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One More Night

Oh, another wonderful night at work. The upside? I didn’t cry getting ready, heading out the door, or on the trip here. The downside? I am now over booked? Is that the word? I’m not sure…anyhow, there are way more residents than me, more than normal.

It’s been a pretty ok night. It’s been busy!!! But I think I like when it’s busy, it gives me time to NOT think about things. But at the same time, I like my down time. It allows me to document and everything. That’s hard to do when you’re busy.

Anyhow, pretty good night. It was a day full of sleep, and, truth be told, I’m still tired. After I posted about Rockee today, I crashed. Hard. I took one of my anxiety pills, the dr said that it could be used to help me sleep, and let me tell you! That with my other med, wow. Talk about some sleep! I crashed. I woke up really groggy at 10 something, really just long enough to let Rockee out. Then sometime around 12 Hubby came in. And I still went back to bed. I slept until 6. I don’t think I will be doing that again unless I absolutely have to because I’m not sleeping. But, it was nice to actually be able to sleep.

So, around 1:45ish, one of the aides comes up to me and asks where one of the nurses is. Are? I’m not sure about the grammar… Anyhow! Do I look like a nurse keeper? No. So I told her I didn’t know where she was, why? And she’s like “I’m sick. I’ve been throwing up all night, can’t keep anything down.” Ok… I’m all for going home when your sick. I’ve done it. But I make sure that there are enough people to cover, just in case. Unless I really can’t. (Like that one time I was so dizzy I almost dropped someone…yea…that’s not a good thing.) the other thing is that state is here. Well not “right now” but they are surveying us. IF, for some reason, they decide this is the night they are going to drop in on, we are fucked. Why? Because we have 3 aides to like…over 100 people. And I’m sorry, but most of the nurses don’t help. So…tell me how this is going to work? Because I really don’t get it.

Anyhow, so this girl left. After spending an additional 20 minutes in the building. She left and people immediately started talking. They are saying all sorts of things starting at “she was fine all night” and ending somewhere along the lines of “they should just fire her.” That makes me wonder what they say while I’m not here. :/ Not good.

I am a good aide. I do my job well. It might not be exactly what state wants, but I do a heck of a job taking care of my residents. I got complimented last night by a resident. They know that I do my job. I rarely ask for help from the other aides, and, when I’m not too busy, I offer to help them. They still think I’m a bitch. Making very rude comments about me, acting “shocked” that I would offer to help. Well, yea, I’m not that heartless, I’m just busy. But obviously they don’t think so. Work my hall and deal with my people and tell me how you’re not busy!

I also found out that one resident of mine is trying to pass. He’s not doing well, at all. I noticed it yesterday when I got him up. He just looked like he wasn’t doing too well and wasn’t being rambunctious like he usually does. It’s really sad to see someone go downhill so fast. It’s even harder when they do actually pass. This is the life in a nursing facility.

This is probably my most random post yet. I’m out in my car on my break, listening to music and enjoying the peace. I’m tired and ready to go home. But I think it’ll be ok.


A History

There is nothing I can say that I haven’t already said.

I wasn’t abused, in a way, I wish that I had been so that I at least have the right to feel like I do.

I was used, as a weapon for years, up into my late teens. I was the buffer between two people who claimed to love each other. There was no one for me.

I was made fun of because I didn’t have a dad.

When I was young, I remember strange things happening with the men in my life. I liked when it was just my parents. No men. But I guess things change, you know?

I developed early. I was a rather hefty girl at the age of, what, 10? Already wearing a size B or C bra? I mean, I was kinda large, and gifted in areas. I remember being made fun of for my weight.

I remember, one day during the summer, that I went to get some lemons from my grandparents. We didn’t know that my Granny wasn’t at home. But, he was. We were alone. It was awkward. I don’t like being alone with him. I remember that he made me hug him. And when I did, his hands “fell” on my bottom. He lingered…It was uncomfortable, so I turned to go, but his hands didn’t move. So, that too, became uncomfortable. His hands moved up and rested on my chest. I left as quick as I could. I rode my bike quickly back to the house. I told her. And I want to say that she made a call, but no one believed us.

When I got a little older, family (that I didn’t know was family) moved in with us. There was a man in my house, though there had never been one before. It was weird. He always liked me to sit on his lap, even though there was plenty of room on the couch. His hands would always rest on my thighs. There was one night that he tucked me in, he sat on my bed, his hands traveled up. There was another night that we were playing video games in his room, I fell asleep on the bed. I woke up to her pulling me out of bed. I remember her screaming at me. It was weird, I didn’t know anything was wrong. I had just fell asleep.

You know that feeling you get when you just know someone is watching you? I woke up with that. And there he was. Standing in my doorway. I told him to go away, but he came in. He said that I was uncovered and he was covering me up. The covers had been up all the way. He told me to kiss him. I said no, repeatedly. But he wouldn’t leave. So I had to kiss him…on the lips. He left. Ever since then, I sleep with the door shut.

