A Hard Time
I’ve been away from the blog for a while; I’ve had nothing to say.
Recently, I’ve been having a hard time with my anxiety and depression. I can’t tell you which one is worse.
Anxiety is making me leave work, throw up, panic, and pace. Depression leaves me feeling drained, empty, alone in my struggle, and makes me think of scary things. Having both of them at the same time has just been hell.
I’ve been isolating as much as I can, which probably isn’t healthy… But it keeps me from hurting people. At the same time I’ve been trying to reach out to my support system, my mom, my aunt, my husband. I’ve leaned so hard on my husband that I’ve been worried about breaking us, breaking him.
In my hell, I hear things. That I’m better off alone away from people, better off dead, better off going to the hospital. And I seriously considered calling the crisis line to get help, because it got that bad. I thought I needed to go inpatient.
What triggered this episode of hell for me? One of my triggers is stress at work. And work decided that I could move to day shift. I thought, maybe, I was stable enough to handle it. But working in a nursing home during the day is a different beast entirely. For 12 hours you’re on your feet, answering call lights, transferring patients, changing patients, feeding patients, doing things that a normal CNA does. However, I am not stable enough to handle that environment. And then, the girl who’s supposed to be my partner, the girl I rely on to make it through the day told me she’s going part time. I understand why she needs to, and there’s nothing wrong with her leaving, but I relied heavily on her. Too heavily, I think. This, and the general stress of day shift, triggered the snowball that rolled into an avalanche.
So I called in a few times, left work early. Got in trouble for leaving and not coming to work. Was told that I needed to work on my attendance. Was told that the director has my back and will be my biggest cheerleader, but I have to show up.
Thursday was particularly hard for me. My husband and I just moved into a new place and I was unpacking things. I like to decorate, but the nails wouldn’t go into the wall. And I couldn’t leave because I didn’t have the car or a house key. So I got frustrated. By the time my husband picked me up, I was getting into a funk. By that night I was depressed and trying to find ways to avoid going to work. I wanted to smash my arm with a hammer, cut myself with the kitchen knife I found unpacking, overdose on pills. Anything to avoid going to work the next day. I took an Ativan to make the noise stop, the thoughts slow down. I got some sleep.
The next morning, I got up for work and I cried. I was panicking. I called in.
Later that day I called my boss and told her that this wasn’t working. I asked if maybe I could work less hours a day, or switch to nights. The compromise was to move back to night shift working 8 hours a night. That’s going to cut my pay some. But I think I can handle doing that better than I can the twelve hours. Something has to give. I have to work. And I can’t be in panic mode everyday. I can’t be suicidal over going to work.
I’m afraid that it bothered my husband more than he let on. He said he was upset, because when I made the call I wasn’t thinking clearly. But he says he’s fine now and he just wants me to be happy. Two years ago when this happened I just quit, so I’m making progress. I’m still working, just not as much.
Things can only get better from here, right?