when I was on 25mg and I didn’t notice any side effects so I would be alright…

Wrong.

So hardcore wrong. Omg. >.<;

My dose was increased to 50mg towards the end of last year. My doctor increased it due to my suicidal feelings during nursing school. So queue up discontinuation syndrome about three days after being off of said medication. God, it sucked so hardcore. Mood swings, insomnia, fatigue, depersonalization… which I didn’t know actually had a term.

That feeling where you know you’re not yourself… but you are… but you aren’t… None of the thoughts you are having are really yours, but you’re the only one inside your head so they must be your thoughts… your actions… your feelings… That feeling of having your body hijacked but you’re the one doing the hijacking so how do you stop it or change it?

That feeling where dreams seem halfway real and reality seems halfway fake. You know you’re awake but your skin feels different. Everything is sort of soft, cloudy, hazy… You’re detached and you know you are but you can’t find your way back…

I spent over a week feeling like that. Like I would never be myself again. That these feelings were the rest of my life.

I got the prescription refilled. Making that phone call left me exhausted. Picking up the phone, finding the number, talking to someone and explaining that was going on… I wanted to cry I was so tired.

The next day I picked up the prescription. I then had to wait another week before the meds starting to build up in my system again. Each day got progresively better. I started being able to sleep at night. I started having focus at work again. I started feeling like reality was actually real.

Each day I have felt myself become more balanced. I get closer to being the me I remember being… the me I want to be. The me who has drive and disciple to do things. The me who doesn’t get exhausted by putting laundry away or making a phone call.

I do think a major factor of this past month being hard is the whole med issue. I’ve been more diligent with my Synthroid which continues to be something I struggle with. I finally set up an appointment with my endocrinologist. I have a blood draw tomorrow after work. My appointment with the doctor is next Wednesday. We’ll see if the increase that was made towards the end of last year was/is enough for my blood levels.

Yeah… I was supposed to meet with her in January and never did… There’s a lot of things that I haven’t been doing or have been pushing off. It’s been easier to not do them. Easier to stay inside, away from people, sleeping through the hard and the hurt of winter and mom’s death.

Mom’s fifth death day has come and gone. There’s a whole story behind that. I still haven’t gotten mom her flower. I don’t feel as bad about that as I thought I would. I think a lot of that has to do with Jon and I going out together on the day of her death. We went to Red Lobster, on of her favorite places. We drank and ate and shared stories back and forth. Memories. Emotions. Fears. We laughed. We had tears stinging our eyes. We remembered her together, shared in her memory together, and I think that would have made mom happy. Happier than me buying a flower to mark another year I have survived without her.

I will still get her flower. It’s still important to me. But I think where ever mom is, she knows that it’s ok to be a little late because what ended up happening instead was so much better than what I could have hoped for.

I haven’t been to the gym in a while. I have a membership to the YMCA again. The constant tiredness and consistent depression/apathy has kept me from actually going and doing anything. When I think about packing up my stuff, or changing, or driving, or scanning my card… I feel drained. I feel crushed beneath all of the steps it would take to actually get there, let alone actually working out.

I’ve continued to not eat the best because it’s so much easier to have a cookie or chips than it is to make a meal. But all of that is slowly starting to turn around. I feel like I can go to the gym today. I want to go to the gym today. I want to bike and listen to music. I want to push past all of the anxiety of “what if I’m not good enough?” I know I’m good enough. I know in a week, in two weeks, I’ll be so much better endurance-wise than I am in this current moment. I’ll feel better about myself. I’ll have an outlet for the stress and frustration of work.

Going will help me in so many ways, and while I haven’t done it, haven’t wanted to do it… today is different.

Part of me is scared of the difference. I’ve been… “not me” for so long that I don’t really know what to do. How do I function in the now? How do I function today with these weird feelings of productivity and energy?

And a guess a big part of my problem has always been this aching and longing to be “the old me”. The me before mom died. I know I wrote about it before. About how I need to accept the me I am now. That I can’t go back to who I was before mom died. Too much has happened. Too much has changed. The old me can still be valued and cherished, but I can’t keep expecting myself to be something I no longer am.

