I don't cut anymore...it's what I tell myself. I haven't done it in so long that I really want to believe it.
I don't cut...just a little ice sometimes...when I'm very agitated...or when the thoughts of it start to become concrete.
...like tonight...I didn't cut...I just iced my wrist until the numbness felt like electricity through my hand. I breathed deeply several times and felt myself calm down. It works...I don't know why, but it works.
I'm not exactly clear on why these thoughts returned to me tonight. It happened while I was feeling claustrophobic in my STBX's vehicle while on our way to see a Christmas light show with the kids. I had said that it felt a little chilly inside, so he turned the heat up some...but just a degree or so too high. My sinuses are congested from a cold, and it was difficult to breathe the dry warm air. I started to feel like I would suffocate...the same feeling I get when I feel trapped in a small or crowded space. I considered opening my window but imagined that he had the child safety locks on like he had in his previous vehicle. I didn't want to ask him to open the window for me, but I was afraid to push the button and find that the window would not open...that would have just put me in panic mode.
So I spent some time "talking myself down" - telling myself that there was plenty of air to breathe and that I was not trapped in the vehicle...and visualizing a blade across my wrist.
I do not cut anymore.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Checked Out
I would like to thank those of you who have been reading and those of you who have been commenting. As always, I appreciate your support. I apologize for my absence. Ultimately, I realized that I needed to withdraw.
Things had gotten a bit too intense for a while, so I decided to take some time off - time off from work, from the carpool, from the role of Super Woman, and yes even from the blog. The week when I wrote my last post, I was truly trying to be every woman...and be amazing at it.
At work, I was secretly taking pride in being the one sent on jobs that normally it would take two people to do. I could orchestrate five different flu clinics in six days while still getting my children to two different locations on time in the morning, as well as dance and piano in the afternoon. I was doing it, and I was damn good at it!
I didn't skip a beat when my STBX had to take a position working 400 miles away and was no longer able to take the kids to school in the morning. I simply called on some friends and arranged for them to take the girls to school for me on the days that I could not...never mind that their houses are fifteen minutes apart from each other, and I have to leave my house about thirty minutes earlier in order to be on time. The fact that I'm doing it without him is another source of pride for me.
So at what point did the seams start to unravel? Was it when I forgot to bring the needles for the flu clinic and had to have someone deliver them to me? Or was it when I realized that my daughter had been complaining of feeling generally crappy, and I couldn't take time off to take her to the doctor? Even at a time when most people would come to a screeching halt (a needle stick), I continued until I was sure that my exit would be discreet and inconspicuous.
Even after the needle stick, I intended to run another clinic the next day. What the fuck?? Was I sick?? It was my daughter who made me stop...or it was my daughter whom I used to make myself stop...because I couldn't bring myself to say that I could not give another vaccine, but I could say that I needed a day off to take my daughter to the doctor. After that, I did not return to work for a week...and that was for a short four-hour shift before I took off again to chaperone a three day field trip with my daughter in beautiful Colonial Williamsburg.
I checked out. It was necessary...and it was good. I took the kids to school myself and played stay at home mom. I didn't write, and I didn't read. I just lived simply without processing anything. In the interim, the needle stick nightmare woke up. By the grace of God, the woman whose needle I had been pricked with drove twenty-five miles after work on the same day of the clinic to have herself tested for all the blood-borne pathogens that we were concerned about. She tested negative for everything, and an ordeal that could have lasted over six months was over in two days for me. Many, many blessings to her.
I never cried, and I never got the opportunity to sit with my therapist...but I retreated and I breathed and I healed...and in that I take pride also.
Things had gotten a bit too intense for a while, so I decided to take some time off - time off from work, from the carpool, from the role of Super Woman, and yes even from the blog. The week when I wrote my last post, I was truly trying to be every woman...and be amazing at it.
At work, I was secretly taking pride in being the one sent on jobs that normally it would take two people to do. I could orchestrate five different flu clinics in six days while still getting my children to two different locations on time in the morning, as well as dance and piano in the afternoon. I was doing it, and I was damn good at it!
I didn't skip a beat when my STBX had to take a position working 400 miles away and was no longer able to take the kids to school in the morning. I simply called on some friends and arranged for them to take the girls to school for me on the days that I could not...never mind that their houses are fifteen minutes apart from each other, and I have to leave my house about thirty minutes earlier in order to be on time. The fact that I'm doing it without him is another source of pride for me.
So at what point did the seams start to unravel? Was it when I forgot to bring the needles for the flu clinic and had to have someone deliver them to me? Or was it when I realized that my daughter had been complaining of feeling generally crappy, and I couldn't take time off to take her to the doctor? Even at a time when most people would come to a screeching halt (a needle stick), I continued until I was sure that my exit would be discreet and inconspicuous.
Even after the needle stick, I intended to run another clinic the next day. What the fuck?? Was I sick?? It was my daughter who made me stop...or it was my daughter whom I used to make myself stop...because I couldn't bring myself to say that I could not give another vaccine, but I could say that I needed a day off to take my daughter to the doctor. After that, I did not return to work for a week...and that was for a short four-hour shift before I took off again to chaperone a three day field trip with my daughter in beautiful Colonial Williamsburg.