When I was 14/15, I dated a guy that I really liked. I noticed that he hurt himself. To get him to stop, I hurt myself too. It started with pinching and slapping. I had bruises that I didn’t want to explain. I didn’t feel I had to. No one asked me about them.

I was bullied because of my name.

I was switched lunch periods. I became severely depressed, I’m sure there was other factors. I spent most of my time in the library. I read over 30 books that year. I didn’t eat. I wasn’t hungry.

There came a time, one night, very late, that I grabbed a knife. A little pocket knife that I had kept for years. I couldn’t sleep. So I ran the blade over my wrist. Nothing happened. But I found a way to make it hurt.

Instead of sleeping, I stayed up reading. I would stay up as long as I could because I knew that, as soon as I fell asleep, it would happen. He would die, in my arms, in front of my eyes, or at my own hands. One of the most vivid that I remember, a bridge. It was raining. There was a dark colored car, alone on the bridge. He was there. He was shot. Blood all over the window. He fell over the edge. I watched it all.

I would wake up screaming, crying, and out of breath. So I didn’t sleep. When I would sleep, it would be an hour or two. When I would get up in the mornings for school. I opened my window. There he was, blue hoodie, covered in blood. You couldn’t see his face. But he was there. Dying. Dead. I would go to the bathroom to shower, death was there. In the shower with me, he would touch me. His face concealed with blood. I could feel his hands on my shoulder. Cold, even though the water was excruciatingly hot. He followed me to school, through the halls. He waited outside my class rooms, but he was always there.

My cry for help came when I would write. I found myself starving for attention, so I threatened to harm myself — saying that I was a different person — and I shoved the letter into the locker. I wrote poems describing what I saw. I thought he was in danger. I had no idea that I was the one in trouble.

I got called out of class one day. The counselor, she called down to my classroom and I had to go immediately. I had that sinking feeling, I knew I was in trouble. But he was still there. Following me.

“This raises some flags…” They called my parents. I remember the look in their eyes. Disappointment. Shame. They had never been called to the office because of my behavior before. I was told that we would get help. The help was: You’re grounded.

Things some what settled when we moved. I was back to sleeping. But I kept my secret. I kept it hidden. Until, the new one saw me cutting in class one day. He saw me, I saw that he saw me. I’m fairly sure that he stole my knife to “protect me”.

Things got better. But I was able to lie for a long time. Until he made me promise, no more. I stopped for a long time.

In that time, I tried to get drugs. But he talked to the guy that I had talked to, apparently they worked something out so that he wouldn’t sell to me. I guess that’s a plus.

Things between us got really bad. She had overstepped again, and said that it was him or her. She always did this. She still told me how ugly I dressed, that I looked like a hobo orphan. Told me that I was fat. I needed to do better. I was a disappointment.

So when we started dating, it was better.

Until one stupid day. I didn’t want to let go, so I said ok. We met at our place. Idiot. We were just talking. Until he started touching. It was more. And I said ok, but I didn’t want to. And he knew it. But he undressed me. Before we started, I said no. Repeatedly. But it was too late, he finished. Cleaned me up. Dressed me. Walked me to my bus. I felt, dirty, shamed. He left satisfied.

I told my best friend. She was supportive. But she didn’t know what to say. So I told my boyfriend. He was mad. That’s where the trouble started.

He tried it again. That next spring. It was a testing day. We didn’t have to test, so we were hanging out. In his truck. Stupid… I let myself get talked into it again. He climbed on top of me, hands around me throat. I got scared and started crying. I was able to run away that time. I told everyone who would listen, except who was important. I could have ruined him. I should have. But I didn’t.

When I got older…Things got better. Or so I thought.

I was engaged and happy. That December, I found out the secret. I was hurt and mad, but I wanted to talk about it after I calmed down. But they had already kicked him out.

I went back to school, depressed. I locked myself in my dorm and only came out for food. Until I was invited to dinner with a stranger. It helped me get out, kept my head up a little bit.

Things were better. We got back together. We saw a lot of each other during the summer. It was nice. Things were going great.

Until that one day in October. It was family weekend. I was excited, because they were coming. But I found out that it was only her. And she was late. She was already mad because she wanted her “boyfriend” to show up. The whole game was spent with her on the phone. She didn’t spend anytime caring for what was going on with me. I had hoped that maybe she would enjoy it. That night, she cried.

The next day, she made me come home with her. But I didn’t want to. I already knew what was going on and I didn’t want to be in the middle. When they got into a fight, I was left to stay with her and be her comfort. She told me that I would have to take care of her. “What am I going to do?” Well…I would have to quit school. And she wanted me to. That next morning, she was acting weird. Crying. She tried everything she could to get her to come back. She was so convinced that it would make it better. But it didn’t.