I’m not 27 any more. And that’s ok.

So I think that’s going to be my internal project going forward. Accepting the me of today. Not the me who went to the dojo six days a week for 1-3 hours each time. No the me who was unemployeed for a year. Not the me who was a teacher. I want to be ok with the me of today. I want to go forward with current me rather than constantly pining for someone who doesn’t exist anymore.

I am worthy. I have value. I can and will do amazing things. Starting with a to-do list. After writing I’m going to open up my Clever Fox notebook and I’m going to figure out a handful of things. And then I’m going to go to the gym and bike in front of the windows where I can see the sunny day while I listen to music. And then Ox and I will have lunch and get some of the things we need to finish up “Project-Remodel the Bedroom”.

Today is my only day off from work this week. I’ve picked up a lot of extra days recently. I’m sure that feeds into the burnout and compassion fatigue. The depression and “anti-people” feelings. After this week I don’t have extra days. After this week I get to spend a week with my dad because he’s coming to visit. I get to have my three days off in a row where I can make progress on projects and the house and myself.

I think after this week it will be nice and I’m going to start with today because finally, for the first time since starting nursing school, I feel like I can.

Daily Post 003: Update with Battle Scars

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I’m glad to say that this post “shouldn’t” be super emo or depressing.

Work hasn’t been bad. Monday started off rough. There was an issue with the water room. I had to call the on-call bio-med at 4:30 in the morning. That’s never a fun way to start the day…

We got the issue figured out but we were 30 minutes late starting treatments. The patients were super understanding which helped the day not be a complete disaster.

There was an issue with the thermostat as well… Because why would there only be one issue to deal with on a Monday morning? -_-;

I called my FA later in the morning. I explained the issue with the water room and what I thought was going on with the thermostats. Four of them were reading at -42 and two others weren’t registering anything. I found the number for the technician who had done work at our clinic a few weeks ago. I told him what was going on; how it was 98.1 degrees in the water room and even the patients were complaining about it being uncomfortably warm on the treatment floor.

Long story short… he had to drive 12 hours from Ohio back to our clinic to fix the issue. That was not what I had been hoping when I called him. I had hoped it was a simple, “Try flipping this breaker,” or “Hit this hidden reset button.” But alas, it was not something simple that I could correct on my own.

My teammate reported that the temperatures at the clinic were much better yesterday, so, with luck, there won’t be further issues with anything for a while.

Yesterday I had lunch with my brother and a teammate I haven’t seen in almost a year. It was a fantastic outing. We went to a Mexican restaurant. We all had a drink and chatted about what’s been going on with the region and with our personal lives. It was extremely connective and I’m glad I went even though I had been thinking of ditching due to tiredness.

The house is coming along. I haven’t gotten anything done in regards to the addition, but I’m ok with that. Instead, Ox and I set up my new computer desk. Yesterday I spent the morning setting up my computer and doing cable management. We’re still in the process of sorting things out in the room but it’s coming together nicely.

We got the bed frame set up last week. We got a new mattress, too. It’s a hybrid mattress so there are springs, but there’s a layer of memory foam on top of them. I have my three-inch foam mattress topper on it, too, along with my army of pillows. Muahahahahaha!

The only thing missing is my weighted blanket which is still at the apartment.

I’ve been sleeping better since we got the new mattress. I don’t wake up as often during the night. I don’t have back pain when I get out of bed. My arms aren’t numb either. I feel rested and ready for my day when I wake up. It’s a weird feeling after waking up feeling crappy for so long.

The mini-dresses are working well so far. I ordered drawer organizers which should be here Friday. If they work the way I’m hoping they do then I can fully scratch that part of “project-bedroom” off the list.

I ordered a few things to utilize my locker at work, too. It will give me more vertical space along with some drawer space so I can keep more things at work. I’m hoping that makes work “feel” better. It’s been nearly three years since I started working at this clinic. I don’t know why I haven’t done this sooner. Maybe I’ll even put pictures on the outside so it’s not so bland and boring. It’s my tiny little section in the clinic. I want it to feel like mine.

