Day 1: Self harming while at work. Stabbing myself with needles out of numbness and frustration. Vomiting from anxiety. Saw Les Miserables in gold class and had a mate stay over that night. I showered.
Day 2: Called in Sick. Spent the day on the couch watching DVDs.
Day 3: Back at work. Snapped at a coworker who has a history of not being able to help anyone, and argues about why does he have to do his job. Constantly. I called him fucking useless. Got dragged into boss' office and torn to shreds. Got told that I had an attitude problem, was argumentative, unhelpful, pushy, didn't see the big picture and didn't do my job. Got sent home, cut myself, showered to wash the blood off, and was catatonic for the rest of the day. I remember sitting on the floor crying, with a scalpel over my wrist, thinking I can't fight this disease anymore, but I didn't know if I could do it. I wasn't sure if 'it' was keep going or slash my wrists.
Day 4: Catatonic
Day 5: Packed my bags and flew back to Vic for a family do. Had to tell my mother wahts going on. Very difficult conversation. Did shower that morning.
WEEKEND
Day 6: Family do. Was nice to see everyone. Slept all arvo, got woken up for a bbq, then home and straight to sleep. No shower.
Day 7: Flew home again. Big hugs from sister as she dropped me off at the airport. Was tired, and got to bed early. But didn't sleep well. Woke up at 1, 3.30 and 5.
WEEKDAYS
Day 8: Called in sick. Couldn't face anyone. Got rung by the boss sometime in the middle of the day and told she expected me to not leave them in the lurch. I did train, and shower.
Day 9: Got taken to HR with the boss. We had a frank discussion, which involved them telling me I was completely out of line. My illness should not account for any behavioural differences. I am not to tell my coworkers if I am having a bad day, because it shows I expect them to deal with my shit. I am to be away if I'm unwell. I am a lowly minion, and am not to ask or tell anyone to do anything. I cut myself and then go watch the Melbourne Cup. I am unresponsive to my workmates when they try to talk to me for the remainder of the afternoon.
Day 10: Bad day. Struggling to even tie up my shoe laces. I don't want to go in, but have important work to do and have been told not to leave them in the lurch. I cry as soon as I get to work. Its tough to do the mindless morning tasks. I find a quiet room, and a scalpel, and cut myself and cry for half an hour, then go to work with blood seeping through my clothes. I am completely unresponsive to everyone, and look forward to my important work because its something I have to do alone, and I get to play with animals. Its the best part of my day, even if it is the most stressful. I sleep on the change room floor instead of going to lunch. I do not train.
Day 11: I call in sick. My coworker begs me to talk to her. I ignore. I am rung by the boss. Something has gone wrong and they don't know what to do. Spent most of the day reading boooks and on facebook. I try not to sleep during the day, but do pass out around 4. I do not shower, I do not train.
Day 12: Feeling much better. Meds seem to be kicking in. Back at work. I aplogised to cowrker for igniring her, and told her that I was under instructions not to burden anyone with my illness. I am still tired, but no need to sleep during the day. I train and I shower.
The moral to the story: Ill people are fucked in the head, and we don't need you screwing around with us. We need people to support and try to understand us. We will come back around. Just be patient.
4 comments:
I'm just so fucking glad you are here mate. I truly mean that. And fuck me if I don't feel your pain.
Love to you. Lots and lots of it.
oxoxoxoxoxo
Unsupportive coworkers are the worst. And fucked-up attitudes from superiors make recovery even harder.
I've been verging on the abyss of (stress) depression for a while now, and it's only the goodness of the people around me (espeically hubby) that has really staved it off. That and past experience has told me to listen to that "it's just all too much" voice in my head so that I stop.
I'm glad you are on the mend. Cutting is something I've never done, but I understand why some do. I just eat. And eat. *sigh*
I have learnt to be patient. It took me some years to learn that. Being a nurse, working with so many people in my 17 year career I thought I was able to help everyone. It seems that I could not. The closest person to me in the world also battles depression, and used to cut.. has not cut for a few years now. I have not ever told anyone about it, except speak to the psych that was treating them. I still sit back, I still stay patient.. very hard to watch and wait.. but wait I must.. because I know things improve when the person is ready to "come back".
From the depths of my soul I send you the biggest huggs and the most positive of thoughts.. it is all I can do over the world wide web Steph...
2011 can get fucked!!
Agreed!!!!
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