That evening, she kept to her room. She acted drunk when she came out. I was worried. So I got the neighbor. We eventually called the cops. They took her to the hospital. I was pissed. I had never done this before.

I became depressed. I drank. I smoked. I went to see her everyday. It wasn’t enough. She told me, in front of everyone, how she could kill herself and that she planned on harming others. So I told the social worker. They sent her to court, she went to Wichita Falls. She was there from November to January.

I found out that the world knew a secret, everyone but me. I was adopted. And things were a little bit crazy, but I’m better for it. I didn’t want anything to change.

I went and saw her. To let her know that I was getting married. She was mad. I hoped that it would inspire her to get better and come out, but it didn’t. She stayed. I visited after the wedding. We gave her the last of our money. To which, she screamed about. We never went back. She never called. She could have, but she didn’t.

When she got out, she called, two or three times a day. Just to tell me how horrible we had done her. (We packed her home for her, took care of her animals, paid her bills, kept everything up for her, but we were horrible because we left her the truck — which was in her name — and took the cars that were in ours.) I had panic attacks when she called. So I turned off the phone. We had already gotten new phones. Sure enough, she disconnected my line.

We don’t talk anymore.

I’m a little better now. I deal with thoughts of suicide everyday. Some days are more over powering than others. I just feel like death would be easier than dealing with this.

But right now, I’m ok.

That’s my life. Filled with a mess. But there is good things tucked away.


I’ve noticed that things have slowed down, the likes, follows and such. I’m wondering if it was something I’ve said.

But then I think that, well I’ve been working a lot, I’ve been really tired a lot, so I just don’t blog as much.  Plus, I don’t have as much to say.

That’s something new to me, I guess, not having anything to say.

But, lately, things have been mostly ok.

My anxiety is down, for the moment. There are times that I get worked up, like the other night, we were cooking dinner and I just FREAKED out! There was nothing to be scared of, I wasn’t worked up, I just flipped. I started crying, for no reason. Poor Hubby, he just held me. He doesn’t understand what’s going on either. It was weird and kinda scary.

I just didn’t feel well. I felt weird. There was nothing to be feeling weird about. I just didn’t feel good, at all, or is it well? I didn’t feel well. Anyhow. I’ve been having this weird feeling in my stomach. It’s a warm feeling. Like, the skin isn’t warm. There is just a warm feeling on the inside. I’ve tried to explain it to others, but no one really gets it. Family thinks that I’m talking about the skin being warm to the touch. But it’s not. It’s inside and I can feel it, inside. But, I don’t feel it when I touch it. It’s a weird feeling.

Work, well, it’s still work. It was ok this weekend. We had help. BUT I still got yelled at over stupid things. Refer to my previous post. Anyhow, it’s just annoying and infuriating. It makes me really not want to go back, ever. Having issues with bosses makes it really hard to enjoy your job. If you’ve ever had problems, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. Hubby has talked about, maybe, me getting on at the city. But, its going to take a few more months. That’s a few more months of dealing with crap.

I’m still sleeping a lot. This concerns me, but not as much as it used to. Maybe I just know. But, I have no clue.

I’ve been playing around with a program that’s like photoshop. It’s been fun and aggravating. But I’ve made some cool things!



I’ve been feeling ignored all day. I don’t like this feeling at all.

I’m used to getting texts all day, texts while at work, being able to call mom on breaks. And today/tonight, I just haven’t had any of that. I even feel like hubby is ignoring me.

Hubby cleaned the house last night. It was so nice to walk into a clean house. The best part, hubby was up and I was able to spend time with him before falling into oblivion.

My dear friend, I haven’t heard much from her lately. It bothers me because we basically talk, even if its just a few texts, every day or so. But I haven’t heard anything for what feels like a long while.

It’s Easter, and it doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s because I have to work. But it still feels too early. We don’t even celebrate the holidays much any more. The only reason we celebrate at all is due to family. As it is, I can already hear in laws saying “well, why aren’t y’all coming down? So? Just because she has to work doesn’t mean you can’t come down.” Well, actually it does, seeing as how we only have 1 car and I work 20 miles away from home. Seems like it would be really hard to pull off.

I hate feeling like this. It’s like no one cares, and trust me, I k is that’s not what it is, but it does feel like it. At least ill be able to see mom for a bit tomorrow.

Maybe I’m just ready to go home. One more night. Hopefully I can actually come in tomorrow night/tonight I don’t have the gas or money. So…this could be a major issue. Then I have jury duty Thursday, which means, I’m going to have to remember to call up here Monday and say, hey this is what’s going on, I won’t be able to work Wednesday or Thursday. Just what they want to hear.

That’s pretty much all that’s on my mind. It’s bugging me that I can’t talk to anyone! Usually I talk to mom. But I guess she went to bed. I haven’t even seen her on Facebook.

Just let me make it through the rest of the weekend.