I registered for Nursing Lab 2 today. The summer semester starts towards the end of May. I’ll only have to go to campus once a week on Thursdays for roughly three hours. I’m actually looking forward to being back in school and seeing my instructors again. I won’t know any of the students, but I’m ok with that. I know I can make it through the class without them.

I’m not sure if that came out the way I wanted it to…

I’ve been with two other groups of students so far. There’s my original class; the one I started with before I was diagnosed with cancer. Then there’s the group I was with last semester while I was doing the LPNS program full-time. In both instances, I didn’t pass my classes because of the people I was with. While I made “friends” in both groups, I didn’t do study sessions or really hangout with anyone.

The group I’m with won’t make or break me I guess is what I’m getting at. I can adapt and adjust to being in a new group and so I’m not worried about not knowing anyone. I’ll know my instructors and those are the people I truly connect and interact with. They’re the people I’m looking forward to seeing again.

I’m looking forward to it being summer as well. The past two days have been sunny, but super windy and cold. While that’s frustrating, I’m grateful there’s at least sunlight. The grass is started to turn green again and the trees are budding. It won’t be cold for forever. I just have to hold out a little longer.

Let’s see… what else…

Jon’s birthday was this past Saturday. I worked but once I was done with the day I spent the evening with him. I got him a Ninja Foodi for his birthday along with wings and ribs for dinner. I let him keep the leftovers so he didn’t have to worry about food for a few days. We spent the whole time chatting about pretty much everything. We had light conversation about random nerdy stuff along with deep conversation where he asked, “So how are you doing really?”

I answered honestly. I’m not really sure how I’m doing. Mom’s deathday is coming up which sucks. I hurt. I told him about the experience with Ox and him saying my name. I talked about how weird, “random” things trigger my grief and I don’t know what to do other than breathing through the pain and to try being my friend. I try really hard to not give myself shit for hurting or being sad but sometimes that’s hard to do. My logical brain is good at throwing “shoulds” at me. I should be doing this or I shouldn’t be feeling that.

I’m human and some days, some moments, are better than others. My moments with Jon, on his birthday and during lunch were really nice. I can remember what we were doing at the hospital on all of these days. I can remember stringing the letters together for Jon’s birthday and hanging them in mom’s room across from her hospital bed. I can remember screaming in the car as I drove from the hospital every morning because that was the only thing keeping me sane and grounded when I was around other people or talking to the doctors.

This year wasn’t that year. This year was different where I had the money to get Jon a gift he wouldn’t have bought for himself because it was expensive. He and I have worked through so many issues from our past and through the past four years. We’ve worked on our relationship to the point where we can sit together and talk about silly things and D&D jokes along with the hard, painful things like triggers and how the thought of giving up is always at the edge of our consciousness because missing mom sucks.

I don’t mean for that to sound emo or to steer this writing towards depressing topics. I guess, for me, I take comfort in having someone who understands what I feel. I have someone I can talk to about those feelings and because I can talk about them, they don’t sit inside my head eating away at my mind. I have someone who can give me a hug while kissing the top of my head and say, “I feel the suckage with you and we’ll both get through it.”

Having a hug like that, one where the pain is embraced rather than erased or covered up… One where I can hurt and cry and say, “I love you,” as if it’s my last chance to say it and have someone understand that I need to say it that way because I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say it again… It helps. It helps to openly acknowledge those things about myself with someone, to someone, and to have it understood and acceptable.

Anywho… Since I haven’t written in forever I want to switch gears and write about some of the stories that have happened in my life. We’ll only do one for right now since this is already a pretty long post compared to the nothing I’ve written for months.

And I suppose we can start with the most random one of all… how Saber tried to kill me.

Before the room renovations, my old computer desk used to be set up in what was the closet of the bedroom. Above my desk, there was shelving which the cats could reach. Both Saber and Dagger had jumped into the space to explore and while I didn’t like them being in that area of the room… they’re cats and there’s no way I was going to be able to keep them from doing cat stuff.

Well… there was one morning where I was sitting at the computer while Ox was at work. I was playing World of Warcraft and totally not paying attention to anything going on around me. I heard some noise like rustling and the next thing I knew I had searing pain down my face and a very stunned cat in my lap.

