(This post is as fragmented as my thoughts are right now)
“Dana’s looking serious today. Is there something wrong, Dana?”
Ugh, everyone in the class suddenly turned their heads at me. I could feel my ears red, and shook my head. But I didn’t smile at her. What a bitch. What she didn’t know was that at that precise moment I was having intense suicidal thoughts.
That happened last week, and the idiot was the third year pediatrics rotation coordinator. What an ass. I felt like I was back in grade school, when things like that would happen frequently. Who is she to judge me? Fuck her.
My bones are tired.
Now I’m pretty stressed because I spent the whole afternoon sleeping and moping around.
I feel like I’m not even trying to get better. I’m just letting the feelings get a hold of me. I guess in part it has to do with the fact that I’m pretty burned out. And that’s ironic, considering that I’ve somehow half-assed my way through third year.
But I’m still here, waiting for it to be Monday or Tuesday when I’ll finally be able to see M. We spoke on the phone today to reschedule several of our appointments and I told her that things have gotten pretty bad. So she told me that if somebody else cancels their appointment she can see me on Monday. If not, then for sure she can see me on Tuesday. Hopefully someone will cancel.
Yesterday I had pediatric nephrology clinics in the afternoon. I was there for 1 hour and told the attending that I had a doctor’s appointment and had to leave. I lied. I just wanted to get home to sleep. Plus, getting home late triggers me, and the waiting room was teeming with patients.
Then today, like every other day, I had trouble waking up and almost had a fit when I had to put makeup on. But the general pediatrics clinics went smoothly, the doctor was incredibly nice and gave me 100% in evaluations, and I got out early.
Tomorrow I’ll be on call on the pediatrics ER from 8am to 5pm. I am so not looking forward to that.
You know, ironically, my BPD symptoms have been pretty quiet lately. I haven’t had the slightest urge to self-harm. Yeah, that was my feeble attempt at ending this post on a positive note.
Oh, and my mom isn’t speaking to me still. I really miss her.