I checked out. It was necessary...and it was good. I took the kids to school myself and played stay at home mom. I didn't write, and I didn't read. I just lived simply without processing anything. In the interim, the needle stick nightmare woke up. By the grace of God, the woman whose needle I had been pricked with drove twenty-five miles after work on the same day of the clinic to have herself tested for all the blood-borne pathogens that we were concerned about. She tested negative for everything, and an ordeal that could have lasted over six months was over in two days for me. Many, many blessings to her.
I never cried, and I never got the opportunity to sit with my therapist...but I retreated and I breathed and I healed...and in that I take pride also.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
The Show Must Go On, but When Do I Exhale?
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
I haven't known how to start writing again. The truth is that I have had a difficult time getting my thoughts and my sentences to make sense. Today I need to write, I need to communicate, and it just does not matter how it comes out.
I had a very stressful day today...and the worst part is that I insisted on holding myself together. I couldn't cry, I couldn't fall apart...it just wasn't the time.
The company I work for offers on site flu vaccination clinics at numerous locations such as churches and pretty much any place of employment. In my district, I have been called to run a great number of theses clinics. As a pharmacist, I do everything from gathering all the materials and supplies, taking care of all the paperwork and insurance information to, of course, administering the vaccine itself. While it seems like a lot of work, I always welcome the opportunity to work outside of the maddening retail pharmacy environment, away from telephones ringing and where I only have to take care of one patient at a time and answer questions from one person at a time. Today was one of those clinics.
Everything was flowing smoothly...until I got stuck by a needle. Really? I thought. Did this just really happen? I tried to deny it until I saw myself bleeding. After finishing up with the people who were already at my table, I excused myself and went to the bathroom to wash up and put on a bandage. I called my supervisor and continued to vaccinate. When a nurse called my cell phone to begin the post-exposure prophylaxis protocol, I continued to direct people to fill out their applications and have a seat at the table. It was insane...it felt insane, but I was more concerned about appearing unprofessional than about anything else, I didn't want them to know that anything had happened. I thought I would just take care of this situation privately and their flu clinic would continue without a hiccup.
I was embarrassed that it had happened in the first place. This was a 400-employee site, and I did not want to attract attention to myself because of this incident. Eventually, my company sent another pharmacist to take my place. I quietly informed their Human Resources manager of what had happened and escaped to the privacy of my van to complete my conversation with the nurse and receive instructions on where to go for HIV and hepatitis testing and whatever else the protocol required.
As I drove the thirty minutes to the specified location (a walk-in clinic near my home), I felt tears start to well up. I stopped them. I told myself no. I said it was not the time to fall apart. There was still too much to be done. I had a previously scheduled appointment with my therapist that afternoon, and I told myself that I would talk about it them. I could cry all I wanted in the comfort of his office.
I never made it to my therapist. I spent over two hours at this freezing cold walk-in clinic and had to cancel my appointment with him. I still haven't cried. I still feel stunned. I still haven't let myself just exhale. I'm still trying to keep it together. The truth is that I didn't want to come home and write about it. I just wanted to talk to him and cry.
I haven't known how to start writing again. The truth is that I have had a difficult time getting my thoughts and my sentences to make sense. Today I need to write, I need to communicate, and it just does not matter how it comes out.
I had a very stressful day today...and the worst part is that I insisted on holding myself together. I couldn't cry, I couldn't fall apart...it just wasn't the time.
The company I work for offers on site flu vaccination clinics at numerous locations such as churches and pretty much any place of employment. In my district, I have been called to run a great number of theses clinics. As a pharmacist, I do everything from gathering all the materials and supplies, taking care of all the paperwork and insurance information to, of course, administering the vaccine itself. While it seems like a lot of work, I always welcome the opportunity to work outside of the maddening retail pharmacy environment, away from telephones ringing and where I only have to take care of one patient at a time and answer questions from one person at a time. Today was one of those clinics.
Everything was flowing smoothly...until I got stuck by a needle. Really? I thought. Did this just really happen? I tried to deny it until I saw myself bleeding. After finishing up with the people who were already at my table, I excused myself and went to the bathroom to wash up and put on a bandage. I called my supervisor and continued to vaccinate. When a nurse called my cell phone to begin the post-exposure prophylaxis protocol, I continued to direct people to fill out their applications and have a seat at the table. It was insane...it felt insane, but I was more concerned about appearing unprofessional than about anything else, I didn't want them to know that anything had happened. I thought I would just take care of this situation privately and their flu clinic would continue without a hiccup.
I was embarrassed that it had happened in the first place. This was a 400-employee site, and I did not want to attract attention to myself because of this incident. Eventually, my company sent another pharmacist to take my place. I quietly informed their Human Resources manager of what had happened and escaped to the privacy of my van to complete my conversation with the nurse and receive instructions on where to go for HIV and hepatitis testing and whatever else the protocol required.
As I drove the thirty minutes to the specified location (a walk-in clinic near my home), I felt tears start to well up. I stopped them. I told myself no. I said it was not the time to fall apart. There was still too much to be done. I had a previously scheduled appointment with my therapist that afternoon, and I told myself that I would talk about it them. I could cry all I wanted in the comfort of his office.
I never made it to my therapist. I spent over two hours at this freezing cold walk-in clinic and had to cancel my appointment with him. I still haven't cried. I still feel stunned. I still haven't let myself just exhale. I'm still trying to keep it together. The truth is that I didn't want to come home and write about it. I just wanted to talk to him and cry.
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