Of course, I was stunned, too. I mean, what the fuck just happened?!?!?!

I checked Saber to make sure she was ok. Yeah, she seems fine. Not yelling in pain or anything. Just sort of dazed. I then press my shirt sleeve to my forehead. Yep… that’s blood. Fuck.

I pressed the sleeve to some other areas of my face that hurt. They all came back dark red. Super fuck… Of course, this would happen while both Ox’s kids are here, and I work in two days. No way anything is going to be remotely healed. But for the moment fuck that train of thought. I need to make it to the bathroom without freaking anyone out in case I pass out. I can see from both eyes still, so at least there’s that going for me…

I super ninja-like stealthed my way through the living room with blood trickling down my face. It helped that the kids were engrossed in their own computer games. I shut the bathroom door and looked at myself for the first time to see what the damage actually was.

Not going to lie… it was pretty impressive. At that point, I started feeling nauseous. I knew my time was limited. I took a washcloth and got it wet. I cleaned up as much of the scratch going down the center of my forehead as best I could. I could feel my blood pressure dropping. Not wanting to add a concussion to the list of injuries from the cat attack, I laid down on the bathroom floor. When I felt ok enough to try standing again, I did, and that’s how it went for a while. Clean as much as I could, lay down so I didn’t pass out. At some point, I wasn’t quite fast enough and I did pass out, but luckily I was already on the ground for that one.

Once I got the bleeding under control I got anti-bacterial ointment and made sure all of the scratches were covered in it. I had a pretty long and deep cut down the center of my forehead, a pretty nasty cut in the corner of my left eyelid, one on my nose, and a few smaller scratches on my cheek and lip.

All in all, it looked like I had gotten into a knife fight, but nooooo… here I was, Ms. Badass Muay Thai Jujitsu Chick and I was going to have to tell everyone that a cat fell on my face…

Fuuuuuck my life…

Why couldn’t it have been something awesome like a knife fight? ;-;

Once the cuts were clean, I went back to the room to lay down. I was still feeling pretty nauseous. Saber curled up next to me, purring and being super loving. I think she was still spooked from her fall. I took a picture of the two of us cuddling together and I swear, she looks super smug. Like, “Yeah. That’s right. I did that. Try me, bro.”

I sent a picture to my coworkers and brothers along with Ox so they would know the next time they saw me I would have some impressive battle scars. There were a lot of jokes tossed back and forth which helped me feel better about the situation.

Once I finally emerged from the room Ox’s parents were surprised about what happened. They had no idea anything was going on. Score one for me because that’s totally what I was going for.

Irrational Right Brain: Hey, guys! What’s up? Oh? These? Yeah… They’re just some new scratches… that I got on my face… from a cat…

The Friday I went back to work was “cat victim awareness day” as I had to explain repeatedly what had transpired. While my patients were worried about me, we’re able to laugh and joke about it now.

It makes for a funny story, but at the time it sucked. I was legit worried about Saber being injured and my eyesight being screwed. After that, I was worried about scarring. I kept up a regime of cleaning the scratches and applying the anti-bacterial ointment. Sadly I don’t have epic battle scars. All of the scratches have healed amazingly well.

With renovating the room, the selves which Saber fell from are no longer an issue. They came out during the “tear down all the walls” phase of the project.

Sort of graphic but here’s the picture I sent to every one of Saber’s smugness and her pawy-work. Please disregard the messed up hair… also… fur babies… I swear, I can’t make up half the shit that happens in my life. XD

Saber the Smug

Daily Post 218: The Interrupted Writing

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Never got a chance to finish this writing yesterday

Hey Chromebook,

I’m low energy today… story of my life it seems.

Yesterday was pretty good. The days previous were also pretty good. I worked with my FA on Friday. I worked with a float nurse on Saturday and even though she hadn’t been at our clinic in a while, it was a pretty good day. Sunday I spent most of the day sleeping and didn’t give myself shit for it. It was nice. Monday I worked with the float nurse again and, again, had a decent day.

Tuesday’s counseling was decent. I felt better after the session and got a bunch of cleaning done.

