We are short a nurse and a half at work. A nurse and a half, you ask? Yes. One because…and I’m not making this up…one got drunk and broke her leg (at home at least) and one half because our last new hire from a few months ago is slightly more useful than absolutely useless. So I am either at work or in bed hating my life for the last seven weeks and there is still at least another month of this shit to go.
I am sober. I am exhausted. I am not getting to the gym. I have started subsisting on gas station food because I haven’t the energy to go to the grocery store. Vitamins? Not in over a month. I have been unmedicated because I don’t want to take medication because medication makes me fat and because I hate my ability to function being dependent on not running out of pills. The state of the world…and I don’t want to alienate anyone with my politics…is freaking me the fuck out on a daily basis. Ex-boyfriend almost dying and managing to make that even worse than it needed to be has left me perpetually staring into space wondering how different my life would be if I had never met him. I suppose it would be better and that leads to regret. The most useless of emotions. I spent the last three days in bed asleep or watching 20 year old sitcoms and calling my elected representatives to ask how THEY are not freaked the fuck out on the daily. In other words, shit has taken a turn.
Today I refilled my medication because I have gotten so anxious that I can’t help myself. I did some laundry. I spent thirty bucks on raw fish because my brain is short on omega 3’s or serotonin or sanity. I went to the grocery store even though I was so anxious it was hard to focus on anything. Anxious about what? Who knows? That is what makes it a disorder. Earlier today I froze still as a statue in bed, holding my breath attempting to discern if my bed was shaking and, if so, was it an earthquake. It *was* shaking a little because the dog was dream running and his legs were twitching just enough to vibrate the mattress ever so slightly. But riddle me this…if an earthquake is SO SMALL that you have to hold your breath to determine if it’s happening, why in the hell would you be terrified of it? Upon having the self-awareness to notice that I was terrified of being killed in the world’s smallest imaginary earthquake, I called in a refill on my meds.
211 days sober. I have to reboot the self-care.