The apartment is still a mild disaster from having to empty the rooms for the bedbug guy. I haven’t put a lot of my stuff away since I want to paint my room. Sort of silly to put everything back just to move it again only to have to put it back yet again…

While I know logically it’s the smarter thing to do, my brain is having a hard time with it. Everything is a mess and it’s like sandpaper in on the inside of my skull.

Ox and I had plans to paint yesterday. But sexy time happened instead. It was very much needed, but it left me emotionally raw afterward. And I guess that, too, is part of the story of my life recently. When we have moments like that it tears away all of the superficial bullshit layers of my life. All of the stress of the mundane things that don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. It allows all of those walls and distractions to come down and I’m left face to face with the core of who I am and what’s really underneath the surface; down in the dark quietness.

I realized something yesterday. I don’t think I’m as ok as I pretend to be; as I think I am.

I had the realization that if Ox died, I wouldn’t want to fight and struggle to figure it all out all over again. I would want to call it quits and tell Life it won and just give up. It was rather sobering.

My life shouldn’t hinge on another person, but at the moment I think it does and that’s not fair or right to Ox. He can be and is a support, but he shouldn’t be the one factor that keeps me going.

I realized that mortality is also probably the real reason I haven’t had an interest in actually finding another person for us to play with. I don’t mind being part of a D&D group, but the thought of forming a deep, close bond with another person is a hard “no” inside my head because I know on some level they’ll ultimately die and I would have do deal with the loss.

And so that’s where I am today. Wondering if I’m as healed as I’ve been thinking I am. Am I still weak? Am I still broken? Will I ever be “normal” again? Why is mom’s death affecting me so deeply that after four years the one bond I’ve allowed myself to form could be my undoing? Is that the type of person I want to be? Is that who I really am?

It’s confusing and it’s tiring. It makes me feel like I’m still just pretending at my life and going through the motions rather than actually dealing with the things that need to be addressed. The things deep down that really matter like my grief.

I know my grief is more of a spiritual issue rather than a logical one. I know I still need to find the motivation to care for myself again like going to the gym. How do you find motivation when you’re constantly tired? When life is constantly throwing other shit at you that needs to be addressed before the other things on your to-do list?

Yesterday, after counseling, I felt ready for battle. I was ready to start tackling all of the different areas in my life, one at a time, starting with my room. I don’t feel that right now.

I could start with putting some of the clothes away then move on to repacking some things…

Daily Post 217: Hello Again

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Hello again, Chromebook.

It’s nice to be sitting in front of you. It’s nice to have my fingertips moving over your keyboard. It’s sunny outside. Warm. A nice day. A decent day. I’m supposed to be painting Jon’s bathroom, but here I am instead, spending some time with you first. I have all day to paint. I only have a few hours of alone time where I can talk to you; with you. With myself, really.

Things are going better. I’m into week two of being on Zoloft again. I think it’s helping. Ox and I had a failed date day on Tuesday. Tuesday was a pretty rough and shitty day. Instead of playing D&D I went to sleep. I think I was better for it.

I woke up to a text message from Jon.

Jon: I can’t help but feel like something is making you super sad. I want to support you but don’t know how. Please let me know.

I didn’t reply to that text message. Instead, I spent most of Wednesday low energy. Not negative like so many days previously. But low. I plucked away at small things. Running the dishwasher. Unloading it. Loading it again once I could. I received an email from someone in London asking for help getting my old scripts to run. I was able to help him and it was an extremely bright spot in my day.

Ox eventually got off work. He helped take the trash and cardboard out. We finished getting Jon’s bathroom ready for painting. We finished the puzzle we were working on. I made lunch for us. Turkey wraps. We cuddled a few times in between chores. Towards the end, we had sexy time and it was more connective than I had thought it would be. I was worried about feeling alone afterward; cold and… alone. I don’t know if that word can really fully describe the soul-crushing, horrifically aching lostness that sometimes hijacks my brain. But that’s the only word I have.

It wasn’t that though. While physically it was amazing, on a spiritual, human level it was exactly what I didn’t know I needed. I’m glad Ox and I worked through the fear I felt to have that type of moment together. I’m grateful that he took time out of his day, his life, to be with me and to help me feel his words, “It will be ok.”

I’m better today. I had another message from the person in London. He shared some parts of his story with me and I in turned shared parts of mine. It was connective and it’s another thing I’m grateful for. He didn’t have to share those details about his life with me, but in doing so it’s allowed both of us to be human; real. We’re not picture-perfect images. There’s a lot of unknown battles and struggles and that’s usually a more significant part of who we are as people than the successes we’ve easily attained.

I don’t know if there’s a lot going on today. Painting for sure. I think Ox and I are going to try to take two of date day now that we’re both in better moods. He has raid today so he won’t be staying with me, but he stayed last night and it was nice having a good morning kiss before he left for work.

I work with my FA tomorrow. It’s the first time in months that we’ll be on the floor together. We’re both looking forward to it. I found out so more information about what’s going on with upper management. I’m more confident in the notion that my FA currently does not have a plan to leave. At least not yet. That makes work feel a smidgin more stable which helps with everything else.

The apartment complex has scheduled a chemical treatment for the bed bugs. Jon and I are responsible for the cost of the treatment. That sucks, but it’s not a heat treatment, so it could be way worse than what it seems like it’s going to be. They’re going to be here after 1pm tomorrow. That gives Jon and Ox enough time to get off work and to take the pets out of the apartment. Since covid is going on, we’re not able to board them anywhere, and with everyone working, we didn’t know what we were going to do.

That seems slightly figured out, though, and more do-able. The pets are taken care of. The bed bug issue is being addressed. I should have a fairly smooth day at work tomorrow. The apartment is coming along and Jon and I have had some pretty deep conversations so we feel more ok than what we were.

Last night after he got home, we sat outside on the balcony and talked. I explained what depression was like for me, why it was affecting me currently the way it is, and that what I needed from him was for him to let me do whatever it is/was I was doing.

If I’m not hungry, don’t pressure me to eat. If I want to be alone and dip out of social obligations, don’t make me feel bad for doing it. If I seem to be sleeping a lot, let me sleep. I don’t need intervention. My “no”s aren’t “yes”s that need convincing. With so much uncertainty going on in multiple areas of my life, I need space and time to figure out not only my emotions regarding those situations but what choices and courses of action I want to take with them. I can’t figure those things out around people, and that inner soul-searching work is usually exhausting and nauseating in some instances.

I will eat when I’m hungry. As I have energy, I’ll get things done. I’m on the road to being better, but some days are still going to be better than others and the best thing he can do on the “down” days is to let me be down.

I think that’s it for today, Chromebook. I feel like I’m on solid ground today. I feel like I can feel accomplished by doing things, so I want to do them. Hopefully, I’ll be able to talk to you again soon.

Daily Post 216: Rambling About Nothing Important

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Hello Chromebook,

It’s been a while…

I started writing a letter to mom, but that got interrupted by an emergent phone call from work. It got me extra hours. I didn’t have to use PTO to meet my 40. That was nice. I got to go to the clinic where Jon is training and see him on the floor. He’s doing well. And that’s not just me being a proud sister. That’s me as an experienced tech evaluating someone who is in training. He’s going to be fine, just like I thought and hoped he would.

So many things have happened, dearest Chromebook. Life has been crazy. Not just with a pandemic and now rioting and such. Personal life has been in flux. Constantly changing, constantly something new to figure out or adjust to… On top of that, the weather has been miserable, cold, rainy, cloudy… It’s made things harder than they normally would or should have been.

For a while, I was off of Zoloft. Things were going well. I felt awesome. It was sunny. I felt like I could handle the few things that were going on. And then it changed and I wasn’t ok again. It was subtle at first. Then worse. Then worse. Then worse until even I had to admit that I wasn’t doing well and maybe going back onto the medication would be beneficial.

I’ve been on it for about five days. I think it’s already started to build up into my system. Things don’t seem as bad or hopeless. Thoughts of self-harm are no longer there. I’m sleeping better. I’m performing well at work again. And finally, it’s sunny and warm outside.

I know it hasn’t been much time. Maybe it’s all in my head and simply a change in my perspective, but regardless of what is or isn’t causing me to be more ok, I’m grateful for it. I’m still low energy today, but it’s not a day where I wake up in the negative and have to struggle and fight to convince myself that it’s worth the effort to accomplish even the most minor of tasks.

I have counseling in an hour. I’m going to have to use you, Chromebook, instead of my desktop. Ox has my beast since his computer is having issues.

I don’t mind. You accomplish the things that I need to do at the moment. D&D will be interesting, but I feel like we can accomplish it together.

Counseling hasn’t been very productive the past few times. Mostly because I haven’t been able to self-reflect and so I don’t know what I need or should be talking about; working through. The last session was better. I’m hoping for this one to be productive as well. I’ll be able to continue my counseling sessions even though I’m not taking any classes this summer. That was news I was grateful to receive.

Since my sessions are through a service provided by my school I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to continue having them. Not the case though.

The game plan is still to go back to school in the fall for the LPN program. A lot of that feels sort of nebulous, though. Things are changing at work. Our regional operations director left a few months back. A new person took his place. A lot of my mentors are leaving the company now. My FA said she doesn’t have a new job lined up and can’t leave until June 11th. That doesn’t mean she’s staying. There was no, “I’m not going anywhere.” Sometimes what’s not said is more important that what is said and I feel this is one of those times.

I’ve already talked to Jon.

Me: Would you be super pissed if I left the company?

That led to a pretty extensive conversation yesterday evening after I got home from work. One of the things I said was how most people quit their boss not their job. If my FA leaves and some super bitchy person gets hired into her position I don’t want to feel stuck. That’s why I didn’t use the financial assistance my work offered for school. I don’t want to be trapped in an environment that slowly kills me.

There’s a lot of “What ifs” in regards to work and I won’t know how any of it turns out for a while. Jon is supportive of me making the choices that are best of my own well being. I assured him if I left, I wouldn’t do so without having something else lined up; ideally something better.

So we’ll see how that goes. There’s a part of me that aches at the thought of leaving. What would happen to my patients? Who would take care of them? They’re the ones who are going to suffer the most if management and staff changes and that’s not fair to them.

For the moment I want to leave those issues alone. There’s nothing I can do about the future other than letting it happen. I have no intention of going anywhere at the moment, and though there are management positions open now, I don’t think I will pursue them. Not when everyone I care about is leaving those positions. They’re leaving because the positions no longer align with their core values. That doesn’t seem like something I would want to step into.

Ox and I are doing better. For a while, we weren’t, more because of me then because of anything he was or wasn’t doing. I suffered from a 6.5 kidney stone for three weeks. The average size is typically 4mm or smaller. Anything higher than that, the ER usually hospitalizes you for. Of course, I was stubborn as fuck and didn’t go to the ER… Choosing instead to writhing on my bedroom floor in agony while dry heaving so hard I couldn’t breathe.

That was a Saturday evening. By Tuesday when the stone hasn’t passed I went to my primary care doctor. We decided to give it more time to move on its own. When it hadn’t he referred me to a urologist. They took x-rays. It was close to passing. Hold out just a little longer… A week later and another x-ray… It hasn’t moved. Time for our next option… Fuck my life…

I was being scheduled for surgery when it finally passed. Throughout that time I had waves of pain that typically required hydrocodone to manage. Though I had a doctor’s note saying I should not return to work until my symptoms went away, the clinic was so short-staffed that I had to work multiple times during those three weeks. It was awful. I was miserable and everyone around me knew it.

Luckily, I didn’t have to have surgery. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to pee in my life. The stone was tested. Calcium oxalate. Basically, I need to drink more water. I knew I was doing poorly with eating and drinking. With all of the other crap going on at the time with Jon moving and work being crazy, I didn’t have much of an appetite. I didn’t want to drink water. The thought of foods and liquids made me nauseous. I didn’t want to do anything other than not be around people, but that wasn’t an option so I did the best I could.

Well… my body wasn’t ok with my best and created the spawn of Satan to show me its displeasure. This kidney stone made my first one look like child’s play. I never knew when waves of pain would come, so I was in constant fear and anxiety over going out to do anything. I didn’t want to drive because what if a wave of pain happened while I was behind the wheel? The pain was always worse at night and so most of the time I only had 30 minutes to an hour of sleep before having to go to work.

Thankfully, that phase is over. I’ve been doing better about drinking. Still having a hard time with food. Most of the time I eat a protein bar or something small. Things seem to sit heavier on my stomach lately and I don’t like that feeling.

Since I have been feeling a bit better health-wise, if not emotionally, Ox and I had date night this past Sunday. Things are beginning to open back up again so we were able to have a nice sit-down lunch at a local restaurant. That evening, we worked on a puzzle we’ve had for a while. We’re almost done with it. Ox and I have plans to go out this afternoon once he’s off work. We’ve slept next to each other a few nights this week. It’s been nice to be near him.

Things have been sort of crazy with the kids due to the pandemic. We’ve had them more than normal and that, along with everything else, also throws off the reassurance I get from our “normal” routines. We’re still not really sure what’s going to happen in that regard, but Ox and I are both making a conscious effort to invest a bit more time into “us”.

Jon and I are doing well. My dad received a bonus from work again. The first time he got hazard pay he sent it to me and Jon to help us out with the move and settling into the new apartment. He did the same again last night. Jon is letting me keep most of his share to catch up on the money he owes me. He was unemployed for about a month and then had to wait a while before he started getting paychecks. I covered most of his expenses during that time with the stimulus money Ox and I received.

Jon intends to pay me back, and this is a step towards that. It makes me feel better about covering for him. I wish all the other times I covered for people were like this. Where it was worth it and didn’t fuck me over.

The financial game plan has changed a little. Since the three of us, Ox, Jon, and me, are in this together, it makes sense to look at all of our situations. Jon’s car is just as close to being paid off as mine, yet his car payment is nearly twice as much. Currently, we’re planning on paying off his car first. The amount I help payoff he will then start paying towards my car, and once that is done, we’ll snowball it into Ox’s car. If there’s a second stimulus check we could have all three cars paid off in a year, giving all of us nearly $1000 extra dollars to work with each month.

It could be an amazing situation. That would help out significantly when I go back to school and potentially cut my hours down to part-time. It’s another situation of waiting and seeing how everything lines up.

Financially, other things are going alright. I finally switched my phone over to StraightTalk which saves me $30 a month on my phone bill. Car insurance has been super cheap since my company has reimbursed part of my payments for the past two months. With people staying home and not driving as much, there haven’t been as many accidents and claims filed. My company is passing those savings onto its customers. I think that’s pretty awesome of them.

I received roughly $500 from my old apartment. That’s the security deposit and a bit of rent for the month since someone moved in during May.

While all of this money sounds awesome. I’ve been spending some of it so I don’t have millions of dollars sitting in my account. I’ve bought stuff for the kittens. A litter mat that they can’t chew on, a water fountain, cat dishes so they don’t have to get out of my plastic food containers anymore. I got a new shower curtain since I painted the bathroom; Summer Dragonfly. It’s the same color I had in Orlando. It makes a part of my brain happy seeing it. I am looking forward to painting the bedroom and getting blackout curtains so I can sleep in darkness once again.

I got a new phone case which I love. It’s a bright teal color. I don’t know why that color brings me peace but it does. I love holding the case in my hand and just… holding that color.

I signed up for a Spartan race… or rather… I spent $90 on gear and have a passcode that will allow me to sign up for a race between now and December of next year. I haven’t trained for so long. I know I’m nowhere near where I was. I’ve started doing yoga as a way to try to get back into the swing of things. Stretching has been nice. It took me nearly all of the first session to get my heels to touch the ground during downward dog, but I got there. The second session was better. I could go deeper into the stretches and it didn’t take my muscles as long to loosen up.

I think I’m all done writing for now, Chromebook. I know there’s so much more to work through, talk about, figure out, but I’m sort of done for now. Thanks for letting me talk about nothing important.

Oh! And here’s a picture of Dagger, ruining date night with his cuteness.

Tiny Tiger Demands Attention